Page 3

THREE

" S iri, find me a hotel."

It's six hours later when I reach the city limits of San Francisco. The sun hasn't risen quite yet—that's reassuring, at least. This time of year, I probably have an hour left. And if the sun is up, I know I won't sleep. All I want is sleep.

"There are seven hotels near your current location," she replies.

I skip the ones starting with 'Motel' and click on the nearest Hilton.

"Route recalculation. In one mile, turn left."

Ten minutes later, I pull into the parking garage. I take the elevator to the first floor and approach the desk.

"I need a room, please," I tell the woman.

"Check-in isn't until eleven," she says.

"Please? I've been driving all night. You don't have any vacancies right now?"

"Ma'am, if I check you in now, I'll have to charge you for last night as well as tonight. And the only room I can get you into has a five-hundred dollar nightly rate."

I contemplate finding somewhere else to stay for only a minute before passing her Blakely's ID. "It's fine. I need sleep."

She frowns but checks me in anyway. I take my purse, my backpack, and my keys and head up to the seventh floor.

I open the door and step into a moderately sized suite with a decent kitchen and a separate bedroom with a door…and black-out curtains.

"Thank god," I mutter to myself, stripping down to just my underwear and crawling into the bed.

My heavy eyes close as soon as my head hits the pillow. I feel myself drifting off to sleep when I suddenly remember…

How the fuck am I going to get into the concert tonight?

"Shit…"

I pull out my phone and look up Luca on Instagram. Judging by the photos and stories from last night, it does seem like this is a personal account, and he is actually the one posting the photos, not some PR person.

But I can't really message him from @terrorwithteagan, or he might find @trueterrorswithteagan and start to wonder what I'm up to.

That gives me an idea—one that might be better for getting his attention anyway.

I log out and create a new account, @blackliquoricenotpoison. I add one recent photo of myself to the grid and a selfie I took at the concert to my stories so he knows it's me before liking and commenting on his recent posts enough to get his attention, then send a DM.

"Hey," I read aloud as I type. "It's Teagan. Remember me? I'm in SF—would love to see the show tonight. I promise I'm not poisonous. A little taste never hurt anyone. Heart and winking face."

And send.

Now, I sleep.

By the time I wake up, it's already 2:00 PM. I grab my phone from the nightstand and instantly check my DMs.

Nothing. And he's viewed my story, so that means he's read it. He isn't going to message me back.

Fuck.

My only backup plan is scalping. I don't even understand how that works. Stealing—that might be easier.

I fucking refuse to go home.

I cross the hall to the bathroom where I shower, dry my hair, and apply makeup before heading to the kitchen. I fill the shitty coffee maker with water and one of those mesh coffee pods, hit brew, and wait.

"You really need to be more aware of your surroundings," a deep voice bellows from behind me.

A small scream escapes me before I scramble backward.

"And now you've backed yourself into a literal corner. Not very smart, are you?"

I open the drawer next to me and pull out a steak knife. Holding it out in front of me with shaky hands, I ask, "How did you get in here? What do you want?"

"I asked for a key to your room, and they gave me one," Declan says. He walks around the bar and into the small hotel kitchen, boxing me into that corner I've backed myself into. "That's cute." He nods, indicating the knife between us. "What are you going to do with it?"

The two brothers' builds are similar, but Declan is a couple of inches taller. And the eyes and hair, of course, are different, too. Declan's dark hair hangs in front of the cold, dark eyes boring holes into me. He grabs me by my wrist and then pries my fingers apart, taking the small knife and setting it on the counter behind me.

"What do you want?" I ask again. It comes out much quieter this time.

The hand still wrapped around my wrist tightens until it's squeezing me, sending electric currents through my body. He licks his lips before his mouth does something that might look like a smile on someone else, but it doesn't on him. Then, he pulls his own knife—the same six-inch blade he ran across Alana's neck last night—and runs the flat side down my cheek and under my chin.

There's something alive in those dead dark eyes now. He's either going to fuck me, or he knows what I'm up to, and he's going to kill me. I remind myself the person manhandling me is someone I know to be a murderer and that I shouldn't be excited by the prospect of the former.

"Your pulse is racing," he says, tightening his grip on my wrist again. He runs the blade down the length of my throat and to the top of the towel tied across my chest. "Am I scaring you? Or if I turned this knife around and shoved the handle inside your cunt, would it come out drenched in your pussy juices?"

Fuck.

"I'm afraid of you," I tell him. It isn't entirely a lie. It's just that the second part is true, too. I don't want him to find out, though.

"What do you want with my brother, Teagan? Or is it 'Blakely'?"

"It's Teagan. Blakely is my sister's name. As for what I want, that shouldn't be that hard to figure out."

"So, you're doing all of this just to fuck him? You don't seem like the typical bloodslut. I mean, you look the part, but—"

"Bloodslut?" I ask. "Is that what you call your fans?"

"Not all of them," Declan says, finally putting the knife away. As he moves back over to the other side of the counter and sits on a stool, I let out a breath I don't realize I've been holding. "The ones you met last night—they're my family," he adds.

Family? Interesting.

"What's the difference?"

"There's a big difference," he says. "What do you want with my family , Teagan?"

"I went to a concert to listen to music. He approached me—I didn't ask for that," I tell him. It's true, too. Maybe my plan was always Luca, but he's the one who found me. "We had a moment. I was intrigued."

"At the bar," he says. It isn't a question, so he must have been watching. I nod anyway. "What kind of moment?"

"Kind of a damsel-in-distress thing. He chased away some asshole and called me a good girl."

He scoffs. "Luca has a lot of those moments with a lot of women."

"Then why do you care?" I ask. "Why are you here?"

"I guess I wanted to see what the big deal was," he says. "Maybe I've gotten bored. I think maybe I was hoping for something a little more interesting than just some stupid bloodslut."

I grind my teeth, biting back what I really want to say, reminding myself that it's better—safer, really—if he thinks of me this way. "I'm sorry to disappoint. I just want to party and fuck your brother," I say plainly.

I wait for his reply, but all I get is a bored look before he pulls his phone from his pocket. "Go put some clothes on," he says without looking up as he types.

"What? Why?"

"Or don't," he says. "Makes no difference to me."

I take my coffee cup and return to the bedroom, where I pull on a pair of jeans and the black version of the red corset top I wore to the show last night. There's another knock on the door as I step into the living room.

Declan stands to answer it.

"Well…wait," I say. He turns to me and raises an eyebrow. "Who's that?"

"Do you want to go to the show tonight or not?" he asks.

"Yes…"

"Then stop asking so many fucking questions."

He opens the door, and River strolls in, dragging a black roller bag behind her. In her other hand, she carries two cups of coffee on one of those disposable trays.

"You've made me so happy today," she says to Declan. "You know that?"

He kisses her on the cheek as she walks through the door.

"This is much better than whatever crap you have in that cup," River says, handing me one of the coffees. "Trust me."

"Thanks…" I say, still confused. I almost bring it to my lips, then pause. "Um, is there blood in this?"

"Of course!"

"Well…who's blood?"

"Yours," she says.

I look back and forth between River and Declan. When the fuck did they take my blood? When I was sleeping?

Then she starts laughing. "Oh my god, I'm kidding. This is just coffee. I am here to take your blood, though. So I need you to give me your arm and make a fist."

For a second, I think she's joking again, but then she snaps on some latex gloves and unwraps a needle. She pulls a tray of test tubes from the same bag and sets them on the coffee table, attaching one to the end of the cannula.

"Arm," River says again. This time, I hold out my arm and make a fist like she asked. She ties a small rubber tourniquet around my bicep.

"I'll be shocked if she's clean," Declan says.

"Ignore him, Teagan," River says, her tone harsh as she narrows her eyes at Declan. It makes me nervous, but he doesn't react. I guess he must care about her, or they must have some kind of rapport if she's comfortable snapping at him in front of someone else, and he'd let her. "You have delicious veins. Little pinch."

She inserts the needle and starts filling the vials. Once she's finished, she pushes the tray aside and attaches a bag to the end.

"What's that for?" I ask.

"For fun," she says.

"What?"

"You're doing so well."

But that doesn't really answer my question, and I'm starting to get light-headed. As the color drains from my face, I lean back into the couch. River runs her fingers through my hair as if she's trying to soothe me.

"We'll get you something to eat once we're finished," she tells me. "Almost there."

When she's done, she puts it all in a biohazard bag and gives it to Declan.

"I'll text you when I get the results. Don't let her out of your sight," he says.

"I got it," she replies. "Don't worry."

"I don't understand what the fuck is going on," I tell River.

"If this comes back clean, you can come to the show tonight. And maybe, if you can handle it, you can come with us when we go to Coeur d'Alene. Personally, I don't think you can," Declan says.

"Then why are you doing this?" I ask.

"I want to see what it looks like when you break," he says. And the way he says it, the look in his eyes, again, it's terrifying. All I can do is sit there.

"If you come tonight," Declan adds, "stay away from my brother. Don't talk to him, and definitely don't touch him. If you do, you're out."

Now, I'm even more confused. I assumed he was here because Luca wanted me there.

"Why?" I ask.

"Because," he says, "I want to watch you break. Luca won't even give you a chance. You won't be able to handle him."

I wait for more clarification, but I don't get it. He simply turns and walks out the door.

"Luca breaks all of his favorite toys," River says. I realize she's cleaning my upper arm with a cotton ball. "That's why he's in timeout. One more pinch."

What's that supposed to mean?

Did I get this wrong? Is Luca the one killing women?

"When was your last period?" she asks.

"What?" I ask, confused. "I don't have them."

"Hmm...that works," she says. I watch as another needle goes into my arm, and she pushes the plunger down.

"What the fuck was that?" I ask.

"Relax," she says. "It's just birth control."

"I already have an IUD," I tell her.

"Well, now you're on the shot, too," River says. She removes her gloves with a snap and tosses them into the trash bin on the other side of the sofa. "Can't forget it, can't be removed—house rules. What do you want to eat? I'd kill for some fucking queso."

She takes out her phone and starts scrolling—looking for restaurants, I assume. And I just sit there, wondering if maybe I'm still asleep because I don't understand any of this.

"Are you a doctor?" I ask.

"No, I just play one on TV," she says. "Oh, here's a place right around the corner."

"What?"

"I was a nurse before I left and became part of the family. I guess I'm still a nurse. Are you ready? Make sure you grab everything—I doubt you'll be coming back here."

"The family?" I ask.

"Yeah," she says. "We're a family."

As I process that, her light blue eyes search mine. I want to know more about this supposed family . I'm pretty sure they're all fucking each other; most families don't do that. They don't kill each other, either.

"We love each other," River says. "We're bound in blood. We know and accept every part of each other—of every member—for who they are at a basic level. There's no judgment, no questions. We're there for each other; we'd do anything to protect each other. That's a family."

She reaches out and runs her fingers through my hair in that soothing way again.

"Do you have a family, Teagan?" she asks.

"Yes," I tell her. "Of course."

"I don't believe you," she says.

"I…I'm going to go get my stuff."

"I'll be waiting."

Lightheaded and a little unsteady, I walk to the bedroom and close the door behind me. I start picking up clothes from the floor and throwing them back into my bag. Then, I grab my phone from the charger and check my text messages.

MOM I can't believe your sister went out of her way to get you a job interview, and you didn't even bother to show up.

MOM You're in for a rude awakening. We aren't going to support you forever, Teagan. I won't let you move back in here without a real job. It's time for you to start living in reality.

I close the messages without replying and click on Blakely's name.

BLAKELY Where are you?

BLAKELY You aren't actually with the band, are you? lol

BLAKELY Just FYI, Austin and I put a couple of offers in on places today. If they're accepted, I'm going to give a thirty-day notice, and you'll have to find somewhere else to live—not with me and not with Mom and Dad. Not without a real job.

I begin typing out that I do have a real job—that I have real money, which means I have a real job, but what's the point? It's not what they want to hear, so they won't.

Do you have a family, Teagan?

I swallow hard, squeezing my eyes shut and taking a couple of deep breaths—an exercise I've learned will stop tears before they have a chance to form.

I don't believe you.

I throw the phone and the charger back in my backpack, and then move to the bathroom and do the same with my curling iron and makeup.

"Ready," I tell River when I return to the living room.

"Great," she says. "Let's go."