Page 98 of Pretty Vengeance

JAMIE

As I pacemy bedroom floor, the clock is ticking. The minute Sawyer asks the wrong question, Robert Allendale will know someone is investigating him. From then on, he’ll be covering his tracks, potentially getting rid of trophies and destroying evidence.

That shouldn’t matter to me since I know what he is, but Sawyer’s skepticism nags at me. I rub my eyes. I’m angry she didn’t take me at my word. And that she left, rather than staying to work things out.

I need to prove I’m right.

Going after evidence now, though, while the police are investigating the son’s death— while Robert Allendale’s probably still on edge and looking over his shoulder—makes the risk extremely high. All my training and common sense scream at me to stand down. To wait and be patient and follow through on my plans to be methodical and systematic as I crush him.

Waiting, though, would mean remaining in limbo with Sawyer, which I can’t seem to accept.

For several long moments, I stand at the foot of my bed. Maybe if I was less Irish—or less myself—I could take the path dictated by pragmatism. But in this moment, I’m the same as I ever was. I’m the man who asked for a wet suit at age seven so he could surf winter waves taller than him.

The way I feel when I’m with Sawyer is the new winter storm off Mullaghmore Head. A force so phenomenal she makes me forget everything outside of the current moment. I’m not losing her to him.

And standing still is not an option.

When I emerge from my room with a pair of duffel bags, War gives me a hard look from his position on the couch.

“What’s the plan, J?”

There’s no point trying to explain what I’m about to do. I already know it’s reckless. Shaking my head, I walk to the locked closet where the weapons are stored.

War rises, folding his arms across his chest as he watches me put an unmarked pistol into the bottom of one of the bags.

“What the fuck?” War scoffs.

I stop in front of him and extend a hand. He knocks it away, and I extend it again. Finally, reluctantly, he shakes it.

“You’re gonna get yourself caught over a girl who doesn’t even give a shit.”

“Mate, don’t.” We lock eyes a moment.

“Fuck’s sake.” War shoves me away from him with a bitter scowl.

“Listen, whatever happens, you’re in the clear. Everything I did, or will do, I did alone.”

“I’m not worried about myself. I trust you’ve gotmyback. Yours is the one that’s in jeopardy.”

“I’m grand. Back before anyone knows I’m gone.”

We both know it’s an empty promise.

46

SAWYER

There’s no way I can concentrate. Not on school. Not on life. Not on anything, until I know.

The only chance I have of learning the truth is to go home, so that’s what I decide to do.

Ash, the truest friend that ever was, drops me at the train station in Boston and gives me the tightest hug before she sends me off.

When I arrive in Connecticut, I’m trying to formulate a plan.

And shockingly—as if by dark magic—Jamie O’Rourke appears on the platform at the New Haven train station. Apparently, we were on the same two-hour train from Boston but sitting in different passenger cars.

Seeing him creates an ache in my chest. Why can’t being sensible overpower everything else?