Page 86 of The Cruelest Chaos

I should go back upstairs.

But as I let my fingers hang on the lever, the door creaks open.

It wasn’t shut all the way.

Warm air rushes out from beneath the door and I suck in a breath, my scalp prickling, stomach quivering. It’s warm in there.

Why?

Slowly, I pull the door open all the way and stare out into nothing but darkness. I blink a few times, glancing over my shoulder. Listening. Waiting for him to wake up, realize I’m not in bed and come find me.

To ask me what the fuck I’m doing.

The house is silent.

I turn back toward the open door, one hand still on the handle as I peer down into the darkness and realize what I’m looking at.

Steps.

It is the basement.

I blow out a breath, almost amused with myself. But something doesn’t seem right. It’s so damn warm. Shouldn’t basements be cold? Maybe this is a rich boy thing; heated basements. I’ve never lived in a house with a basement.

Maybe they’re always warm.

Stop being ridiculous, my brain says.Shut the door and go back upstairs.

But he doesn’t want to share secrets. He killed his brother and won’t tell me a damn thing about it. He’s always so angry. Always so…anxious. On edge. He has enemies and his friends have enemies and I saved him from getting hit with a damn baseball bat and he saved me from being attacked by a grown-ass man but he won’t tell me anything.

Basements always have secrets in the movies, right?And girls that go down in them alone in the dark always die.

I take a breath.

And I go down anyway.

When I wake up,she’s gone.

I sit up, flinging the sheets back as if she might be hidden in the covers. The sun is up, I can see from the small amount of light that trickles in from the blackout curtains. That used to drive me nuts. Blackout should mean no light comes in, but apparently, unless you suction the curtains to the damn window, some light will always find its way in.

And the light is telling me Ella isn’t in our room.

Ourroom.

I need to get a hold of myself.

The bathroom door is wide open, and she’s not in there either. The closet is closed, but there’s no light from underneath it.

I get out of bed, scrub a hand over my face.

She’s probably downstairs sneaking cookies. The thought makes me smile despite myself. Despite the warnings from the 6. From my brothers.

Fuck them.

I brush my teeth, pull on a black t-shirt and grey basketball shorts and then I head down the stairs, calling her name.

She doesn’t respond, but it doesn’t take me long to find her.

She’s sitting in the living room, perfectly still, her hair up in a bun, feet on the floor, a faraway look on her face. She’s got her hands clasped together, elbows on her knees.