Page 44 of Unbroken Rules (Rules 3)

For the first time in my pathetic, miserable life, I actually have something to lose. Something to fight for.

Someone.

Winter: This class is killing me. Teacher keeps spitting. Poor guy in the front is drowning and I’m soaking wet in the third row. SEND HELP!

I laugh at that. Yes, laugh. I’m in the shadiest place on the planet, on the verge of possibly ruining the only source of happiness in my life, and I’m laughing. That’s what this girl does to me.

Haze: Did you just use the words soaking wet in a sentence about your teacher?

Instant reply.

Winter: Ew. Ew. Ew. Why did you have to say that?

Haze: You’re literally ASKING me to be dirty minded, Kingston.

Winter: How’s it going at home? Did you get into a fight with the guys yet?

Haze: Nope. But I don’t trust myself to stay with them all day. Went out to get some air.

Winter: That’s probably wise. Gotta get back to it. I’m so excited for our date tonight. I love youuuuu

Haze: I love you too. Now tell that teacher of yours no one can make you soaking wet but me.

Winter: STOP REMINDING ME.

I smile, walking until I stumble upon the darkest alley I’ve seen so far. I check the GPS on my

phone. This is it. I venture into the darkness, beginning my search for whatever it is that they left for me. Ricky was in a rush and hung up barely five seconds into the call. The idiot couldn’t just tell me “We left such thing in such place.” Nah, that would’ve been too easy.

I curse, scanning my surroundings thoroughly. A brick in the wall captures my attention. It’s lighter than the rest, older. It quickly becomes apparent that it wasn’t there originally. I narrow my eyes and step closer for a better look. Unsure, I tug on the brick with both hands. The complete absence of resistance surprises me. It easily comes off the wall, weighing on my palms. I focus on the hole in front of me. I bet drug dealers are very fond of this place.

I activate the flashlight on my phone. A bag of weed lies inside, untouched. I scoff. I knew it. Looks like someone didn’t come to get their stuff yet. When, at first sight, I don’t find anything else, I think that while this may be a transaction spot for many, it isn’t mine.

That’s when I see the tiny piece of paper rolled up into the corner. I’m careful not to tear it as I unfold the crumbled mess.

H, it reads on the back.

I turn it over. An address.

32 Holland Avenue.

I trap the piece of paper inside my fist, push the brick back into place, and hurry out of this bad area. As soon as I get inside Winter’s dad car—he’s been nice enough to let us keep it until I get a new one in two days—I type the address into Google. The results shock me.

A two-star motel.

But that’s not what freaks me out the most.

Thirty-five minutes away from you.

I begin to boil on the inside, disbelief and victory fighting for a spot in my chest. I can’t believe that there’s a chance he was this close. So damn close. He could’ve been anywhere in Canada, any-fucking-where, but this motel is here.

It’s a sign.

I start the engine and drive off, intending to go back to the apartment so I can pick Winter up from school in an hour. I’m mad, yet relieved, because, finally, for the first time in fucking forever, there’s hope for my sister.

And I’m getting closer to my revenge.

WINTER