Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
I held onto that conviction as I turned off the main road. Between Bedlam and a town three hours to the east, a lake cut through the hills. Someone took advantage of that years ago and built luxury cabins along the piers and scenic views. It’d be nice for the pledges if they were coming to this spot to bond, but I severely doubted anything so tame was happening.
I turned the final corner, rumbling down to the cabin on the end where I parked at the end of the line of cars. The place was gorgeous—proving someone in this fraternity had money. A beautiful gray stone paradise with a wraparound porch, sloped roof, and three floors. I walked past the tree line and spotted something down by the lake.
Two rows of pledges doing jumping jacks outside on a chilly morning. If I was hearing what they were shouting correctly, they were on number eighty-two.
Bonding, my ass.
I squinted, but couldn’t make out any faces. Certainly couldn’t tell if who I was looking for was down there. Steeling myself, I approached the house. Climbing the steps, I saw a couple of sisters through the window—kicking back playing a card game and sipping beers in front of a fire. One of them was Amy.
I knocked on the window, waving when she looked up. Amy pulled a face—looking around like she was making sure she wasn’t the one in the wrong place. She got off the couch and the door swung open.
“Rainey? What are you doing here?”
“Hey, Amy. Sorry to crash. Paris told me I could find you guys here.”
She didn’t move from her spot in the entrance—blocking the entrance. “Why did you need to find us? What’s going on?”
“Cairo and the guys were arrested for the Ruckus Night murder.”
Her eyes bugged. “Wait, what? Arrested? Paris must be freaking out. And you,” she cried. “Are you okay? What do we do?”
“Officer Davidson”—I would never call that man sheriff—“said they have evidence and witnesses, but it’s not true, Amy. They didn’t do anything. The murder went viral and threw a spotlight on the town and Ruckus Royale. We think Davidson is getting pressure from above him to solve the case and prove we’re not a lawless outpost. Trouble is he’s an idiot who’d rather snatch up the convenient suspects, and now Sheriff Sharpe isn’t here to stop him.”
She bobbed her head. “Yeah, yeah, of course. Anyone with sense knows they wouldn’t kill a man in front of hundreds of witnesses and their camera phones. What is Davidson thinking?”
“I don’t know, but I won’t let them go down for this. I was thinking there was another witness that night who can tell the police what she saw, and what she didn’t see—which is Cairo burying a gas tank under Scott Cavendish.”
Amy caught on immediately. “Oooh, good idea. Come in, she’s upstairs.”
Just like that, I was in. But that was the easy part. The part where I get her away from all the witnesses is where it gets hard.
Amy took me up a grand staircase to the third floor. I skimmed the fancy sconces, plush runner rug, and expensive hardwood floors. Granted I didn’t know anything about her past, but this bitch certainly wasn’t living the hard life now. What reason did she have to run around with the Black Letter Crew? Was all this really about money? Did the last of my family have to die for a couple of shiny rocks in the dirt?
Amy pushed open a door on the end, surprising the person teasing her already perfect hair in the mirror. Quinn locked onto my reflection and scowled.
“What are you doing here? What are you both doing here?”
“Quinn, you’re not going to believe—”
“Thanks, Amy,” I cut in. “Do you mind giving us a minute?”
“Sure, no problem. I’ve got to call Paris anyway. See if she needs my dad.”
Amy’s dad was a lawyer, and would definitely come in handy right now, but—
He won’t do as much as you.
Quinn cocked a brow when I closed us in. “What is this? What could you possibly have to say to me?”
“I need your help.”
“My help?” She laughed. “What the fuck are you talking about? Why would I help you?”
“Quinn, I know we’ve gotten into it in the past, but I never had a problem with you.” I dropped my voice, eyes growing big and pleading. “I only snapped back because you kept coming for me. I never stole the Bedlam Boys away from you. They stole me. After that whole thing with embarrassing Jacques in class, they gave me a choice between being their pet, or their target.”
Rolling her eyes, she finally faced me. “Again. What does that have to do with me?”
Quinn Cunningham was beauty itself. Soft, pouty lips. Skin that never knew a blemish. Perfect figure and the cute, designer clothes to drape it in. It was hard to believe the outside was just a pretty wrapper for a dead, shriveled-up soul.