Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Tonight, I just need him.
I need him so bad.
8 – Ciara
It’s late, and I have tossed and turned but I have been unable to get any sleep. The image of her eyes in my mind is haunting me. My body feels shaky and my chest is tight. I haven’t heard from Spike, and it’s breaking my heart. Addison called, she told me she let him know and that he was on his way, but that was hours ago. She offered to come and be with me, but I told her I’d rather get some rest.
Pushing to my feet, I stare out the window, and that’s when I notice a man standing by a dull light. A dull light that belongs to a motorcycle. My heart skips a beat, and I know it’s him. I don’t need to question it. Turning, I rush out of my room and out of the dorms, running past the front gates and coming to a stop at the man, standing in the darkness, a cigarette in his lips, his big body only illuminated by the light of his rumbling motorcycle.
Dropping the cigarette, he crushes it out with his boot and takes a few steps toward me, coming into the light at the front of the campus. The moment I see those familiar eyes and that rugged face, I crumble. I don’t mean to, it’s a reaction I can’t seem to control. My knees wobble and then my legs give out.
He’s there.
Like he always is.
He leans down, scooping me into his arms and then he strides toward the entrance to the dorm, not a single word said.
I curl my face into his chest, breathing in the faint leather smell masked by his cologne. He reaches for my pass and takes it from my hand, using it to unlock the front door and then he’s striding toward my room. I don’t care if anyone sees, I don’t even care if I get kicked out for having him here, I need him and nothing is going to take that from me right now.
Reaching my room, he shoves the door open and then moves toward the bed, lying down with me still in his arms. I clutch him, the tears flowing from my eyes as he holds onto me, his arms strong and safe. I cry until sobs wrack my body and only when I’ve exhausted all my tears do I finally stop and sniffle into his now tear-soaked chest. Pulling back, I look up at him with puffy red eyes and no doubt I look like a hot mess.
He reaches down, swiping a lone tear off my cheek as his eyes study me.
“They think I did it,” I croak.
“Nobody is goin’ to touch a hair on your head, I promise you that.”
His voice is crackly and rugged.
“It was horrible,” my voice trails off as it breaks again. “She was just staring at me, her eyes blank.”
“I’m sorry, baby.”
“Someone killed her. I don’t understand why ...”
“Not up to you to understand why, but I won’t let anyone come after you for it.”
“I just started here, now I’m going to be that girl.”
“Listen to me,” he growls, pulling us up into a sitting position, “who gives a fuck what other people think. The Ciara I know doesn’t go through life worryin’ about everyone else. They’ll find who did it, and someday soon, this will be a distant memory.”
He’s right, I know he’s right, but I’m having a hard time convincing my brain of that. I don’t want to be known as the girl who found the dead body, or worse, the girl who did it. I know people will think that—everyone saw me. The rumors will spread, and before I know it, I’ll be the topic of conversation.
That is unless I find out who actually did it.
An idea springs to my mind.
If I want to clear my name and keep going with this new change in my life, then I need to figure out who the hell killed Alyssa.
“Don’t like the look on your face right now,” Spike murmurs.
I glance at him. “I’m going to find who actually did it.”
His eyes flash. “For fuck’s sake, Tom Cat, that ain’t a good idea.”
“Why not? It’s better than walking around being labeled a killer.”
“You’re not a cop.”
“Neither are you, yet it doesn’t stop you from taking justice into your own hands.”
He scowls at me, but he can’t argue that I’m wrong.
“Can we not talk about this anymore?” I ask, reaching for him, my fingers trailing down his shirt. “You haven’t spoken to me for days, and I need a distraction.”
He growls low as my finger trails down his chest, over his abs and stops at the top of his jeans. “Probably because you’re a stubborn fuckin’ woman that doesn’t listen.”
I grin. “I could say the same about you.”