The Raven Four Books 1-3 - Jessica Sorensen Page 0,67

the birds fly away.

Seriously, what the actual fuck?

And what in the hell is my uncle burning in the middle of the night? Whatever it is, it can’t be good. Why else would anyone burn something in the middle of the night?

My best bet is that it might be some incriminating evidence against him; proof that he’s been stealing drugs from raids. I’m not sure, though.

I stand by the window for a bit, watching as he remains in front of the flames. Eventually, he puts the fire out by shoveling dirt onto it. Then he starts back toward the house.

I hunker down to avoid being seen. Then, when I hear the front door creak open, I crawl back toward my bed and climb in. And it’s a good thing I do, too.

Moments later, my bedroom door is opened.

I keep my eyes shut, but I can sense someone looking at me. It has to be my uncle, but what the hell is he doing?

My side aches as worry creeps through me. What if he’s contemplating cutting me again?

Eventually, though, he leaves my room.

I let out a shaky breath.

And they say I’m the weirdo. I’m not the one creeping around at night, burning things in the yard in the middle of the night with an audience, and peeping in on people.

But what the hell was he burning? And who were those people watching him? I really wish I knew. The only answer probably lies in the ashes now, resting in the dirt.

Eighteen

Hunter

I woke up this morning with a major headache, and the strangest feeling I dreamt about something important last night. I can’t remember what, though. And when I woke up, I had the strangest feeling that someone was watching me from the shadows of my room, but when I got up and checked, no one was around.

That’s not too weird for me. I haven’t been able to remember my dreams for years now, and I often wake up with a paranoid feeling that I’m not alone. I told a therapist about it once, and he tried to come up with a reason why. He never did give me a diagnosis, and I stopped going to him after only a few sessions, after he tried to convince me that I used sex and drugs as a coping mechanism for the bad shit that has happened to me. I mean, he was totally right, but he also tried to convince me that I needed to stop doing drugs and having sex, something I never plan on doing. Doing so means facing the fuckedupness that is my past, and again, I can’t do that.

In fact, I have a routine to make sure that that never happens. I get up in the morning and cut a few lines. Then I suck them up and let them numb that fuckedupness right out of me. It’s only a temporary solution, though, which is why, at the end of the day, I’ll hook up with someone. Only then will I feel in control over my life again. Only then will I feel free of my past. Only then will I feel free of everyone. Everyone who ruined me.

By the time I leave my bedroom, I’m feeling pretty damn good as I head toward the workout room where I can hear someone beating the hell out of a punching bag. My bet is it’s Zay.

“What the hell’s your deal this morning?” I ask as I enter the room, watching as he beats the shit out of the punching bag. “You look stressed as fuck. And you never look stressed when you’re hitting things.” My lips quirk as I sit down on a stool and cross my arms. “It’s why everyone thinks you’re a psychopath.”

“That’s because I am.” He takes a swing at the bag again. Then he tears off his gloves off and grabs a bottle of water from the mini-fridge.

I grin musingly. “Aren’t we all psychopaths?”

“Yeah, we are,” he agrees, taking long gulp of water.

I lean forward and rest my arms on my knees. “But, for reals, why’re you so worked up this morning? Is it because of that thing you agreed to do to Raven last night?” Again, as I utter the words aloud, I feel the briefest flicker of guilt.

He shakes his head. “No.”

I eye him over, knowing he’s lying by how tense he is. “Since when do we lie to each other, man?”

“I’m not lying.” He puts the cap back on the water bottle then heads