the dance,” I said. Brittany always had acrylics on; it was a stupid thing to remember, but I did. That finger was definitely hers, and it was rotting.
Would whoever killed her send me her body parts in pieces? Were they taunting me with this fucking finger? My mind whirled with the possibilities, and I felt myself growing unsteady on my feet—at least, until I felt two strong, firm hands grasp my upper arms and lend me their strength.
Vaughn.
He’d only glanced at the finger, but his attention was solely on me and how I was reacting. His dark eyes, a color so thick they were nearly black, bore into me, and I felt myself leaning into those strong arms, resting my cheek against his shoulder and burying my nose in the crook of his neck.
Vaughn said nothing, simply holding me against him, silent as he tried to soothe my worry.
Dante, on the other hand, asked, “Where the fuck was this?”
“My locker,” I spoke against Vaughn’s neck, turning my head to rest my other cheek on his shoulder so I could meet Dante’s wild blue eyes. I recognized the fire burning behind their azure hues: he wanted to hurt whoever put that finger in my locker, and he wanted to do it now.
“Who the fuck would put this in your locker?” he questioned, looking like he wanted to kill.
“Whoever killed her,” I answered, closing my eyes and wishing everything would miraculously get better.
“So that fucking finger is a fucking threat—” Hmm. Apparently the word fuck was also one of Dante’s most favorite words; it didn’t just belong to Jacob.
Vaughn spoke, his voice low, “Or…”
Dante stopped, staring at him, then at me, then at the way his arms were around me, and then back at him. “Or what?” He was too enraged at the finger to pay much attention to the jealousy I bet flared up within him.
“A warning,” Vaughn whispered, staring at me. “A promise that things can get worse. Somehow, they were able to set you up perfectly. It’s clear they have it out for you, and I bet they plan on making your life miserable until they decide to strike again.”
Something in my stomach twisted, and I really felt like bending over that toilet in the corner and throwing up. Not something I wanted to do in front of Dante and Vaughn, but then again, finding a finger in my locker wasn’t something I ever thought I’d do.
“Do you think it could be Archer?” I asked, remembering what Ollie had said. I’d told that man practically everything, so he knew Archer and Brittany’s relationship hadn’t been the most real thing around. If Archer thought I was the one who told the world about his father’s illegal secret, thereby destroying his family, it wasn’t too far-fetched to believe he’d want revenge.
I knew I said I wanted to get back at him for lying to me, but that was crossing a line. That wasn’t me. I wasn’t the one who told the world the truth about his father. Someone else did, but it wasn’t like he would believe my innocence.
Vaughn dropped his arms, pulling away to finally look at the finger. Dante moved closer to me, the smell of his worn leather jacket entering my nostrils. I wanted to bury my face in that jacket and never come up for air again; the world was too harsh, too cruel, anyway.
“Do I think Archer Vega could’ve killed Brittany, framed you, and sent you this finger as a warning?” Vaughn voiced my question, his dark eyes raking over the severed finger. It was another moment before he added a single word, a word that confused me to no end: “No.”
I blinked. All this time, I’d been steeling myself for the worst where Archer was concerned, and then Vaughn went and said he didn’t think he did this? What in the world was going on?
“No,” I repeated, clueless. “Why?” Or, perhaps I should’ve asked, why not? Because, let’s be honest, if it wasn’t Archer, that could only mean one thing…it was someone else, someone we weren’t expecting, and I wasn’t certain I could handle that.
“If you look at the finger, where it was cut off, it’s not a clean mark. Someone with Archer’s strength would’ve been able to cut through a finger like this easily,” Vaughn explained.
“Yeah, or maybe he wasn’t using the right tool for the job,” Dante spoke, the master of all things knives. He liked to stab, that much we all knew