haphazardly on the floor recently. He looks as put together and controlled as always, except for the single button he missed right above his belly button. Something about that is so normal, so human, it makes my heart constrict.
Roman often seems almost inhuman—superhuman, really—and while I’m definitely drawn to his power and control, it’s this little thing that zaps me right in the heart.
His jaw clenches, a gesture I’m starting to recognize, and he shakes his head as he gazes down at the prone body in front of him. I’ve never seen him look this upset, and I want to go to him, but… that would be way too obvious. It would tip everyone off to our relationship, and that’s the last thing either of us needs.
Not that we have an actual relationship or anything.
“Oh fuck,” Cam mutters, biting his bottom lip. “That’s Trevor.”
My stomach dips as my gaze is drawn back to the body. There’s blood matting his hair, and it looks like he was hit on the head with something, like Jessica had been. But whatever hit him killed him.
Jesus.
Trevor was a first year. We had all our classes together, but I didn’t know him well. He was extroverted and funny, so he had a lot of friends already, and he was always nice to me, even though we weren’t close.
Who the hell would want to kill him? And does it have to do with those other students who were attacked? How could it not? That would be a hell of a coincidence.
I look over at Asher. “Do you think you could take off your brace? Just to calm everyone down and get them to clear out?”
He shakes his head fervently. “No. I don’t want to control people like that. And I don’t think it’s possible for us to take the cuffs off ourselves anyway.”
Yeah. I get that. I nod to let him know it’s okay before clearing my throat. Just like giving last call at the bar, right?
“Hey! Assholes!”
The whispered conversations cut off like someone hit the mute button, and everyone stops and stares at me. I think most of them are finally noticing that hey, there’s a girl here. At two in the morning. In the men’s dorm.
Guess that cat’s out of the bag. But I’ll worry about my illicit living situation later.
“It’s time to clear out,” I say, keeping the brash, authoritative tone in my voice. “Tip your waitresses, close out your tabs, yada yada yada. Unless you actually saw what happened here, you are persona non grata. So scram before I make you.”
Everyone looks at each other, a little abashed. Then they slowly start to clear out, shuffling back down the hall toward their respective dorm rooms.
Cam blinks at me. “Holy shit. That was awesome, Sin.”
I shrug. “I’m a bartender. I’m used to getting rid of unwelcome people.”
Dmitri looks vaguely impressed, but before I can call him out on it, someone else comes down the hall.
Oh shit, it’s Dean Hardwick.
The middle-aged man stops short when he sees us. He looks remarkably put together for two o’clock in the morning. I can’t imagine he was still awake at this hour, but nothing about his appearance suggests he just rolled out of bed either. Maybe that’s one of the requirements for becoming dean—the ability to appear polished at a moment’s notice.
“What are you all doing here?” he asks in his commanding voice.
“Heard a scream from this room,” Dmitri says, glaring. “Came to check it out.”
Hardwick’s gaze flicks to Roman and Trevor’s body, and for a second, I can see the stress written on the dean’s face plain as day. Then his expression hardens, and he squints at Dmitri. “Came to gawk, you mean. Just like the rest of your dorm-mates. Off you go.”
“We can’t!” I blurt out.
“And why not?”
“Hardwick,” Roman says, sounding tired and tense. “We have a problem.”
The dean switches his attention to Roman, brows drawing together. “You’re damn right we have a problem. You know what this looks like.”
“I didn’t kill him.”
“I’m not saying you did, but I can’t just ignore the fact that that’s what it looks like. I’ll have to do a full investigation on this, Roman. You know that.” Hardwick folds his arms. “Unless you can do that little trick of yours and prove it wasn’t you—”
“That’s the problem I’m referring to,” Roman interjects. “I can’t.”
“You can’t? Or you’re just pretending you can’t because you know he’ll say you killed him?”
“Sorry.” I raise my hand, glancing between the two of them