from Breaker’s sweatshirt. “Or maybe it was yesterday? I don’t really know.” Her voice shakes as she recalls her memories.
Uncertainty and panic crawls across each of their faces and has me wondering if they see the same thing in mine.
I’m no stranger to blood. My fist has brutalized and maimed plenty of skin. Seeing this girl, though, a girl I’ve gone to school with all my life? This is different. Her body is mangled in a way even a monster like me can’t fathom.
“What is this?” Breaker leads Delaney to her best friend, who comforts her by holding her close, giving me no choice but to release Palmer’s hand. We walk a few steps away. “Marek, this isn’t related to . . .” His accusation is a hushed whisper, leaving Palmer and Delaney in the dark, where they belong.
“I don’t know.” I shrug, staring around the forest, doing everything I can not to look at Georgina, but I’m not surprised when I fail. “If it is, then what does it mean?”
Flashlights flutter in the depths of the trees, so we start yelling. It takes the responding officers a good ten minutes to find us even with our assistance. Until this point, I hadn’t realized how far in we had brought the girls.
The older officer steps around us to inspect the body. He kneels, using a pen to lift the curtain of blonde hair draping over her shoulders. His eyes shift to his partner, exchanging silent words. There’s a presence about him that is familiar.
“You’re students at Glass Heart Academy?” The officer stands, stepping over Georgina’s body. He inspects me, and I realize how I know him. “Wait, you’re Henry Lexington’s boy, aren’t you?”
“He’s my godfather, not my father.” My stern tone lets everyone within shouting distance hear the animosity I carry for that man.
“I thought you looked familiar.” He points at Georgina’s body. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, now, would you?”
“I don’t know what you’re getting at, but no, I don’t know shit about this.”
She’s alone out here even with company, and that bothers me.
“Seems to me there’s four teenagers in the deep set of the woods, and now we have a dead body to work with,” the officer accuses.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I step forward, narrowing my eyes at this asshole.
“Explain why you’re out here.” His tone is one I’ve heard so many times in the past by men in authority.
“Again, with the accusations.” I glare down at him, noticing how his hand inches to the pistol on his hip. “Feel free to arrest me, but I promise you, when you’re finished with this investigation, you’ll be left with nothing but an apology to four teenagers.”
“Turn around, son.” He circles his finger in front of my face.
This can’t actually be happening.
“Don’t call me son,” I snap back, knowing this will not end well, and yet, I turn, listening to this power-hungry douche’s commands.
“Marek.” The fear in Palmer’s voice catches me off guard. She steps between us, putting her back to my chest, protecting me. “You can’t arrest him, sir.”
“Seems to me he’s the only one mouthing off in the middle of a murder investigation, or did you forget about the dead girl at your feet?”
“No, I haven’t gotten her dead eyes out of my mind, and I don’t see that changing any time soon. But you can’t arrest him because”— she glances over her shoulder before turning her attention to the officer— “well, because not even thirty minutes ago, Marek had me bent over, burying himself inside of me. I’m no detective, but I assume murder is hard to commit when you’re dick deep between a pair of thighs.”
“Holy shit!” Breaker snickers under his breath, doing his best to stifle his surprise by covering his mouth. Delaney’s sentiment mirrors his.
“Ma’am, that is no alibi.” He attempts to step around Palmer, but she blocks him, offering her own wrists for the handcuffs.
“My grandfather, Judge Weston, may think it is.” She brushes her hand over this guy’s name tag. “Officer Franklin, we both know he’s a large contributor to your department, am I right? Us Westons are huge supporters of our officers. Your job isn’t easy, but you aren’t going to make it any simpler by accusing four innocent students of murdering a girl they’ve known their whole lives.”
“You’re Judge Weston’s granddaughter?” Officer Franklin asks, despair on the tip of his tongue.
The other officer steps into our circle of fun. His badge reads Striker. “Sir, this is