Rage and Ruin by Jennifer L. Armentrout Page 0,107
dressed for training like I was. He was wearing jeans and a pale blue shirt that was almost the same shade of his eyes.
I swiveled on the stool, lowering one foot to the floor. “You’re going out?”
Zayne nodded as he went to the couch and grabbed his cell. “Got stuff to do. Won’t be back for a while.”
Questions formed on the tip of my tongue. I wanted to know what stuff, and I wanted to know why he hadn’t told me about the apartment before anyone else. I wanted to talk about what Gideon had discovered. I wanted to talk, so we—so I—could feel like we were a team and not whatever it was that we were now.
Except by the time I opened my mouth, he was already stepping into the elevator and the doors were sliding shut behind him and the other Wardens.
My lips peeled back as red-hot anger flooded my system. I reached for my phone, half-tempted to chuck it at the wall, but I managed to resist.
I spent the next several minutes pacing around the couch and then giving up and scavenging for something to eat. All we had was eggs and avocado and mayo.
“God,” I groaned, slamming the fridge door shut. If Zayne was out there eating anything that wasn’t advertised on a low-carb diet, I was going to seriously hurt him.
Stalking from the kitchen, I decided it was time to find one of those local grocery delivery services. I was going to order every fattening, high-carb food with literally no nutritional value whatsoever and stock the entire kitchen with the crap. His cupboards would be overflowing with potato chips and cheese puffs, frozen pizzas and bags of french fries would line his freezer, every type of soda would stock his fridge, and I was going to replace all his coconut oil with good old lard. Smiling to myself, I opened my laptop and did just that, and when the bags and bags of pure junk food arrived two hours later, I gleefully did what I’d planned.
I couldn’t wait to see Zayne’s face.
After plopping the sack of white bread on the counter near the stove, I headed to the couch, popping another salty slice of fried—
I drew up short as a familiar prickle of awareness darted down my spine. I turned toward the kitchen area, thinking it was Peanut.
What I saw was not my ghost roommate, who had been MIA since last night. I lowered the chips, the bag crinkling in my grip.
It was the spirit from the night Greene had been killed, standing in the same place I’d last seen him, behind the island and in front of the stove.
The spirit was back.
25
“You,” I said, curiosity replacing the wariness at seeing the spirit again in Zayne’s place.
“You can see me,” the spirit replied. “I have so many questions about how you can see me.”
Most did, so that wasn’t surprising. “I can see dead people. That’s all you need to know.”
The spirit cocked his head. “Like the kid in Sixth Sense?”
It had been ages since Jada made me watch the movie because she thought it would be funny. “Yeah, just like him. So, what’s your name?”
“What’s yours?” he queried.
I arched a brow as I tossed another chip into my mouth. “You followed me here and you haven’t picked up on my name?”
“I wasn’t following you,” he answered. And before I could question that, he went on, “I didn’t even mean to come here at first, but then I came back...” His words warbled as he faded out and came back in. “...and saw that really rude ghost. I need your help.”
They always needed help.
He faded out again, disappearing completely. I opened my mouth but gasped as he appeared directly in front of me.
“God.” I stumbled back against the couch as I threw my arm out. The bag slipped from my fingers, and little pieces of salty Heaven spilled across the floor. “My chips!”
“Sorry!” He reached out to grab my arm. That was no help, because his hand went right through it, leaving behind a wake of cold air.
I caught myself before I high-fived the floor with my face.
“Oh, damn. So sorry. Seriously.” He pulled his hand back and glanced at it with a frown. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You shouldn’t just poof in and out like that.” I knelt and scooped up what would probably also be my dinner. Five-second rule. “It’s freaky.”