24. July 4th

24

July 4th

I am pushed against my locked bathroom door, sitting on the cool linoleum tile. The shower is running and steam is billowing into the space. My phone is in my hand, the screen slowly lighting up and coming to life.

The SIM card from the burner phone is in it.

I haven't returned to the marina to work, instead I spent the last few days recovering and back to the routine of watching movies with Darius in his room and waking up in the middle of the night to Axel. Except now Grayson is always there too. He isn't in the bed with me but resting on the ground, his attention focused on my form.

A sentinel I never asked for. A silent protector. A lonely man.

And when I wake in the morning, they're both gone.

I haven't had nearly enough time to myself, but today is the last day. I need to get any information I can before I have Carrie pick me up and kidnap me out of the O'Brien brothers' clutches.

I need to know if the dread that has burrowed itself so deeply into my skin is warranted. If the anxiety that has continued to build since Tripp and Auggie's death is leading me to something much more heinous than an accident.

Why would I need to call the sheriff about the location of the car that they died in?

Who better to cover up a murder than the sheriff himself? Was it for his son?

The phone is finally on. Notifications are pouring in.

There are four threads of text messages and a dozen calls in the call log.

I switch to the calls first. There's a few different numbers that I don't recognize. There's only one that I do.

Ice pierces my veins. Goosebumps pop up along my arms and legs.

Why is Julia's number on here? She isn't the last call, but a few weeks before the accident, this phone—my brother—tried to call her several times. She picked up for the first call, they had a short conversation, and then she wouldn't pick up again.

What is going on? That was the week she told me she would be skipping graduation and leaving town with her family on a trip. I didn't think anything at the time, but now? Is she even out of the country, or is she hiding from me? I hadn't thought to try to find her, but I also hadn't heard from her since she told me she was leaving.

She lives as far as she possibly can to still be in the city, but it seems I will be needing to make the trek to confirm if she lied to me.

My gut churns uneasily and I swallow down bile. Julia is the last person I have left, that I truly think of as a friend, but what if she was involved in my brother's death? Her sudden disappearance, which before I took as flightiness, has shifted to suspicious.

I swap to the texts.

There aren't any threads with Julia.

I click on the first one, but I don't recognize the number.

The phone clacks onto the bathroom tile as I drop it in shock. Thankfully, from my sitting position it doesn't shatter.

The message echoes around my brain. It flashes behind my eyes. My hands shake as I pick the phone back up.

My determination solidifies.

Unknown: I'M GOING TO KILL YOU

The message turns my stomach again. It's the only one on the thread.

It was sent the day before my brother and Tripp died.

Before I can think of what I am doing, I call the number. I don't know what I expect to happen, but relief pulsates through me as it goes straight to voicemail.

"The number you have called has been disconnected" comes through in a robotic voice.

My vision darkens. I try my best to carefully set the phone down and then I place my head on my knees.

Usually the position will settle me, but this time it has the opposite effect. It terrifies me.

Déjà vu slaps me in the face and I jerk to my feet.

"Sunday?" It's Darius's voice at the door.

Wrapped too fully inside my own swirling thoughts, I have no clue how long he has been there. I glance down at my phone.

There's one more thing I need to look at.

"I'll be out in a few," I promise him.

There isn't any noise to indicate his retreat, but none of the brothers have let themselves into my locked bathroom, yet .

I bend over and grab the fucking phone. I wish I had the ability to bury my head in the sand—as I'm beginning to suspect the O'Brien brothers are—but I don't.

I find what I am searching for.

The image gallery.

If you're going to take a polaroid, I imagine you might have gotten other photographic proof too. I brace myself.

But there was no need.

These pictures aren't of any girls in states of distress. They're of different men I recognize.

William. Maxwell. Rayden. Mark. They don't appear to be doing anything suspicious, they're all just holding cups in their hands.

The last three pictures are different.

Maxwell hands a girl a drink. Her hand is reaching up to grab it.

The yin and yang tattoo stares back at me.

The lighting is much better, but I still don't recognize the girl. She appears around my age, long chestnut hair, soft brown eyes, but with a hardened face.

Even through the picture I can tell she doesn't trust Maxwell. I wish I could scream at her, tell her to run, to trust those instincts. Based on what I can see, she appears to be wearing the same top as the night of the polaroid picture.

The next image is of William. He is handing his drink to another girl. I recognize her; she is beautiful with styled dirty blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a coy smile. She was a cheerleader in my grade. Tiffany. Maxwell's ex-girlfriend.

I flip to the last photo. This time it's of Mark. He is doing exactly what the other two men were; giving his cup to someone. Her kind smile, dark charcoal hair, and olive eyes are incredibly familiar. I grew up with her. I realize she most likely isn't guilty at all in the involvement of my brother and Tripp's death.

Julia might just be another victim.

The pictures on the phone are dated and I know with certainty it is correct. I remember Julia trying to get me to join her at this party. Her going alone. Me not hearing back from her for several days. Her shiftiness around the entire night. Eventually, I just stopped asking her about it and assumed she might have hooked up with someone. We still planned to live together in college, but our friendship had become more and more strained. It didn't help that I was carrying my own secrets about Tripp.

The party was last winter over our break.

What happened to you Julia?

"Get the fuck out here now! Or I am coming in!" Axel's voice pierces my thoughts. My suspicions.

I have just enough time to hide my phone in my bra before the door is pushing in and knocking into me.

"Get out!" I snarl the words and try to force it shut again. I am on edge and he is driving me just over the breaking point.

"I don't think I fucking will!" Axel shoves harder.

I'm not strong enough to stop him from coming inside the small room. I step back and brace myself.

He lets the door bounce against the wall as he pounces on me.

His large rough hands skate along my shorts, my pockets. He is looking for something.

I've had enough.

I jump back from him as best I can in the small space, but there he is again, invading my senses. Overwhelming me.

"Get away from me," I hiss and clench my fists.

"What are you hiding, Little Lamb?" His booming voice echoes off the linoleum. His emerald eyes darken, he bares his teeth in a snarl.

Axel lunges.

I evade him, only to trip on the shower curtain. He catches me at the last moment before I can thoroughly hurt myself. He somehow manages to roll us so that when we land in the bathtub my back is on his chest and he takes the brunt of the fall.

He lets out a garbled grunt.

I reach back and shut the water off before it can soak us any further.

I try to get off him, but he holds me in place. My ass is wedged against him. I can feel the outline of his muscles through his shirt on my back.

"Look what you did. You stupid, Little Lamb, you aren't supposed to run from the monsters," he breathes the words into my ear.

I attempt to squirm away, but one hand catches on my hip bone, the other across my chest. He restrains me as his cock hardens unmistakably against my ass.

"Yes, keep trying to escape. Do you feel what you're doing to me?" He rolls his hips up.

A wanton moan escapes my lips.

He nips at my ear. "You were made for me."

Before I can do anything else that will add to my pressing guilt and anxiety, Grayson rushes into the bathroom.

"Again?" The word leaves Grayson in both frustration and anger. He wastes no time in leaning over and wrenching me off of Axel. Grayson doesn't set me down until I am in my closet. "Change," he orders, dropping me and closing the door behind me.