Chapter 51

Chapter Fifty-One

GREY

The days are one big blur.

After leaving the hotel, I spend every waking hour going through files, crouched on a tattered, moldy carpet like a zombie, hands rifling through document after document.

My mission? To find an alternative to the evidence on the flash drive.

But there's nothing.

Not a scrap of evidence exists in the boxes we pilfered from Redwood Prep.

Today's day twelve of the search, and I wake up to an excruciating headache and belly pain.

"Ugh." I groan. Hand to my mouth, I stumble to the bathroom. The toilet is disgusting. There's mold around the rims and stains inside the bowl, but the pain makes it hard to be scornful.

I grip the edges and retch into it.

My stomach contracts, letting out bile and spit.

It's agony, but my body has nothing to expel. I can't remember the last time I ate properly.

"You don't look so good," Sloane says, tiptoeing into the bathroom. She's wearing her usual Redwood Prep skirt and blouse, but something's strange. Her boobs look far bigger than usual.

Ignoring her, I stumble into the main room.

The sun pushes through the ugly curtain shading the heavily barred window. The sound of fluttering paper gets louder with my stride. I look down and see documents stuck to my body, my sweat acting as an adhesive.

"When was the last time you ate?" Sloane demands.

I push through the files on the ground until I find a half-eaten chocolate bar.

There's an army of chocolate wrappers to my left. I'd limped to a vending machine two days ago, sensing that if I didn't put something in my body, I'd pass out. Which I did anyway. My phone died, and I'm pretty sure I was unconscious for a solid twelve hours.

"Grey, you need to stop before you kill yourself."

Stop? I can't stop.

Time is of the essence. There is nothing I can do to expose Sloane's killer. Nothing I can say that will bring down the yakuza.

A pebble like me can't take down a mountain.

But I've come too far to back down now.

"How many times do I have to tell you that you tried your best. You need to let it go now."

My gaze drops to her hands, which are free of blood. The violent image cleared up when I decided to take a sabbatical from Redwood, move into a motel in the middle of nowhere, and go through the files.

Hiding out here felt like I had a purpose again.

I felt like me again.

Before Zane, before The Kings, before the grand, sparkling world that they dragged me into, it was just like this.

Me.

My thirst for justice.

And a giant wall that I couldn't scale.

I'm farther along now than I ever was before. These files spell out The Grateful Project. As long as I can build an air-tight case with the evidence, I can point to the suspicions around Sloane's death and prove she didn't ‘deserve' to lose her life.

"Chocolate does not count as a balanced meal." Her sharp blue eyes narrow as I munch. "How much longer do you plan on staying here?"

I push my hands through the files. Where was I before I passed out?

"You've been ignoring me." Sloane stomps her foot in a huff. "You can't do this forever."

Ah here. I find a document that looks familiar.

A vein pops out in her forehead. "You are SO lucky I'm not a ghost, or I would have haunted Zane a long time ago and told him to come rescue you."

My eyes snap to hers.

"Oh, so mentioning Zane is all it takes for you to acknowledge me?"

"Shut up. He doesn't care about me." I grit my teeth. The video of Zane and not one, not two, but four girls gyrating on him was all over Jinx's app the last time I checked. He's clearly moved on and is living his best life.

Not that I noticed.

"Why are you lying? He DOES care about you. And you care so much about him you stopped eating. You think you're doing all this for me? Pfft. This is slow suicide, Grey. You're intentionally burying yourself in this stupid research so you don't have to think about your husband."

"He's not my husband," I mumble.

"Did you write divorce papers when I wasn't looking? Because as far as I know, you're still husband and wife."

I glare at her and then my shoulders sag. "You're not even real."

"I am real."

"You'll go away eventually."

"Is that how you'll handle this? Not by getting therapy or facing your fears or running back to the guy you love. You're just… going to WILL your mind back to health?"

Since Sloane is yammering in my ears, I reach for the motel keys. I'm out of water and chocolate. It's time to pay another trip to the vending machine.

"You are not seriously going to get more junk food, right now. Grey, please! Get it together!"

I slip the motel keys in my pocket and open the door, expecting to see the shabby view of the highway and a pool with a suspicious blood stain at the bottom.

Instead, someone is standing outside, hand poised to knock and the wind blowing shiny black hair against his regal cheekbones.

My eyes bug.

"Finn." I gasp.

"Oooh! " Sloane tosses her hair and smirks. "Well, hello there."

My fingers dig into the doorknob. "How did you know where I was?"

He lifts his phone and shows me a tracking app, the very one I installed on Zane's phone.

"Is this a bad time?" Finn gives me a once-over, his usually icy expression thawing into something like concern.

I smooth a hand over my curls. My appearance is, undoubtedly, different than the prim, composed Miss Jamieson he knows. I haven't washed my hair since the night I left the hotel. My clothes haven't been changed in days and I probably have vomit stains on my shirt.

But he's polite enough not to say anything.

"I'm fine. Did Zane tell you to find me?"

Finn shakes his head.

Disappointment comes rushing up and I force it back down. What did I expect? That the guy who went live as he was groped by four women in a nightclub would miss me—his much older teacher turned step-sister?

"Please tell Zane to delete the tracking app as we have nothing to do with each other and, frankly, it's creepy. Now, if that's all…"

I'm not hiding my grumpiness. The sun is blasting in my eyes and I feel weak after all the vomiting.

"Can I come in?" Finn asks.

"No."

"Yes."

I narrow my eyes at Sloane who's abandoned her post at my side to cuddle against Finn. She's looking up at him like a dog whose owner has a bone.

Pathetic.

"It'll just be a few minutes," Finn says.

"I was actually on my way out," I answer, trying not to let Sloane distract me.

"It's about The Grateful Project."

I give Finn a long, thoughtful look. "What's left to talk about? Zane destroyed the evidence. The Kings have nothing to do with me or my investigation anymore."

"That's actually… not true."

I look up at him, hearing something in his voice that gives me pause.

"What do you have to lose? It's not like you're getting anywhere with these documents anyway," Sloane points out.

Sighing heavily, I step aside and let the most mysterious member of The Kings slip into my motel room.