Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

GREY

I don't have sexy lingerie.

I didn't think I'd need it because, like most sane twenty-four year old women, I didn't assume that my eighteen year old student was going to barge into my hospital room, demand my hand in marriage and then drive me to our honeymoon suite when I woke up this morning.

But maybe this is all my fault.

Maybe I should have anticipated that something this insane would happen.

Was there something I could have done to stop this stone from rolling down the hill and becoming a boulder?

I picture myself telling Zane no this morning.

Telling Cadey no when she brought in my wedding dress.

Telling Viola to put away her makeup brushes.

Calling mom and letting her talk me out of this madness.

No, I should have stopped myself that night.

The night I looked into Zane's hypnotic blue eyes and stepped into the darkness.

I'm an idiot.

A married idiot.

I can't believe I'm in this mess.

Oh, shut up with the whining. You complain way too much, babes.

My eyes widen, fluttering abruptly when I see Sloane sitting in the passenger seat next to the driver. Her blonde hair is pulled up in a ponytail and she's wearing the Redwood Prep blazer over a white blouse and a plaid red skirt.

I blink once.

Twice.

She's still there, smirking at me.

Perfectly preserved at sixteen years old.

"Sloane?" I whisper.

"What?" Zane says, glancing over at me.

"Huh?" I startle.

His eyes narrow slightly. "Are you okay?"

I nod and look through the window at the city roaring by. When Zane returns his attention to his phone, I peek at the front seat.

It's empty.

But it was empty since the car arrived, so why did I think Sloane was there?

I rub under my stitches, breathing hard.

I've always thought of Sloane. There hasn't been a single day when I haven't.

Since she was murdered, my life changed for the worst. I got panic attacks when I climbed into small spaces, imagining how Sloane must have felt when we buried her. I'd sometimes see blood on my hands and it would make me puke.

But most of those reactions stopped when I decided to investigate, to dedicate my life to finding her true killers.

Why are the hallucinations back now?

A side effect of the medicine? Head trauma? Stress?

Should I tell Zane to turn this car around and go back to the hospital so I can take some brain scans?

I lick my lips nervously, wondering if he'd agree. But what's the alternative? If I'm seeing hallucinations, I'm pretty sure it's a warning that I might pass out in bed later. Even if he's eager to get our night started, he won't be able to do anything to an unconscious body.

I hope.

Would he?

This side of Zane, this dangerous, rough side isn't one I'm familiar with. I don't really know what he's capable of.

You do know what he's capable of .

Oh my go?—

Sloane grins at me, the smile that makes her blue eyes crinkle at the corners. She used to hate those wrinkles, bawling about how her face was sagging before she turned twenty years old.

But I loved those laugh lines. Joy had etched itself into her face. It was a gift, so everyone could acknowledge that she was pure sunshine.

I wished I laughed as much as her.

Sloane laughs at me now. You should see your face.

We're talking about sex with my step-brother.

Don't play innocent. This isn't the first time you've slept together. And this time, it'll be so much better because you actually know each other.

If I'd known more about him that night, it never would have happened in the first place…

I stop and inhale.

Why am I arguing with someone who's not even there.

I am here.

No you're not .

Sloane undoes her seatbelt and twists fully around, looking into the backseat. Why do you keep acting like you don't want this as much as he does?

I don't.

You do.

I don't.

Says the girl who's worried about lingerie.

The lingerie's not for him. It's for my own confidence and what do you know anyway?

Sloane rolls her eyes mockingly.

She's trying to goad me.

Which isn't possible because she's not here.

"She's not here. She's not here. She's not here," I mumble under my breath.

"Tiger?" Zane's deep voice prompts me to open my eyes. He's undone his seatbelt and he's sitting closer to me now, inspecting me.

He thinks I'm crazy.

Am I crazy?

I think the informal term for ‘seeing the ghost of your best friend who was murdered in high school' is crazy.

I'm not a ghost. Sloane huffs as if offended. I just don't have a body.

That's literally the definition of a ghost! No, she's not real. She's not real.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this tonight," Zane says thoughtfully.

"No!" I blurt.

For some reason, he finds that funny. A smile flirts with the corner of his lips and it's so sexy that it's painful to look at.

There's a reason Zane Cross has no problems getting girls at Redwood.

I swallow hard. "I'd rather get this over with."

"Just what every husband wants to hear on his wedding night."

I gesture between us. "This isn't a wedding night."

"What do you call a bride," he points at me, "and groom"—he gestures to himself— "going off by themselves after they sign the papers?"

"A pre-mature divorce?"

"I'm hurt, tiger."

"Feel how you feel. I don't want our deal hanging over my head tomorrow."

"Are you dreading it that much?"

I can't tell if he's mocking me or if he's trying to get a feel for where my head is at. I try to gauge his expression. This smile of his… I don't think I've seen it before. Maybe because it's so small and unsure?

"I'll keep my end of the deal," I say harshly. "Worry about yourself."

"I'm not worried at all," Zane responds. His eyes slide down my body the way they did earlier in the hallway.

Desire grasps me by the throat and sends a pulse between my legs.

I press my thighs together and lift my chin.

"Just so we're clear," I face him and then glance at the driver before lowering my voice, "this is a one-time thing. I have no intentions of sharing a bed with you, even if we're married."

"Ah, tiger…" his smile is bitter, "I didn't think you'd make it easy for me anyway."

I frown.

He winks.

My heart beats in response, fast and eager.

I turn away, looking out the window again. At least Sloane disappeared. I don't think I could handle her smack talk and Zane's.

Sloane wasn't there in the first place.

Right.

The scenery outside my window changes, becoming more and more isolated. I sit up straight when I notice how far out of the city we've traveled. As far as I know, all the fancy hotels are downtown.

Unless we're driving all the way across the state to make sure no one sees us entering a hotel together, there's no reason we need to be on these back roads.

Before I can ask Zane where we're going, we pass a sign signaling a right turn for the state penitentiary.

A cold sweat drifts through me, getting stronger the closer we get to the frightening brick building. Barbed wires curl atop giant, barricaded fences. Guards roam the towers hiked high in the yard.

"This isn't a hotel," I say hesitantly, looking over at Zane.

He touches my mouth with the tip of his finger. "No, it's not."

"What's inside?"

"Your wedding gift."

"So soon?"

"Yeah, I got you something nice." He extends his hand to me. "I think you'll like it."

Anticipation builds in my blood.

I take his hand and climb out of the car.

Yes, I think I'll like it indeed.