Page 114 of The Ruthless Boys (Adamson All-Boys Academy 2)
The last thing I remember is Church tucking me into bed.
“What time is it?” I grumble, and he smiles over his shoulder at me.
“Time to get up,” he supplies which is totally unhelpful. Have I mentioned the phone service up here is shit? The Wi-fi is 1995 AOL dial-up slow, and the only clocks are downstairs in the main lodge. I don’t even know where my phone is, buried in my duffel somewhere.
With a sigh, I stand up and stretch my arms over my head.
I’m still wearing my yukata, so I force myself to my feet, heading down the hall to the bathroom. It’s quite literally around the corner, so Church can see me safely step inside and lock the door before he goes back to cleaning up our futons.
I wash my face, brush my teeth, and pee before heading back out. But as I open the door, I see something that I shouldn’t see and freeze, the thin crack in the door my only window into a seriously startling reveal.
There’s Mr. Murphy, a note in hand, a piece of tape stuck to his thumb. He licks his lower lip, closes his eyes, and whispers something under his breath before sticking a note to my door.
A note written in purple freaking pen.
He takes off down the hall with his knapsack in tow as I gape at the scene and then slide the door open the rest of the way. It’s so fucking early, he probably thought everyone was asleep.
But I saw.
And even though we sort of suspected him, I’m still in shock.
I can hardly believe it, sweet, cute Mr. Murphy writing out a note in purple pen and sticking it to my bedroom door. He really fucking is ‘Adam’, sending me all these horrible notes. For a brief moment, I entertain the idea that he’s one of the killers, but no. Ranger’s narrative of him trying to protect me by sending me away makes more sense.
But is he really the guy with the knife? And what the hell is he trying to protect me from anyway?
After I’m sure he’s gone, I head out of the bathroom and straight for our room where Church is waiting. It’s kind of weird though, that he closed the doors like that when he knew I was just down the hall in the bathroom. It doesn’t make sense.
I don’t even look at the note as I rip it off the door, intending on showing it to Church first.
But then I slide the door open, and the hot, sweet smell of copper hits me in the face.
My eyes widen, and my hand tightens on the edge of the shoji screen, nails digging into the wooden frame.
Church glances over at me, blond hair falling into his face, a smear of blood across his beautiful mouth. His expression is far-away, almost dream-like, and those long, elegant fingers of his are wrapped around the hilt of a blood-soaked knife.
A knife that’s protruding from Mr. Dave’s stomach.
No, no, not just any knife, but my knife, the hunting knife that Ranger gave me that I left in this very room.
“Charlotte,” Church whispers, his yukata sliding down his perfect shoulder. I back up a step. The sound of movement to my right draws my attention, and there, standing in the simple but beautiful hallways of the lodge is one of the killers, dressed in their usual uniform of black hoodie plus knife.
Shit.
Without thinking, I turn and take off down the hall, ignoring the shouts behind me. Church is one of the murderers?! I think, but it doesn’t make any sense. It can’t be. It just fucking can’t. Maybe … Mr. Dave is one of the murderers, and Church was just defending himself?
Guilt surges over me at the thought that I may have left him behind to fight by himself, but I can’t stop running or I’ll be the one bleeding from a knife wound next.
Footsteps pound behind me, chasing me away from the crowd and toward the side entrance that leads to the nude bathing pool. I scramble out, hoping to find other students outside, but the only person I see is another one of those hoodie-wearing creeps waiting for me near the gate.
Instead of going that direction, I veer to the left and use the narrow patch of garden that surrounds the hot spring to head up toward the woods. Maybe not the best idea in the world, but where else can I go? I’m surrounded by a wall made of thick logs, and I’m panting too hard to scream.
When I hit the upper pool, I slip and fall in, the warm water sucking me under before I thrust myself back to the surface, gasping for breath, my yukata heavy and wet, dragging me down as I scramble out the other side and into the trees. If I keep going, I should be able to circle around and find someone on the other side.
