“Mm-hmm. Something we don’t care about other than to stay the fuck away from them.” He grabs my arm and then glances back at Mr. Volli. “What is that creep up to?”
“Ordering Chinese food, apparently,” I say, my tone dry and laced with exasperation. But underneath, I’m a bundle of nerves and anticipation. The thought of actually seeing Parrish today, after all this time, fills my body with euphoria, like I’ve just smoked one of the joints Chasm and Parrish sneak when they think nobody’s looking.
My heart longs for more of those moments, with the pair of them laughing on the balcony while they smoke, taking turns to see if Tess might be coming. Except, this time, I’d like to be involved. I’d like Maxx to be involved. I hope that, whatever happens with the romance bits, there are no hard feelings and we’re all able to spend time together.
“Huh.” Chas shakes his head, but he doesn’t move me away from the doorway of Mr. Volli’s classroom. Chasm’s fingers on my arm draw my attention up to his face, and I subconsciously drop a hand to my neck. It’s a little sore, and I end up wincing slightly. He drops his gaze to my face and lifts a brow. “Too much, Little Sister?” he asks, and I glare at him.
“Pick a new nickname, please,” I murmur, and he chuckles darkly.
“It’s too funny to stop using. I can’t help myself. I got it from Parrish, you know? He called you that once or twice, and then made himself quit because he was crushing too hard. Some part of me wondered if it wouldn’t help put some distance between us, but …” Chasm shrugs his shoulders, his heated gaze sweeping me from head to toe. “You are most definitely not my little sister, whatever I call you.”
“You’re such a dick,” I mumble, but he just laughs and tousles my hair again. I slap his hand away just as Maxx comes around the corner, hands in the pockets of his jeans. “You called for backup?”
“He called for backup,” Maxx confirms, casting a look around the hall in that way people do when a place was once familiar but isn’t anymore. He shudders slightly and shakes his head. “I do not miss this place—not at all.”
X’s eyes slide past me and over to Mr. Volli. By this point, he knows everything there is to know about this sordid tale, so he’s aware of exactly who he’s looking at.
“What if we just dragged him into his office and put a knife to his throat?” Maxx muses in just such a way that it isn’t hard to imagine him driving a kid to drop out.
“The Slayer would message us and say bleed him dry, and then clean up the mess. K. Thanks.” I snort and shake my head. “Not even a possibility. If anyone needs a knife to their throat, it’s Justin. But I’ve been in close contact with the man; it won’t be easy.”
“You’re not killing anyone,” Chasm declares, careful to keep his voice low as he glances back at the rogue teacher. “If it has to be done, I’ll do it.”
“We can argue about that later,” Maxx says absently, as if he, too, is planning on absorbing the true darkness of this burden. The two of them can bicker as they please—I actually find it really cute—but if someone has to do the deed, I just know it’s going to be me. “Let’s go get Parrish back.”
I exhale and shake out my hands, but I’m ready.
I am fucking ready.
There are no cemeteries with a Medina, Washington address, so we try all the closest ones. When I made my list, I searched for cemeteries with older graves, mausoleums, or any other structures that might be able to house such a large room with stone walls.
After scratching off the last on our list, we’ve got nothing.
There are other cemeteries around, but they either didn’t fit the criteria I was looking for or they’re further away than I suspect Justin would hide Parrish. Specifically, he has a thing for the residents of Medina. That’s his vendetta; that’s his beef.
Then again, he’s called the Seattle Slayer for a reason. This is a huge metro area. Medina seems small sometimes, but it’s just once piece of a massive puzzle. What if I’m thinking too small, too narrow?
Rather than dwell on it, I push the idea of a cemetery aside and decide on the hotel next.
It’s a nice place, but thankfully, we’re wearing Whitehall Prep uniforms, so all the employees and guests just smile and nod, offer a patronizing slice of wisdom, or try to reminisce with us about their time at the academy.
“This is such a waste of time,” Chasm growls out as soon as we’ve extricated ourselves from an older gentleman regaling us with stories of his many academic achievements. I thought I might just pass away from sheer boredom. “There’s nothing here; the wine cellar is attached to the restaurant and open to the public.”
