Chapter 123: Something About Raya
- DEX -
The wolf inside is pacing. Or the lion. Whatever predator hides beneath my skin with sharp claws and teeth and deadly power in its lithe form.
I can feel it more clearly than ever before. It wants to hunt Lawson and devour him—rip him limb from limb. The desire to do so has not gone away. If anything, it’s gotten stronger.
At the police station waiting for Raya to offer her written report of the events last night, the officers can sense it too I think. They keep eyeing me warily. I’m sitting patiently, arms resting on my legs, hands clasped, staring at the floor. It’s as still as I can be with all the hatred for Lawson burning bright and hot in my heart.
The journals were on his bed. What kind of sick shit did he do while reading them? What did he imagine doing to Raya? What would he have done to Raya if she hadn’t gotten away and locked herself in my bedroom? He followed her up there. What if I hadn’t had a lock on my door?
I groan and bury my face in my hands, trying to get the questions to stop. If they don’t, I’m going to lose it, and I’m going to go find Lawson and kill him. A timeout isn’t enough. A stern talking to isn’t enough. He needs to bleed.
"You alright there, buddy?" A squat balding police officer stops next to me with that familiar intimidating air of poised authority.
I’ve never had great interactions with law enforcement. I’ve never gotten into trouble, and my father’s wealth and name have always helped maintain a privileged level of respect, but it’s the dark features. That’s just the honest truth. There is a distrust that grates under their questions and lingering eyes. I suppose the way I dress under my status doesn’t help either. I could probably earn a lot more inherent trust if I dressed like my fucking brother.
"Yes, officer. Thank you." I push myself up to sit straight.
I wonder if I should tell him the woman I would die for has at least one stalker. My brother might be another one. That should be enough to make anyone understand the simmering fury in my veins right now.
"How did you get that?" He asks, pointing to my arm.
I didn’t bother throwing on a long sleeve shirt to cover the stitches. Maybe I should have.
"My girlfriend’s stalker showed up at my house last night," I tell him honestly. No point in making it a mystery and having him suspect me of something nefarious—just in case I do end up killing Lawson.
"Oh, was it the Kenneth Rider thing?" His whole demeanor changes. From one of suspicion to wild curiosity.
"I don’t know. I don’t know his name. Who is Kenneth Rider?"
"Wanted for a long time."
All thoughts of my dickhead brother fall like bricks from my mind, and one of them lodges in the center of my stomach. "What was he wanted for?"
"Assault. Rape. Murder." He says, listing them like they are merely bullet points on a file buried in a desk somewhere rather than threats that were hanging perilously over Raya’s head for who knows how long.
"Your girlfriend is lucky that you were there. He always stalked them first. We were close to catching him after the last one because the victim got away before he could kill her. Obviously he got spooked by that, because he disappeared for over a year. It will be on the news tonight."
Then he walks off, leaving my mouth hanging open and the brick fizzing in my stomach. All my limbs suddenly feel ice cold.
Shortly after that, Raya walks into the lobby looking ashen, and I can tell that she has also been told. I push off of the chair and grab her hand, kissing her forehead and leading her out of the building.
"Are you alright?" I ask once we are in the truck and it feels like I can breathe again. It’s her presence. Her light burns away all the dark thoughts.
"That guy... he wasn’t just a creep. He was a monster. They told me what he did. You could have been killed," she says, eyes glittering with tears when she finally meets mine. "In the building with the shotgun and then chasing him through the woods. You shouldn’t have risked that..."
"Raya," I stop her, grabbing her hand. "Nothing was going to happen to me. You are the one who was in danger. If there was only one reason for meeting you, this was it. To get you out of there."
Raya stares at the windshield—past the windshield. She is fidgeting with the locket around her neck, lost in her own dark thoughts.
"Why?" She mutters. "I don’t understand why. There are people who just live ordinary, everyday lives and never face anything like this. But it’s like everything is colliding around me in such a horrible way."
I squeeze her hand, running my thumb over the fingers that feel just as cold as mine.
"I know why," I tell her.
Her distant stare is withdrawn, and her eyes snap to mine.
"You’re like the sun. Everywhere you go, you’re illuminating the darkness around you whether you want to or not. It’s a gift and a curse."
Her eyebrows pinch. "How am I doing that?"
"You have a light and an innocence that others are drawn to."
"I’m not innocent," she shakes her head with a humorless laugh and stares off again. "Not even close."
"It’s your spirit. I feel it, too."
"But you’re not dark," she frowns.
I feel a corner of my lips turn up, wanting to contradict her. If she only knew the murderous thoughts I was just entertaining about my own brother.
"I asked about the accident," she sighs. "He is not a good man either."
"What did you learn?" I ask, another brick sinking into my stomach to add to the last.
"He is facing embezzlement charges in addition to the charges from the accident. That’s a whole other visit, though. The officer told me they would call me." She swallows roughly.
Shit. She’s right. This is an unbelievable amount of events to converge all at one time. Spread them out across a lifetime, and maybe they would be believable. But there is something about Raya.
Without even trying, the darkness seems to reveal itself to her. All she has to do is move into an apartment building or get an internship she’s always wanted or walk down the fucking street.
Or dream of me—the one with the mafia family.
"Listen," I tell her, pushing that disturbing thought away. "If you happen to come across any more bad guys with that beautiful bright light of yours, I have no problem taking care of them for you. Okay?"
I’m pretty sure that’s what I’m here for, after all. The purpose of this overpowering instinct to protect her feels like it’s making more sense with each new day that passes. But I didn’t protect her from the accident. And I wasn’t there when Lawson showed up at the house. If I’m going to protect her like I’m meant to, I’m going to have to do better in the future.
"Thank you," she says quietly.
"At least this is over with," I sigh, starting the truck and pulling out of the station parking lot. "Do you want anything before we head back?"
"No, I’m okay."
"How about a strawberry croissant?"
The suggestion breaks her out of the silent reverie she’s in, and I’m rewarded with a soft laugh. "You ARE trying to fatten me up."
"Only to eat you later," I smile. It probably looks wicked, because that’s how it feels curving across my face. There is a wicked desire for her, I admit. It’s impossible to hide. It paces right alongside the desire to make my brother bleed.
It’s dark in the truck, but I imagine Raya’s cheeks coloring, and I lift a hand to her cheek to check. It’s warm beneath my touch, and she turns into it—kissing my palm and sending a spark straight to my heart that almost takes my breath away.
"I want to burn them," she murmurs. "I want to burn the journals... please? I don’t want to reenact what’s written on those pages. They were beautiful, but... their mystery tormented me. It was like I was suffocating, unable to get away. Unable to resist being pulled back into..."
Instead of going on, she wets her lips and casts her eyes out into the night with a heavy sigh.
"Okay." My fingers run along the underside of her chin before returning to the steering wheel. It was wrong of me to suggest without considering her feelings. All I want is to possess what my brother stole. But we don’t need a script to go by.
"Strawberry croissants by the fire sounds nice. Unless you want something else of course."
"We could make s’mores," she suggests with a chuckle.
"A s’mores journal burning ritual," I nod. "I like it."
