Skank: A Dark College Bully Romance (Hillcrest University Book 3)

by Candace Wondrak

  I wasn’t going to confess my love for her in front of him, but that was as close as I’d get.

  He didn’t say outright that he believed me, but his posture relaxed somewhat. “She’s everything to me, too,” Declan whispered, his gaze falling to the concrete sidewalk below. “They won’t tell me her condition, because I’m not family, and they’ll only let me see her once she’s in her own room.” He let out a sigh. “Who the hell knows when that’s going to be.”

  While he went on and on, I was lost in my own head.

  Ash was hit by a car? Ash was hurt? I didn’t want to believe it, but I knew, just by what he said and how he said it—not to mention the way he was acting—it was true. This wasn’t some prank, a mean joke. This wasn’t Ash getting back at me for my attempt at punishing her. This was so much worse.

  This was real.

  This was really happening.

  This was…my mind reeled, and I stumbled back, moving to a nearby bench, needing to sit down. I stared up at the sky, its color mostly blue now with the rising sun. I hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep last night, but I wasn’t tired. I had the feeling I wouldn’t be tired for a long, long time.

  Declan watched me for a moment, but within a minute, he was sitting down beside me, though there was at least a foot between us on the bench. “I have no idea if she’s going to be okay,” he muttered, his dejection obvious. “She could be fighting for her life in there, just like my brother, and I can’t be by her side.”

  Declan might lose two people he cared about tonight. No wonder he put on a brave front. He had nothing left to lose at this point. Me? Ash was the only good thing in my life right now. If I lost her…what the hell would I do? What would I have? Would life even be worth living at that point?

  “Do you think it was an accident?” I spoke, glancing at him. “Or do you think it was on purpose?” In this world, so close to Hillcrest, I knew most things didn’t happen accidentally—and really, you never knew what someone was capable of until you pushed them to their breaking point.

  Declan’s breaking point was losing both Ash and his brother. Mine? Mine was Ash. My breaking point was already reached. Someone had hurt Ash, and whether or not it was done purposefully didn’t matter. I was going to find them, and I was going to make them rue the very day they were born.

  I would be a loose cannon. I would be whatever I had to be to find out who’d hurt her, and I would take great pleasure in making their life miserable and much shorter than mother nature had intended.

  Kill.

  I would kill for Ash, to protect her, to give her injury retribution, without a doubt.

  Declan said, “I don’t know.” He ran a hand over his forearm absentmindedly, lost in his own head. I remembered seeing a bandage on it when I’d tried to talk to Ash and Will intercepted me. “With everything else that’s happened…the attack on me, now Will…” He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “It wouldn’t surprise me if it was on purpose.”

  I did not like hearing that. Not one fucking bit. The blood in my veins continued to boil, and I wondered how much more I could take before I broke. Someone needed payback; the only question right now was who?

  Declan had called me, wanting to see me in person before he asked me about what happened to Ash, meaning he suspected me of doing it, at first. He’d wanted a reaction from me, but the one he got he wasn’t expecting. He probably thought I did it, and that he could turn me over to the cops who’d be questioning Ash, assuming she made it through this.

  Made it through this.

  Like she might die. Like, maybe, in twenty-four hours, she’d be nothing but a memory. If Ash left this world, there would truly be nothing left worth living for. A dramatic thought some people might laugh at, but me? For me that statement would hold true. I needed her.

  “I’m going to find whoever did this,” I said, surprising myself by speaking out loud. “I’m going to find them and I’m going to…” I trailed off, knowing it was probably best to not go into specifics in front of Declan. He didn’t grow up in the family; he didn’t know the misery everyone in the family was capable of, what we were bred to do.

  Declan, though, shocked me by saying, “If you do, let me know. I’ll help.”

  I met his eyes, flabbergasted. Out of all the things I expected to come flying out of his mouth, saying he’d help me wasn’t one of them. Ash must’ve inspired something inside Declan, for he was never like this about Sabrina. When it came to his dead ex-girlfriend, he was always the meek one, the one who was more than content with standing on the sidelines.

  It was then, after hearing him say that, after meeting his unapologetic, serious stare, that I realized something.

  He loved her.

  Declan loved Ash, and so did I. We would each do our best to protect her, but it was more than clear divided, we weren’t enough. I didn’t like the thought of Declan caring for Ash, but if I had to choose between him loving her and her dying, I would obviously choose the former. I wasn’t that selfish. I wasn’t one of the if-I-can’t-have-her-no-one-can types. I would much rather her live than lose her.

  And if someone was out there, intent on hurting her, I’d flip the fucking tables and shove a whole lot of hurt their way.

  Chapter Four – Ash

  I stumbled over my feet, glancing down at myself, at my clothes, before heading into the gas station. It was the exact kind of gas station you’d expect to find in the middle of this thick, dense forest, the kind of gas station you saw in horror movies. The ones you shouted at the screen at the main character he’s in on it!

  I, however, had no choice. And after what I’d seen at the cabin, after what Ray almost made me do… I needed a phone.

  I threw a quick glance all around, rubbing my cheek as I checked to see whether or not this place had stepped into the twenty-first century and installed cameras. I saw no ever-watchful cameras nearby, nor did I see any once I stepped inside.

  It was an old, dingy gas station. The kind that only had two pumps outside, and a whole lot of old-looking food inside. I wouldn’t trust anything on these shelves, and yet my stomach still burned with a need to eat.

  No. I’d ask for a phone first, then make two calls.

  An old man sat behind the counter, a thick wad of chewing tobacco in his mouth. His lower lip bulged, and I tried my best not to stare at it, nor at the mole on the tip of his nose as I headed toward him. My ankle hurt a bit, now that I’d slowed my pace, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d hurt it when I fell near the graves.

  Ray…what have you done?

  The old man, who must’ve been at least sixty or seventy years old, dropped his wrinkly gaze to my shirt, slowly bringing it back up. He said nothing, waiting for me to speak first.

  I swallowed the nausea running through my system before asking, “Can I use your phone?”

  Again, he stared at my shirt, nodding only once before pointing behind him, at a yellow corded phone hanging on the wall.

  Why the hell wouldn’t he stop staring at my shirt? It was clean, minus the dirt.

  I tossed him a grateful expression, even though a part of me wanted to tell him off. I limped to the phone, my ankle growing worse and worse as the time wore on, grabbing it off its holder and dialing a familiar number.

  First, my friend. My one, true friend who would pick me up and ask no questions.

  It rang a few times before Kelsey picked up, “Hello?” She sounded unsure, probably because this wasn’t a number she recognized. “Who is this?” She didn’t hesitate to ask, and I found myself smiling softly at the sound of her voice. So familiar, the one calming thing in a sea of horrors.

  “It’s me,” I said, not wanting to speak my name in front of the old man. If the shit hit the fan, I didn’t want them to be able to find me. Everything I was about to do, I wanted it anonymous. They could track the phone call, but by the time they thought to, I’d be long gone. “I need you to come pick me up.”

  Kelsey knew I was spending the wee
kend with my boyfriend, although she didn’t know who he was. She must’ve known my plead meant my weekend was not going how I thought it would. “Sure. Where are you?”

  I looked at the old man, asking, “What’s the address here?”

  He begrudgingly told me, once again eyeing up my clothes. Why? Why did he keep staring at me like I was some freak? It was starting to tick me off…

  No. No, I wasn’t mad. I was just…freaked out. The old man probably just wondered what hole I’d crawled out of. I bet I smelled, too. Sweated off my deodorant after running so much.

  I repeated it to Kelsey, and then added in a whisper, “I’m going to be a few miles down, though. Honk your horn twice when you get here, and I’ll come out.” I couldn’t linger here after making the second call. And if Ray showed up…

  Fuck. No, no I couldn’t stay here. My life depended on it. I had to be smart about this, AKA not be like the women in most horror movies and thrillers. I needed to be intelligent, smart, and brave—but not to the point of stupidity.

  Hell. I was eighteen years old. I didn’t want to die.

  “I’m getting in my car now,” Kelsey said, not asking me any questions. We’d been friends since elementary; we trusted each other implicitly. She wouldn’t ask me why I needed her, or why I wasn’t going to be at the address I’d given her. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  We spoke our goodbyes before hanging up. My stomach was in knots as I glanced at the old man, still watching me, curious. “One more call,” I whispered, giving him a smile I hoped didn’t freak him out more.

  God, this was officially the worst day ever. I really hoped I’d make it through this…

  This time, the number I dialed only had three numbers. 9-1-1. Never thought I’d have to call it, but then again, my life wasn’t going how I thought it would, either. This…the choices I’d made brought myself here. This was my fault. Being here was my fault.

  “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” a female voice spoke on the other line, and I blinked, my eyes dry. Shock, or something. Maybe it was my mind shutting down after witnessing what I did, after seeing what I did…after realizing my boyfriend was a monster of epic proportions.

  “I’d like to report a crime,” I said, watching out of the corner of my eyes the old man straighten his back. I noticed the shotgun he had under the counter, and his itchy fingers, almost as if he was going to shoot me. I wasn’t the criminal here. The man I was running from was.

  “What crime?” the operator asked, and I steeled myself for what I was about to say.

  “My boyfriend,” I said, “Ray Ruiz, he has a cabin, and there were bodies. I saw one.” At that, my voice cracked, and the old man working the station finally realized I wasn’t the criminal. He peered outside the dirty window, and I prayed with my whole heart he wasn’t friends with Ray. Such a cliched thing if he was.

  “Are you at the cabin now? Are you safe?”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head as if she could see me. “I ran…but yes, I’m safe.”

  “Where are you now?” she asked.

  “I’d rather not say,” I said. “Just send someone to the cabin.” I barely knew the cabin’s address, mostly because I’d pressed Ray on it. I wanted to Google it before we came. I wanted to know if it was a cabin in the woods that had plumbing or the kind that still had an outhouse.

  The woman on the other line paused. “I’ve notified dispatch, but I need your location. Do you believe your boyfriend is coming after you?”

  I said nothing more, hanging up the phone with a quick jerk of my hand. I looked to the old man, saying nothing as I left the gas station. If he was one of Ray’s friends, I supposed I was shit out of luck no matter what I did next. And if he wasn’t…then I just might have a chance.

  I could do this. I could live through this horrible, horrific day of nightmares.

  Chapter Five – Sawyer

  Pain. A raging, pounding headache was what greeted me the next day. I went to grab it, a stupid bodily response that, in the end, wouldn’t help the pain threatening to explode my brain, but I did it anyway.

  Or I tried to.

  My wrist got caught on something hard and metal, and I couldn’t touch my head. I struggled to open my eyes, my eyelids feeling like ten thousand pounds each. They would not open. I went to move my other hand, but that also was caught on the same metal thing the other one was.

  What the fuck?

  Finally, my eyes opened, though they struggled to do so. I found myself in bed, my legs tangled in my sheets, with my arms held over my head…chained to the fucking bedposts. What in the fucking fuck was this?

  I pulled at my wrists, desperately trying to ignore the headache shattering the insides of my skull. No matter how strongly or quickly I yanked, neither wrist would budge. These cuffs were something else, cuffs I’d never seen before. My head felt a little crusty, and I sought to remember the events of last night.

  I threw a party, wanting to get my mind off the one bitch who refused to leave it. I drowned myself in alcohol, because what the hell else was I supposed to do, was too busy trying to find more booze instead of focusing on getting laid—which was so unlike me. That was the Sawyer from a year ago, and I thought I’d changed.

  Maybe not. Maybe, deep down, I hadn’t changed at all. Sabrina was gone, so what was the point? After all, I still had that drawer in the kitchen…

  I let out a moan, trying to remember the events that led me here, chained to my own bed, with shit in my hair. I swore, if my hair was crusted with another dude’s cum, I was going to flip. I didn’t mind the occasional threesome, but I stopped when swords were about to cross. Not my thing.

  But drunk me and rational me were two very different people, two people who rarely saw eye-to-eye on things, including threesomes.

  I had the vaguest memory of a girl straddling me, her lips near my ear, tickling me with her breath, but it was hard to recall that, let alone try to picture the girl’s face. I was all for a dominant chick every once in a while, but this seemed extreme. Plus, if she left me chained to my own damn bed, how the hell was I supposed to get out?

  “Hello?” I called out, hoping the chick was in the bathroom, or downstairs. Something. Judging from the light flooding the window, it was early morning. Too early for a dude with a hangover to be up, but here I was: awake with a raging headache and my body an ungodly sort of uncomfortable.

  I yanked at the chains again. What the fuck? This was so uncool. I couldn’t even reach for a blanket to cover my head with and block the damn light. I was stuck in this misery until someone stumbled upon me—and who knew when that would be, after my fallout with Travis. Travis was the only one who came to me when it wasn’t a party night. Now…fuck, I royally screwed myself over on this one, didn’t I?

  Images of Ash flashed in my head, and I fought to push them away, but slowly my hungover mind put the pieces together. Ash had come to the party last night, after most of the partygoers had left. Ash had brought me upstairs, claiming she wanted to talk. Ash was the reason I was like this.

  Fucking Ash.

  I pulled at the chains around my wrists again, swearing to myself I’d get her back. I didn’t know how I’d do it, but I would. I’d get back at her, at Declan, at Travis for putting his nose in where it didn’t belong—I’d show them all, get back at every single one of them. I was the one who wanted to use Ash against Declan, and then Declan had to go and pull her to his side…and Travis had to fall in love with her.

  Why the fuck didn’t things go how I wanted? Why the fuck couldn’t I ever get what I wanted? Me, Sawyer Salvatore, always the one who got stiffed. I got fucked, and not in the good way. Not in the fun way. My life was just one shitty day after another. I’d never live up to my parents’ expectations, never make Sabrina’s memory proud.

  I was a fuck-up. I was the worst fuck-up in existence. I was…a mess, and I didn’t give a shit who knew it.

  God, I wanted another drink.

  My head rested ba
ck on the pillow, and my eyes stared at the ceiling above me. I was content to spend my whole fucking day here—that, or work on gathering my strength and busting the frame of my bed—but after a long while, I heard the front door open and slam shut. I thought about asking who it was, but a part of me didn’t even care. I just wanted off my bed, in the shower to wash away whatever was crusty in my hair, and another drink.

  Hmm. Maybe I’d go for a drink first. Priorities, you know.

  It was only a minute later when someone stood in the doorway to my bedroom. Through bloodshot eyes, I spotted it was the one person I didn’t think would ever show his face again in my house, mostly because I’d kicked him out.

  Travis stood, smoking a cigarette even though he knew I hated it when he smoked inside my house. He wore a dark shirt, short-sleeved to reveal the tattoos lining his arms. He looked tired, though I couldn’t imagine why. There was no way his night was as filled with booze as mine was, and when you were drunk and blacked out, you never felt like you got a restful night’s sleep afterwards.

  “You’ve looked better” was all Travis said, eyeing me up like I was a show in the circus, something to be gawked at and judged.

  “What the fuck are you here for?” I asked, wincing at the sound of my voice. I’d spoken too loudly. I needed to roll over and go back to sleep. Although, with my hands caught like this, rolling over wasn’t possible. “Never mind,” I whispered. “Help me out of these.”

  Travis only continued to stare, his chest rising with a great breath as he filled his lungs with smoke. His blue eyes looked…unimpressed.

  News-fucking-flash: I wasn’t impressed either. Not with myself, not with anyone around me. In fact, the whole fucking world was full of shit that didn’t impress me. Giving me that look didn’t make Travis special.