See No Evil (Brotherhood Trilogy #1)(16)

I study the rigid set of his jaw and wonder where the angst is coming from.

Trey glances back at me, catching my eye. “Ry’s all about the justice. He’s gonna be a lawyer or some shit.”

“Not some shit. I’m going to be a forensic analyst so I can make sure the guilty are proven guilty and locked up where they should be. I’m sick of cases being dropped or lost because of inept forensics or lazy police work.”

I blink and look away from Trey’s keen assessment. I don’t want him to see the truth on my face. The worry. The sparks of futility that are firing through me. Is Riley right? Will Uncle Marco win the case no matter what evidence is brought forward? Will my testimony be enough?

The questions eat at me, chomping through my stomach while the guys finish watching the game. I sip at the beer, not loving the flavor but needing to do something to hide my unrest. Finally the game ends and they try to send me to the bathroom so they can pack away their contraband…in my room.

I put up a fight but it doesn’t last long. They refuse to move their stuff, and they don’t want me seeing where it lives.

“If you don’t know where any of our hiding places are, you can’t look guilty.” Kade winks, completely missing the point that they’re still hiding stuff in my room.

I don’t have the energy to argue, so I take a slow walk to the bathroom. I’m over witnessing things I shouldn’t anyway.

When I get back to my room, they’re gone, all hiding places concealed. My room looks just the way I left it this morning. I slump onto my bed, not even bothering to change into my pajamas.

I can’t stop thinking about what Riley said. The same questions continue to plague me as I flick off the light and curl onto my side. They suck on my bones while I lie in the darkness, tossing and turning. They gnaw at my brain until the early hours of the morning.

I can’t handle it anymore.

Throwing off the covers, I grab my flashlight and head for the stairs.

When we were touring the school, Rybeck took me aside and showed me a hiding place for a burner phone he said I could use in case of emergencies. I asked him why I couldn’t keep it on me and he said he didn’t trust me not to get busted with it, so instead I have to sneak outside to use the damn thing. It’s entirely stupid if you ask me. I could just as easily get busted sneaking out of my room in the middle of the night! But Rybeck’s convinced the unused shed is the perfect solution.

“We can chat in privacy. No one will hear a thing.”

I creep through the darkness and jog past the hockey rink. The old shed is in no-man’s-land, tucked behind the compost bin filled with grass clippings. It’s a restricted area for ground staff only and from what I can tell, no one but the gardeners ever venture out here because of the ripe smell. I hold my nose and swallow. It’s so dark I have to turn on my flashlight to see where I’m going. I don’t want to slip off the concrete path and land in the squelchy mud on either side.

I finally reach the decrepit shed and wonder why it hasn’t been dismantled and thrown away. The rusty lock squeaks when I jiggle it open. I flinch still, scanning the murky surroundings, straining to hear clompy footsteps. I wouldn’t put it past Dean Hancock to have sixth-sense ninja skills. He can probably smell when students are out of their beds.

All is quiet and I hold my breath as I slip inside. I close the door behind me, shutting out any traces of moonlight. It’s impossible to see anything and I have to risk using my flashlight again. The bright beam draws a trail on the walls while I hunt for the phone. It’s hidden on the bottom shelf, under a paint-stained tarp. I switch it on and wait for the screen to light up before punching in the number Rybeck made me memorize. As soon as it starts ringing, I turn off my light.

My face hurts when I press the phone against my wounded cheek.

I switch it to the other side as the ringing cuts off and is replaced with an automated voice.

“Please dial the six-digit pin for a secure line.”

“Shit, that’s right.” I scour my brain, desperately unearthing the numbers. Clicking on the flashlight, I shine it on the black buttons and press the keys in what I hope is the right order. I lift the phone back to my ear and hold my breath.

“Rybeck.”

“Hey, it’s me.” My voice quivers.

His voice switches from groggy to deep and alert. “Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“In the shed?”

“Yes.”

“So no one can hear or see you right now?”

I roll my eyes. “No.”

“Okay then. Is everything all right?”

“You’ve got to get me out of here.”

“Why? Has someone figured you out already?”

I shake my head, forgetting he can’t see me. With a sharp huff, I bleat, “What’s the point of being here? He’s gonna win. He’ll walk free and I will have suffered in this hellhole for nothing! I can’t do it anymore. They’re thugs and they fart and stink and invade my space. I can’t even shower!”

“Have you tried going in the early hours?”

“Of course I did, and I nearly got busted. You have to get me out of here.”

“Hey.” Rybeck has his soothing voice on now, the one he used when I cried over my haircut. “It’s going to be okay. It’s only for a little while longer.”