Page 91 of Bound By Threads
There’s a crack in my voice I can’t smooth over, and it costs me everything not to fall apart in front of them.
“I thought I was protecting him,” I whisper. “But if Roman’s telling the truth… if he’s gone… then I left the one person who ever gave a damn about me to grieve a daughter who wasn’t even dead.”
Archer steps closer, but doesn’t reach for me, like he knows I can’t be touched right now, or I’ll break apart at his feet. “You were a kid, Lottie. Eighteen years old and doing what you had to do to survive.”
“I’m still doing it,” I say, blinking fast. “Still trying to survive. Only now I’m doing it with his blood on my hands.”
He pulls me into his chest. Oscar at my back. Neither blinks at my lack of clothes. “We’re with you. I promise.”
I nod, wishing I could believe them, but the truth is, it doesn’t matter how many people are around me.
Grief is a door only I can walk through.
* * *
“So, it’ll stain?”I ask, standing at the kitchen island with the bag of red dye clutched in my fist.
Oscar tilts his head, then signs with a crooked smile.“Roman and Crew won’t have an inch of skin left unstained by the time the water hits.”
Archer leans back against the marble countertop, arms folded. He’s calm in that deadly way, he always is—eyes sharp, lazy smile. “We won’t have to sneak in at least. Already made a call. Whitmore owes me. He’s going to hold them in a fake meeting for ‘student conduct concerns.’ We’ll have their dorm to ourselves for at least an hour.”
I exhale slowly. “Just Roman and Crew,” I say again, looking between them. “Leave Elijah’s en-suite alone.”
Oscar smirks.“Because he’s been forgotten?”
“Exactly.”
But we all know it’s more than that. It’ll eat Elijah alive, knowing I still care enough to come after the other two, but not him. The silence will scream louder than any dye ever could.
“You’re hot when you’re getting revenge,” Archer smirks, eyes tracing me like I’m something dangerous he wants to touch anyway.
I roll my eyes, but a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “You’re just saying that so I don’t stainyounext.”
He leans closer, voice low. “Might be worth it.”
Oscar taps the counter to get our attention.“Don’t mean to be a buzzkill, but if you want to do this, we need to go now.”
* * *
The en-suite bathrooms are identical—clean,clinical, tiled in sterile white. Roman’s reeks of expensive cologne. Crew’s has damp towels on the floor, and I try to ignore the empty pill bottles laid beside the toilet.
“Come on, let’s get this done. I want pizza,”I gesture, nodding my head to the doors.
I slip into Roman’s, guilt gnawing at me for doing this to Crew, so I get Oscar to do his while Archer stands at the door as a lookout.
We unscrew the showerheads. Fill them. Re-seal them carefully.
The dye is sealed in packets, designed to burst under pressure and dissolve instantly—bright, cherry red, clinging to anything it touches.
Skin included.
Oscar comes into Roman’s en-suite a few minutes later.“All done,”he grins.“They’re going to look like they were involved in a murder.”
“Good. It’s what they deserve.”
I screw the showerhead in tight, then climb down, wiping my hands on my thighs. For a moment, I just stand there and look at it. Nothing out of place, but waiting to rain hell down on the boys who made me silent.
This isn’t chaos… or even revenge, really.
