A blast to the right spot…
My hand tingled—
And then my butt tingled.
I jumped to my feet to grab the phone out of my back pocket.
I stared down at the new message:WTF was that?
CHAPTER TWELVE
WHAT WAS WHAT?I typed back to Jacksalot.
A video flashed across my screen. It was me and an arcing flash of purple frying the animal kiosk monitor.
My heart skipped while my fingers raced.Are you fucking stalking me?
Don’t angle your phone where anyone can see you doing freaky shit
Ugh, I’d had Jacksalot watching when I’d stuffed the phone into my back pocket. Before I could snap back about victim blaming, he kept typing.Was that faked? That was the same as the vid from your bedroom. You faked it
Yeah, fake.I slammed my thumbs on the phone so hard, I was lucky I didn’t crack it.
For a moment, the screen stayed blank.
Don’t fuck around. That was real, wasn’t it?
Although I couldn’t hear him, I could imagine his tone. Flat, disbelieving.
Forced to wonder.
And somehow, it made me believe he wasn’t in on any of it. He wasn’t connected to Brayden’s murder or Dane coming after me. Jacksalot had helped me find Brayden in the first place—albeit find him dead. If Jacksalot was working with Alling or Dane, someone would’ve been dragging me out of here already, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred cinnamon buns.
I called him.
“It was real,” he said. Yeah, definitely flat.
“Hello to you too.”
“I’ve always suspected the government was running insane experiments on American citizens, but—”
“Don’t go all tinfoil hat on me,” I snapped. “I’m not with the government.” I hesitated, thinking of Dane. “At least I don’t think I am. Not yet anyway.”
“You’re going to tell me what the fuck is going on, or I’m posting this shit online. Now.”
“Go ahead!” I said. “Brayden’s dead. Did you seethatthrough my phone?” Acid churned in my stomach, the memories roiling in my head almost as toxic. “He was murdered. And I’m probably going to be next, so…yeah, post away, asshole. Then they’ll be coming for you.”
That shut him up.
“Brayden’s dead?”
“Yup. I found him right whereyoutold me I would. Shot in the forehead. I can’t fucking un-see it.”
“Who…?” His voice this time was faint, as if coming from a great distance or a crappy connection. So, he wasn’t always the snarky, sly shithead of a scourge I’d come to loathe.
“I don’t know who killed him. But I have his phone. It’s locked. Do you think you can hack it?”
There was another minute of him sputtering—“When did you…? How did you…? Where…? Why…?” as if any of that even mattered—before he finally wound down. “Dead?”
