Striker: A Dark Bully Romance (Redwood Rebels Book 1) by Rachel Leigh (best historical fiction books of all time .txt) 📗

I look over to Talon, who is watching us intently. Instead of focusing on whatever Lars is doing on my phone, his gaze is secured on Zed’s fingers that are creeping underneath my hoodie, grazing against the skin covering my rib cage. Fear washes over me, more intensely than the fear of being in this house with these guys—a fear of what they plan to do with me. They could do whatever they wanted, and no one would ever know. They could rape me, kill me, and bury me on this property, and I’d just be deemed a missing person forever.

Lars tosses the phone back to Talon. “It’s done,” he says with the phone midair. Talon swings around just in time to catch it.

“What’s done?” I raise my voice. “Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”

Talon thumbs through my phone. When he hits the button on the side to shut it off, I assume he’s going to hand it back to me, but instead, he sticks it in the back pocket of his black pants. “Go check the fire,” he says, looking at Tommy, who nods in agreement.

Lars and Zed continue to stand around. “Go with him, dumbasses, and close the door on your way out,” he snaps.

It’s obvious who the puppet master is in the group.

My entire body jumps when the door slams shut. “Talon, I swear, I’m not planning on telling anyone what I heard. You have my word. Now, can I just go?”

“Marni. Marni. Marni.” He circles around me. “You really fucked yourself when you decided to be a nosey little shit.” His index finger trails across my cheek, over my nose, and around my head. Jerking my ponytail, he pulls the black scrunchie out, and my hair falls carelessly around my face. My body tenses up, and I close my eyes. “What am I going to do with you?” he tsks.

“I told you—”

“Shut up,” he shouts, sending my brows to my forehead and the contents of my stomach into my throat. “You don’t get to tell me anything. You’re gonna listen to me.” He takes my chin between his thumb and index finger, gripping it tightly. “You might think you have something on all of us, but that’s not the case. Do you understand me?”

Nodding, I swallow hard.

“Good, because you don’t know a damn thing. But, we do. We know about your secret relationship with Josh Moran.”

“Josh Moran? As in Josh Moran who’s obsessed with me? I barely even know the guy.” I really don’t know him well. I’m aware that he’s had a crush on me for the last couple of years. Even asked me out a few times, but I turned him down—in a not-so-nice way.

A couple of months ago, he began acting very odd. Showing up at my house unannounced. I even caught him in my yard in the middle of the night once. Dad was out of town and I was feeling very uneasy about the whole situation, so I went and stayed in LA for a couple of weeks. Josh is creepy, and he’s a jerk who treats women like he is a gift to them, even if we aren’t interested in the package.

Tucking my hair behind my ears, his hands drop to mine. Taking both of my hands in his, he begins tracing his index finger over my palm. Following each line engraved in my hand like it’s some sort of puzzle. “Yep, that’s him.” His nail begins digging into my skin as he drags it on the surface of my vein.

Shrieking at the pain, I jerk away. This time, he lets me. I run my hand over my wrist and notice the red-line he left. Talon reaches in his back pocket and pulls out my phone then slams it into my chest. “What did you guys do to my phone?”

“Go ahead, look at your text messages.” He walks over to the window. No longer worried that I might make an escape or scream at the top of my lungs.

Something tells me, he has me right where he wants me.

Something tells me that I’m stuck here, and there is nothing I can do about it.

I unlock my phone and pull up my text messages. “I didn’t send these,” I say, when I notice that there are messages from Josh. I click on the number and don’t recognize it. “Whose number is this?”

“I thought you said that you barely knew him. Funny how your phone says otherwise.”

“It’s Josh. He’s the one who you were talking about in the room when you said you disposed of the body. You killed Josh Moran.” My stomach drops. Suddenly feeling lightheaded, I fall to my knees and bury my face in my hands, before looking up at him. “And you’re trying to set me up.”

3

“Walk,” Talon orders, as he shuts the door behind us while shining a flashlight toward the stairs.

My eyes are fixated on the blazing fire that can be seen through the open window of the room across from us. What are they burning? Is it Josh? Is this how they plan to get rid of his body? Bile rises in my throat at the thought. Suddenly feeling sick, I stop walking.

“I said walk!” he barks, nudging me from behind.

“I can’t. I need to know what is going on. You guys are scaring me, Talon,” I admit. As much as I know I need to stay strong and not let them see the fear that is soaked into my pores, at this point, I’ll gladly lay it all out there just to get the hell out of here.

Talon gives me another nudge, and I begin walking again.

Baby steps lead me down the staircase while I take care not to touch the rickety, wooden rail on my way down. The last thing I need is my fingerprints all over this place. If they are trying to set me up, as I suspect they are, I