Born Wrong (24 page)
“God, fuck this,” I say after a few minutes, moving down the hallway towards her room. All the windows are open in the hallway and the sound of birds chirping fills the quiet spaces between doors. I look at the placards as I pass, searching for her name.
Tara, Tara, Tara.
Tara. I pause outside of room 115 and breathe easier for a moment. I had this panicked feeling that I was going to walk in here and she was going to be gone. But Brayden said the Hammergrens didn't have it out for me, that I was an aside to the fact of their revenge. That, and I just had to deliver my mother's bones to a man that hates my guts, that raised me grudgingly and out of a sense of duty instead of love. Fuck.
Okay, I can do this.
I look back at Sydney who's smiling again. I could get used to seeing that look.
“Do you mind if we check out the room first?” one of the guards asks, tilting his head to the side. He's young, a lot younger than the other two, but he's good at what he does. He wouldn't even let me go to the bathroom in the club by myself. But this, this my secret. I don't want their help. If there's a man with a gun in there, so be it. Fuck him.
“Actually, yeah. I do.” I grab the handle before he can stop me and push open the door. Tara's room is filled with bright sunshine and even though it's drab, even though the walls need to be painted and the décor is older than I am, there's a general feeling of contentment in the air, like spring is just around the corner.
So why the fuck is there a pool of blood on the floor?
Brayden's men move into the space, pushing me out of the way, guns suddenly at the ready.
And they're all pointing them at the back of a brunette, a girl with hazelnut hair and a slender body.
Hayden Lee.
“What the fuck?” I ask as she turns around. Her blue and white dress is stained with red. It's smeared across her face and fingers, across the knife she has clutched in her hand. When she sees me, she drops it with a sad smile, the metal clanging across the linoleum to land at my feet. Sydney moves up beside me and freezes there, her eyes drawn to the wash of dark hair on the pillow of the room's single bed.
Tara.
She's soaked in red, drenched in Hayden's ministrations. My knees go weak and I collapse against the door frame. “What … what have you done?” I ask, my voice broken and scattered. I look into the blue eyes of the girl I tried to save and I mourn more for her than I even do for Tara. Tara was trapped and now she's free. Did I want it to happen this way? Fuck no. But Hayden? She had every reason to want a life, and now she'll never have one. Murder is murder.
“Dax,” she says, her voice beautiful and soft. I don't know how she even knew to come here. Like I said, I've never told a soul, not a single soul. “You're carrying around guilt for no reason. You shouldn't have to worry about this. You shouldn't have to worry about anything.” Hayden sighs and glances back at the bed while one of the security guards makes a phone call. And it's not to the police. It's to Brayden. I listen while he relays the information, my mind a swirling blank of
why, why, why.
“Hayden,” I whisper back at her. I don't know what to say. Is there anything I
can
say that'd be appropriate? She smiles at me and tucks some hair behind her ear before reaching down and grabbing something from under the blankets. It's a gun.
“Put the weapon down!” one of the men screams, but Hayden doesn't listen. Instead she stares at the metal with a blank face.
“I loved you, Dax. I loved you, and it's too late, and I tried.”
The gun comes up, the barrel slides under her chin, and blood explodes across the ceiling.
Hayden's body slumps to the floor at the same moment mine does, my fall slowed by Sydney's arms around my waist.
She's dead. I can't even fucking believe this. She's fucking dead.
In the midst of the pooling ruby red, the pain, and the misery of wasted life, the Hammergren family crosses a name off of their list. And adds another.
To be continued...
Dear Reader,
How are you feeling right now? You're still here because you love cliff-hangers, right? Right? Well, even if you don't, that's okay because you're still along for the ride. It's about the journey, not the destination. Sydney might disagree with me, but that's her prerogative. As long as I get another chance to peep in on her and Dax, she can think whatever she wants. ;)
So. A lot of folks want to know: how many books are there in this series? As many as there need to be, baby. Besides, you can't tell me you're tired of Turner Motherfucking Campbell yet. Is that even possible? That bitch is a precious little train wreck if I've ever seen one.
So thanks for reading pretty words and ugly stories. I know I've said it before, but it bears repeating: readers imbue stories with magic. You all make mine shine.
This next book is going to make your teeth hurt, so I apologize in advance.
Dead Serious.
Coming soon.
Sing like nobody's listening; dance like the whole world is watching.
Catch you lovelies on the flip side.
- C.M.
P.S. I love to read reviews, so if you have the chance, could you leave one for me? Even if you want to curse my name and give out about my cliffies, I'll still love your face.
About the Author
C.M. Stunich was raised under a cover of fog in the area known simply as Eureka, CA. A mysterious place, this strange, arboreal land nursed Caitlin's (yes, that's her name!) desire to write strange fiction novels about wicked monsters, magical trains, and Nemean Lions (Google it!). She currently enjoys drag queens, having too many cats, and tribal bellydance.
She can be reached at [email protected], and loves to hear from her readers. Ms. Stunich also wrote this biography and has no idea why she decided to refer to herself in the third person.
Happy reading and carpe diem!
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