Page 5 of Cross My Heart
Half of her wished she could remember, Wren sobbed to me that night. It was the not-knowing that was driving her mad. But the other half… It knew that the mind is wired for self-preservation.
Maybe there was a reason her brain was blocking it out. Repressing the truth.
Maybe it was trying to save her from whatever horrors had really happened in that cell.
After that night, I tried to help her, any way I could. Finding therapists, support groups. Rehab programs. But Wren rejected them all. It was like finally talking about what happened to her out loud had pushed her over the edge, and she needed to forget, more than ever. She went off the deep end, disappeared for weeks at a time. Our parents went out of their minds with worry, and I spent every night wondering where she was. If she would be coming home.
Until the day she didn’t. And we got the terrible call from the cops, instead.
She was gone.
I finally turn awayfrom the river, and start walking back towards the college, my limbs aching from the run. But I barely feel it, I’m already thinking ahead to my next step. The next part of my plan to find whoever did that to my sister—and to make him pay.
Because whoever drugged her, held her captive, did God knows what to her for those lost twenty-four hours? He’s the one who killed her. Snuffed out the life and hope in my sister’s eyes, turned her into a shell of her former self, until she couldn’t even bear to draw another breath.
He as good as murdered my sister, and I won’t rest until I track him down—and make him suffer, the same way that he hurt her.
That’s why I’ve moved heaven and earth to get here, to Oxford and Ashford College. The scene of the crime. Lying, and snooping, and pretending to be someone I’m not. I’m going to find out everything about Wren’s life here: her friends, her lovers. Who hosted that party, and every person who attended. Every last fucking detail, until I can avenge her death.
I don’t have much to go on yet, but the information I got from the administrator’s office is a start. Her schedule, and room assignment. I’ll begin with them. A place like this, people stick around. There’s bound to be people who knew her, who can point me in the right direction—
I’m so deep in thought, I barely look where I’m going. Until I collide, face-first, into a solid mass of man.
“Woah, easy there!”
I hear a crisp, English accent, and look up to find myself inches from an all-too familiar face.
Him. Anthony St. Clair. That future duke everyone was swooning over. The man whose family name is etched in stone above the gates of this very college.
The man who came dangerously close to blowing my cover here, before my mission has even begun.
“Sorry,” I blurt, stumbling back. “I didn’t see you.”
“Good,” he says, flashing a charming smile. He’s still dressed in last night’s clothes, but of course, the disheveled morning-after look still looks great on him. “And if the Master asks after me, I’d appreciate you sticking to that story.”
“Why?” I can’t help asking. “What have you done this time?” Despite everything, I’m curious—why this guy is so out of place here, the least likely Oxford tutor in the history of the school.Saint, the girl called him.
But this guy is a sinner, through and through.
Saint’s mouth curls in a sensual grin. “I see my reputation has preceded me.”
He looks so handsome, irritation burns me. He’s probably used to women falling at his feet. Or straight to their knees to suck him off.
Well, I won’t be one of them.
“Oh yeah, I’ve heard all about you,” I say directly. “The partying, the booze, the women. Kind of a cliché, isn’t it?” I add, as revenge for how dismissively he looked at me the other day. “Bad boy professor dating every hot coed in town. It doesn’t make you look half as cool as you think. Let me guess, you drive a classic sports car, too? Red, or silver. Anyone would think you’re insecure about your manhood.”
Saint’s jaw drops in surprise. That I called him on his bullshit or was brave enough to say it to his face, I don’t know. Either way, I don’t stick around to find out.
“I won’t keep you,” I add with a smile. “You’ll want to shower before class. You stink of sex.”
And then I turn on my heel, and keep on running.
Chapter3
Tessa
Ihead back to my student housing, a cozy apartment in an old red brick building just across the street from the Ashford College grounds. I’ll be taking my classes with the undergraduate students here, but thankfully, I’m rooming with the other grad students my own age instead of being stuck in the freshman dorms. I open the door to the sound of playful bickering coming from the kitchen, and when I go to investigate, I find my new roommates arguing over a jar of pickles at the ancient, wonky dining table.