By the time I’m back at the frat house, my body is shaking. I want to stab someone. I want to claw their fucking eyes out. Lorcan comes home an hour later to find me packing up the bedroom, and cleaning with a handheld Dyson and some bleach.
“What are you doing?”
“This place is covered in my prints,” I snap at him.
“You need to calm down.”
“You don’t get it. I need to leave now,”
He grabs my shoulders and turns my head to make me look at him. “What the fuck is going on, Viola?”
“It’s Dante. He’s fucked everything,” I hiss
“Okay, start again. From the beginning.” He makes me sit on the bed and I tell him what happened. Lorcan, to his credit, sits and listens. He goes to the kitchen and grabs a bottle of hard liquor. He pours me a drink and shoves the glass in my twitching hands before pouring one for himself.
“So the knife has your prints on it?”
I nod. “My prints are in the system.”
“Under what name? Your real one?”
I nod again.
“Then you’re safe. They won’t be looking for you here. This house is owned by my offshore company, not me directly. The police have no idea you’re here. And you are Victoria Hartridge, Verity Hawthorne, or whoever the fuck you want to be, with us. Not Viola Hawkes.”
I let his words sink in.
He takes my glass out of my hands, turning my palms over to inspect my bloody knuckles. “Now, let's clean these bitch-looking cuts up.”
“I’m fine,” I say, pushing him away to stand up.
“No you’re not. Sit the fuck down,” he says softly, eyes looking less severe than they usually do.
I sit and wait while Lorcan retrieves the first aid kit from the bathroom to tend to my wounds. Only so I don’t have to do it. It’s easier to let him, rather than fight him. He works in silence, green eyes absorbed in the task at hand. His brow furrows in concentration. He even bites his lip.
“It’s V when I’m with you,” I say. I don’t know why I tell him. No one calls me V but Dante.
“V,” he says, looking up. “It suits you.”
“It’s a nickname because I’m always changing my name. It also makes it easier for people in my line of work not to mistakenly say the wrong one.”
He looks at me and I realise I’m rambling.
“You don’t have a nickname do you?” It’s something I’ve been meaning to ask for a while. It’s also my predator training coming into play. If you say something stupid, always cover it with a personal question. People like to talk about themselves.
He glances down as he dabs antiseptic, breaking contact. “No, because they’re fucking dumb.”
I raise a brow and wait. I don’t have to wait long.
He carries on. “When we were kids, we decided to give ourselves nicknames. Jude’s was easy. His parents are always donating to charity. His grandfather is the chief of police commissioner. He was best in sports and class, hence why they put him up a year in school. He was a saint. Or still fucking would be if he hadn’t lost it when I killed Aurora.”
He catches my eye.
“Dino’s is obvious too. His family are plain fucked up. His father would have been in prison had his brother not killed him. Dino was always getting into trouble when he was younger. Stealing, B&E, GBH. Then he found racing and straightened up.” He shrugs. “And you know about Finn being Shitboy.”
“I know, but I don’t believe it’s true.” Finn told me he got his because he likes to take girls up the ass.
Lorcan laughs. “You’re right. He shit his pants at school in eighth grade. Never lived it fucking down.”