Deceit (Gallows Hill Book 1), page 7
Bridgette’s hold on me is practically iron clad and her coordination isn’t all that bad considering we are walking through grass and she’s wearing heels, obviously drunk off her ass. We quickly round a corner behind a building before coming up to an iron gate. There is a sign above it that says, ‘Gallows Hill Cemetery’.
A chill runs down my spine as we cross the threshold, goosebumps immediately erupting over my skin. My feet begin to drag, suddenly not as willing to follow this drunk girl into a wooded cemetery.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“I told yous,” she slurs. “The spot!”
I want to shake her stupid drunk self and tell her she didn’t answer my question, as we weave around the graves surrounding us. My eyes catch on a few of the dates from the headstones.
1692, 1693, 1695.
My god, these graves have been here for over three hundred years. Part of me is completely fascinated that this cemetery is so old, especially considering its nearly immaculate condition. A bigger part of me is completely creeped out by the fact that the college has a three-hundred-year-old cemetery on campus.
We walk a little further before I see a tiny bright red light in the middle of the darkness, at least that’s what it looks like. As we get closer my eyes adjust, and I realize it’s the end of a cigarette. The owner of said cigarette is instantly recognizable, and I don’t even try to hide my irritation.
“What are you doing out here, Princess?” Asher draws out lazily, taking a large inhale as Liam smiles at me beside him.
“She was showing me the spot,” I say as Bridgette pulls us to a stop, giving Asher unashamed goo-goo eyes.
Asher nods, as he pushes off the headstone he was leaning up against, unfolding himself to his full height as he looks at the ground in front of him. He pulls the cigarette from his mouth and grabs a beer bottle from the floor, twisting the cap open before he speaks.
“Looks like you found it.”
I frown at that, looking down at what I can now tell is an empty grave. It looks to be the size for a coffin, but appears to have been dug years ago based on the dirt and surrounding grass. Asher closes the distance between us, stopping inches before me as he rests his free hand on my shoulder.
“Wha—”
My words are cut off as Asher shoves my shoulder– hard. The ground literally slips out from underneath my feet as my body falls right into the hole, landing with a rough smack into the dirt. Cackling comes from above, and I have to push the dirt away from my eyes to look up and see Bridgette smiling down at me with an evil smirk.
Asher is laughing hysterically, and Liam is chuckling to himself lightly.
“What the hell?” I shout, before forcing myself to my feet. A twinge comes from my left ankle that leads me to believe it’s at least sprained. Great.
The soft ground beneath me sinks, practically swallowing my shoes as I stand. I try to grip the edge of the grass and pull myself up, but I can’t even reach. This thing is at least ten-feet deep, equal amounts of irritation and panic fill me.
“Get me out of here!” I demand.
“Nah, I think you are right where you belong, but I’m not a total monster. Let me get you something to drink,” Asher says before standing over me, tipping his beer bottle upside-down. The cold sticky liquid hits my hair first, streaming down my face and my back as he empties the entirety of its contents over me.
I squeal at the feeling, doing my best to protect myself with my hands before Asher tosses the bottle into the grave with me. I don’t even have it in me to be humiliated right now. Instead, I’m just pissed.
“You asshole! Get me out of here, right now!”
He looks down at me, sneering as he wraps an arm around an eager and actually very sober looking Bridgette.
Nice acting, little bitch.
“Pass.”
I watch as he begins walking away, before glancing to see Liam still standing there, a frown tugging his full pink lips.
“Ash, we aren’t leaving her all night, right?” he asks, hesitance in his voice. “There’s a shit ton of coyotes, man.”
Asher looks over his shoulder at his friend, shrugging nonchalantly.
“They can have her.”
Anger burns inside me and right now, I’ve never wished anyone would be struck dead by lightning more than him. His little groupie right along with him.
“Liam,” I ask, hoping I can appeal to the humanity in him that is obviously trying to poke through. “Please,” I whisper softly, allowing the deep-seated fear inside me to bleed through.
He grimaces as he looks at me, before looking over to see Asher watching him carefully. Liam gives me an almost pained look, before he shakes his head and begins walking away with Asher and Bridgette.
Fuck!
“Liam!” I shout desperately. “Please! Asher! Get your asses back here! You can’t leave me out here! Help! Someone help me!” I scream.
I hear Bridgette cackle again and it becomes more faint with each step away from me that they take.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I reevaluate the dirt walls surrounding me, digging the toes of my boots into the side in hopes I can make footholds of sorts. Unfortunately, the ground is practically rock-hard, and my efforts are completely useless. My ankle twinges in pain again, forcing me to grimace. Fuck.
A cold chill sweeps through the air, forcing me to shiver.
At least a half an hour goes by as I try and try to get out of this stupid hole, all attempts completely failed. A howl suddenly sounds out in the night sky, followed by more than I can count. Liam’s words about coyotes come to mind and my stomach turns. I’ve never seen one before, but it’s related to a wolf and that’s enough information for me.
My hands quickly scramble against the dirt wall, digging my fingers in as deep as I can to try and at least get closer to the top. As soon as I’m able to get a firm grip though, I realize how truly screwed I am. All that I’m doing at this point is burying more dirt beneath my nails.
In the next moment a noise comes from my left, all of the breath from my lungs being sucked right out as I hear another.
“Hello? Is someone there?” I ask, only to be met with silence.
The sound of a twig snapping on my right has my head snapping in that direction, but I can’t see anything.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I’m not a baby when it comes to scary things. I can watch horror movies and I have no problem with the dark but I’m trapped, in an abandoned grave, in a practically ancient cemetery, where there are definitely coyotes coming in my direction. Tell me you wouldn’t be ready to throw up right now.
“Hello?” I call out again, my voice quaking this time as I begin to spiral into a full-blown panic.
Ghosts aren’t real, right? Just because this cemetery is over three-hundred-years-old doesn’t mean that it’s haunted. Even if there were ghosts out here, it’s not like they can materialize enough to snap twigs and actually make noise….right?
One more sound comes from just a few feet to the left of me. I practically jump out of my skin as my heart sinks and my voice shouts. In the next moment, a pair of black boots comes into view before two legs crouch down to look at me.
My eyes trace over the black clothed man, surprised when I see that it’s Vincent Griggs, staring down at me like I’m an insect he found underneath his boot.
“Vincent?” I question, half disbelieving but also half in relief. “Can you help me out? Please?”
He doesn’t respond, instead, just choosing to stare at me. My relief quickly begins to shrivel inside, replaced with the acceptance that I will probably live out my remaining moments in this grave, before I’m killed by hypothermia, coyotes, three-hundred-year-old ghosts or maybe even Vincent himself.
We end up just staring at each other for what feels like minutes, suspended in time. My mind races with what I can use to defend myself. I think I saw a rock half buried in the wall to my right. Maybe if I can pull it out, it would give me some sort of fighting chance. Go out swinging and all that.
Slowly, Vincent’s tattooed hand reaches down into the grave, extending his fingers to me. I hesitate for only a moment or two, before I greedily accept his help, practically scrambling to latch onto his arm as he begins pulling me up. Pushing my feet into the dirt wall I try my best to ease the burden, but it doesn’t seem to be much of a task for him. He practically yanks me up and out of the grave, without so much as a strained muscle.
I land on the wet grass with a thump and quickly roll onto my back before standing up.
“Thank you! Thank you so much! I thought I was going to freaking die out here,” I say, the building tears beginning to let loose as I throw my arms around him.
He immediately tenses beneath me for a moment or two, before roughly shoving me. I right myself before I fall again, and I look up to see him staring at me, with that same angry look he seems to always have ingrained in his features. I open my mouth, to say what? I’m not sure, but I don’t get the chance before he turns and begins stalking deeper into the cemetery, without a single word.
What the hell?
Part of me wants to ask what his deal is, but another chill runs through the air sending goosebumps down my arms. I decide to hell with it, as I practically sprint out of the graveyard. As soon as I pass through the gates, that foreboding fear deep in the pit of my stomach eases, as if I was officially out of danger or something.
As I limp my way back towards the party, I find it alive and well. My eyes scan over the crowd in search of Maggie, but I come up short. Seriously? Not only did she not realize I was gone, but she left me too? Rationally, I hope she is looking for me or maybe assumed I decided to leave early, but irrationally I’m pissed that I was trapped in that grave for nearly an hour.
Screw this, I’m out of here. I begin making my way towards my dorm, craving nothing more than a warm shower and my bed. On the negative side, I’m cold, beer soaked and caked with dirt and mud. On the positive side…nope, all negatives. This night sucks.
Chapter Eleven
Skyla
My teeth are practically chattering together as I wrap my arms around myself, walking as quickly as I can just for the sake of trying to warm-up. It only took me another twenty-feet of walking to realize that I’m still locked out of my dorm.
When I pass by the pool, I pause. I doubt it’s unlocked, but it’s worth a shot. At least they have showers.
Please, please, please.
I repeat the word over and over again, hoping and praying the door will give, but all my hopes are dashed in an instant when I pull, only to be met with locked resistance. Damn.
I turn on my heel, heading to I don’t even know where, when I hear the door open behind me and a deep voice rasping my name.
“Skyla?”
My head whips around, locking eyes with a dripping wet Ronan. He’s wearing a t-shirt that is soaking by the second and a pair of grey sweatpants.
“Are you okay?” he asks as he leans against the door, keeping it propped open as he does.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
He frowns at me. “You’re wet, dirty, and bleeding.”
I look down to see my palms are cut open, a small drip of blood coming from my right hand before splashing onto the light grey pavement. When did that happen?
“C’mon,” he says, with a nod inside the building.
He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I rush inside, slipping past him and into the warm hallway. A shiver runs through me as the heat pricks my skin. I feel a large hand rest against my lower back and turn to see Ronan nodding to me.
“Let’s go clean you up.”
I shakily nod as I begin walking. He guides me easily, not removing his hand from my back the entire time.
When we are in his office he gestures to the empty seat across from his desk, before he crouches down and begins rifling through a cabinet. In no time he’s pulling out a first aid kit, taking out a few alcohol wipes as he kneels before me.
His large hands tenderly take my own away from my lap, holding them out to him palms up before he speaks.
“This probably won’t feel great.”
He takes the wipe and runs it across my cut. I sink my teeth into my lip as I cringe. God, it’s way deeper than I even thought. How did I not notice until now? How did I not feel how much it stings until now?
“You won’t need stitches,” he says softly, almost to himself.
His strokes are careful, but thorough, as he brushes away chunks of dirt and blood. Eventually it stops hurting, instead of focusing on my hand, I stare at the gentle giant before me.
Not a word is spoken between us as he dutifully cleans my hands, bandaging them up as soon as he’s finished. I move to pull my hands away, but he stops me, tightening his grip as my eyes come to his. Those deep blue eyes staring at me intently, practically pinning me in place.
“What happened?” he asks.
I swallow roughly, before I shake my head and let out a bitter laugh.
“Asher.”
His eyes narrow at me.
“Explain.”
Turning my head away, I shake my head, too tired and honestly too defeated to get into it right now. I just want this night to be over.
He doesn’t seem to accept my silence, holding his gaze on me and seemingly waiting me out. I don’t give in, though and he lets out a rough breath before he stands.
“C’mon. You can shower in the locker room.”
He moves to a cabinet to the side, pulling out a few small bottles and what looks like a shirt and a pair of sweatpants before he walks through his office door. I follow after him as he leads me just outside the locker room, pausing at the entrance as he hands me the mini bottles of shampoo and bodywash, along with a black Gallows Hill shirt and sweats.
“Towels are in there. The door is locked so you don’t have to worry about anyone coming in. Make sure you keep your bandages dry.”
“How am I supposed to do that when washing my hair?” I question.
He rolls his lips together for several seconds, that signature stoic look on his face.
“Do you need me to do it?”
A thrill runs through me, the thought of those strong fingers running through my hair. The warm water running against my skin—
“Clothed, obviously. Your clothes could use a rinse anyways,” he adds.
Disappointment pangs through me, though I don’t know why. It’s not like him washing my hair is going to lead to us sleeping together. He’s not going to strip away my virginity right here and now, nor would I want him to. Right? Right.
I nod. “That would be great. Thank you.”
He dips his head and I slowly make my way inside the locker room. They only have one, probably because there is only a men’s swim team so there is no need for a women’s locker room.
The perimeter of the room is surrounded by lockers, the middle has several benches and a line of showers. I step up to the first one, turning the water on for a moment as I allow it to heat up. Once it’s warm enough, I take a step into the spray, practically melting into the warmth despite the heavy soaked feeling of my sweater and jeans against my skin.
I let the water run through my hair, trying to resist the temptation to run my fingers through it as my makeup begins washing away. God, what is it with Ronan seeing me without makeup? Either bad timing or something more cruel. He’s probably seen me barefaced more in this last week than my father has seen me from puberty up, which I guess isn’t saying much.
He takes a step towards me, squirting a small amount of shampoo into his hands, gesturing for me to turn around. I do as he says, allowing the spray to run down my front as his hands begin lathering my hair. At first, his movements are rough and jerky and I wince as he yanks on my hair. Soon, though, his fingers reach deeper, slowly beginning to massage my scalp. I let out a pleasured groan that has his movements pausing. Damn it. That’s what I get for opening my mouth, I ruin a perfectly good thing.
To my surprise, he continues a moment later. I do my best to stay quiet as his fingers work through every single strand of hair. I’m practically putty in his hands as he washes the beer and dirt from my hair, replacing the smell with something fresh and a touch masculine. You won’t hear me complaining, though.
“Rinse,” he rasps roughly. I turn around to face him, keeping my eyes locked on his as I lean my head back under the water.
Only a second or two passes before he closes the distance between us, leaning over me as his hands massage my scalp a bit more, rubbing out all the shampoo as he does. I feel his breath against my neck and when he looks from my hair to me, my stomach flips. Without meaning to, I feel my teeth sink into my lower lip, pulling on it slightly. Ronan’s eyes snap down, watching me with rapt attention. I don’t know how long we stay like that before he’s shaking his head and ripping away, like touching me physically burns him.
“Go ahead and dry off. I’ll walk you back to your room once you’re dressed,” he says, practically jogging out of the locker room before I can even tell him I can’t get into my room.
I stand there for several seconds, allowing the water to pour over me for just a little bit longer before I shut the shower off. Quickly, I peel off my soaked clothes, tossing them on the ground before slipping on the shirt and sweatshirt. They are both at least five sizes too big for me, so I end up rolling the sweatpants several times and tying the shirt off into a crop top.
Wrapping my clothes up with the towel, I walk out of the bathroom to find Ronan leaning up against the wall. He pushes away from it quickly, as his eyes rake over me for only half a second before he looks to the floor roughly.
“Let’s go.”
“I don’t have my key, I left it inside my room.”
He nods before moving into his office, grabbing out a key card. “Master key,” he explains.
I frown at that.
“I’m not sure I like the idea that people have access to my room whenever they want.”
“Not people, just me and the dean.”
My head tilts to the side at that.
