“I guess. What are we doing here?”
Lyla shifts the car into Park and palms the keys. “Just need to grab something.”
“Grab what?”
“Are you done with the Inquisition yet?” She laughs. “I’ll only be a minute.”
“Lyla, they’re all waiting for us.” But she’s already out of the car.
I huff, watching as Lyla’s blond ponytail swishes up an embankment. What could she possibly need to do right now?
Something buzzes in the glove compartment. Lyla must have left her phone in there. The buzzing drags on and on. I look for Lyla again, but she’s gone, disappeared into the shadows of the cemetery. I open the glove compartment and pull out the phone.
It’s got a worn skull-and-crossbones case, and there’s a giant crack down the middle of the screen. It isn’t Lyla’s phone.
It’s Hartley’s.
Why would Lyla have Hartley’s phone?
I go cold all over. Hartley hasn’t been to school since that night at the meat factory, but she’s been answering texts.
All the signs I didn’t see before suddenly come together.
Why Lyla never wanted to call the cops.
Why she showed up at my house the night I wanted to quit and persuaded me to keep playing. How she never asked for my address. Why she was there every other time I questioned things, telling me I could do it. Telling us all we could do it.
Why she insisted we not go looking for the Society at Rheem.
How she figured out the meat freezer combo in ten minutes.
How Tucker showed up at the exact moment I was snooping around in his bedroom.
Why I ever suspected Nikki—Lyla was throwing me off her own trail.
The Society was right under my nose the whole time.
It was Lyla answering Hartley’s texts. It’s Lyla who wanted revenge for her sister.
I feel so stupid. How did I not see it? How didn’t I put it together?
The car door opens, and I gasp, quickly dropping Hartley’s phone into my lap.
“Told you I’d only be a minute,” Lyla says as she falls into the driver’s seat.
My heart thunders so loud I think there’s no way she can’t hear it. I shove the phone under my thighs. The car suddenly feels too close. I have to get out of here. Away from her.
“Is something wrong?” Lyla asks.
“What? No, just, you know, anxious to get this over with.” I clasp my hands over my knees to hide how badly they’re shaking.
She frowns, and her gaze slips to the side. I see her taking in the open glove compartment. The missing phone.
Panic spikes in my system.
I grab my cell out of my purse. “Ethan’s probably wondering where we are. I should tell him we’re on the way before he takes off.” I manage to get out “91” before a cool hand covers my wrist.
“I don’t think so,” Lyla says. She takes my cell out of my limp fingers.
Game over.
Dread washes down my skin.
“Lyla, whatever you have planned, you don’t have to do this.”
“Trust me, I do. Your little investigation has proved that. Now get out of the car.”
I’m cemented to my seat. She squares her jaw and climbs out, leaving her door hanging wide open. While she crosses around the nose of the car, I unclick my seat belt and jump over the center console to swing her door shut. I slam the lock just as she bends down at the passenger-side window, sneering at me calmly through the smudged glass. She holds up a set of keys and jangles them. The naked fear on my face pulls her lips into a grin.
Before I can do anything, the door swings open. She snags my arm and yanks me outside. I kick and punch and bite, but she’s the athlete, and I’m the sick girl, and she pins me easily.
“They know where I am,” I spit. “The other girls. They’ll send help.”
“The other girls?” She laughs. “Like who? Farrah? You’re definitely not talking about Hartley.”
The floor drops away at the pointed way she says the name.
“That’s right. Hartley won’t be coming to your rescue. She’s still hanging around that meat factory.”
I remember the meat hooks, and shake my head. She wouldn’t. I’m misunderstanding her. She isn’t that cruel.
“Y-you killed her?”
“Mmm, not really,” Lyla says, pretending to think. “She killed herself, if you want to get technical. She’s the one who couldn’t crack the code.”
I shake my head.
“Aww, don’t feel bad for her,” Lyla says. “She got what she deserved.”
A strangled noise escapes me. She killed her. She killed Hartley. And now she’s going to kill me.
I need to get out of this. Need to get away.
“You’ll get caught,” I say.
Lyla releases a brittle laugh as she shoves me forward. I trip over a root, but she forces me upright, and pain sears my shoulders.
I swallow hard, panic taking over my ability to think straight. All I know is, I need to keep her talking—when she’s done, I’m done. “It wasn’t Nikki who wanted revenge,” I say. “It was you.”