“I can’t provide details for a specific account. It would be a violation of the privacy policy.” The representative sounded as though she was reading off a script, her tone coming across as bored.
The urge to bang my head grew stronger. “What are some of the reasons for an account to suddenly go inactive?”
“The most common is the release of the inmate.” Her answer gave me hope, which she promptly erased when she added, “Or if they passed away.”
I wouldn’t put it past John Clark to have arranged for Sarah’s death, and I had to swallow down a lump in my throat before I could speak again. “Do you know who I’d need to speak with at the jail to find out if she was released?” There was a tapping noise in the background, and then she rattled off a website address before asking if there was anything else she could help me with. “No, thank you.”
I hung up and stabbed my finger against the screen of my phone, praying the news would be good. I paced back and forth as I pulled up the site and set up a free account. Once I was registered, I selected the state and clicked on the button to find an offender. Then I typed in Sarah’s information and waited for the results to pop up. When I saw that she’d been released, tears of relief streamed down my cheeks. It was the best news I’d received in a long time, and her early release helped to lessen my guilt a little bit—and at just the right time. I needed to ace two final exams and three projects this week to get my associate’s degree in graphic design. I’d had a difficult time concentrating on my classes after the dickish lieutenant had threatened me, so my college grades weren’t much to write home about. But this semester was even worse.
Six months ago, a couple knocked on my door and asked for my help to keep David Clark and his father in line. I’d been horrified when they told me that the woman, Lucy, could place him at the scene of a murder thirty minutes before the victim had died. I couldn’t help but think about how she might still be alive if I’d come forward, but they kept assuring me that I would’ve paid a steep price for going up against his dad on my own. But with the Silver Saints MC behind me—Lucy’s boyfriend was a part of the club—I could take them on without ending up dead or in jail.
Seeing David die had messed with my head, no matter how much he’d deserved what he got. I’d barely been able to hold everything together to finish off last semester, but my walls hadn’t held up as well over the past few months. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched, and I’d been tempted to reach out to my contact with the Silver Saints to ask them to check on John Clark. I talked myself out of it each time I pulled up Hack’s number, though. I hadn’t even met the guy, and it would’ve felt weird to tell him I was scared when nothing had actually happened. But the feeling hadn’t gone away, and my nerves were shot. Luckily, I just had to get through this week and then I could hole up in my room to hide away from the world for however long I wanted.
As I headed downstairs to the kitchen to grab a drink from the fridge, I was reminded why I avoided my roommates as much as possible. “That’s mine,” I grumbled, stomping across the room to grab the bottle of sparkling grape juice out of Jessica’s hand.
“You seriously need to chill out,” she huffed, rolling her eyes before opening the fridge to snag a bottle of water.
“And you seriously need to stop taking my stuff,” I snapped, frustrated for about the millionth time over the girls assigned to my unit by the townhouse complex. The three of them got along like gangbusters, leaving me as the outsider. I didn’t have much in common with them. I’d never brought a guy home with me, and I didn’t party until all hours of the night at whichever frat was hosting a party. Something my roommates liked to tease me about all the time.
“Geesh! Get over yourself, little mouse. The rest of us have no problems sharing shit. Only you.” She bumped her shoulder against me as she walked past.
I pressed my lips together, biting back my retort because it wouldn’t do any good. I’d been more than happy to share my groceries with my new roommates at the start of the school year. I had been the first to move in, and my parents had gone a little overboard when we went to the store. The fridge, freezer, and pantry were filled to the brim when the other girls arrived the next day, and they took me up on my offer to eat whatever they’d like without thanking me or offering to replace anything after they’d brought about a hundred dollar’s worth of stuff over to a party across the street. I’d been more careful with my stuff since then and normally kept my favorites in my mini fridge in my room. The bottle’s shape was awkward for the size of my fridge, so I’d put it in the vegetable drawer in the one in the kitchen, figuring nobody
