The sound of footsteps outside the stall made my blood run cold. Voices. Laughter. The creak of the restroom door swinging open.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my sleeve as I scrambled up to my feet.
By the time I made it back into the classroom, the day blurred. Classes rushed past, words bouncing around my head but refusing to stick. All I could think about was what had happened in that restroom, the taste of him still on my tongue, the way he said "be a good boy, okay?"
But then I remembered the folded paper in my pocket.
Mr. Blake.
I kept replaying the yesterday's call, the voice, the warning. And as much as I hated it, I knew I couldn't piece it all together alone. Blake was dangerous. I didn't trust him….not even close. But he'd been part of them once. The tattoo people. The kind of man who had seen too much to pretend ignorance.
And sometimes, if you want to catch a wolf, you have to walk like one.
