I’m about to stuff my phone into my pocket, when it starts singing the ringtone that belongs to any unknown number. I hate that I’m slightly disappointed that it’s not Preston’s ringtone and when I answer it I sound grumpier that I want to.

“Hello.”

There’s a long pause.

“Seriously, again.” I shake my head, about to hang up.

“Violet Hayes?” he asks in the somewhat familiar deep voice.

“I think we’ve already established that that’s who I am.” I glance around at the flourishing trees around me, the tall grass in the fields, the ditch to the side of the road. All places where a creeper can hide.

He laughs softly in the phone. “Yeah, I guess.”

“But what we haven’t established is who you are,” I say, picking up my pace.

He draws out the silence forever. “Can we just call me a friend for now?”

“Can’t do that,” I say, trying to shake the uneasiness of the situation off. “I don’t have friends.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he replies, sounding genuine. “It’s no fun not having any friends.”

“It sucks about as much as everything else.” I veer down into the grass as a car whizzes by, more nervous than I prefer.

“Does your life suck… do you not like it?”

“Okay, this conversation is getting a little too personal for me,” I say. “So please stop calling.”

“Violet, I want to talk to you,” he says, quickly. “I need to. Please, it’s important. Can we meet somewhere? Just you and I? Just talk?”

I laugh insultingly. “You seriously think I’m going to meet some creeper who randomly called me and knows my last name all by myself?”

“You’re not afraid, are you?” he asks, his voice lowering. “You don’t seem like the type that’s afraid. You seem like the type that doesn’t give a crap, at least from what I’ve seen.”

I stop walking, glancing around up and down the road. “What did you just say?”

“I just said you seem tough.”

“No, you said ‘seen’… who are you?”

There’s a pause and then the line goes dead.

“Shit.” I hammer my finger against the end button and hurry up the side of the road. It’s too far to turn back to Preston’s but it’s also a fairly long walk back to town. I start running and I’m not ever sure why. It was just some creepy guy… some creepy guy who’s been watching me.

I try not to think about the fact that the case is reopening and that the calls started coming in around that time. There can’t be a connection. It’s too random. Then again, my whole life has been based on random events.

I keep walking, trying not to think too much, knowing I’ll only get worked up and there’s nothing I can do about it at the moment. I know there’s supposed to be a bar somewhere on this road where a lot of college kids hang out because the owner doesn’t card very often, but I’m not sure where exactly. After about an hour of walking, my dorm is still about five or so miles away and I’m exhausted, hot, and my cheek is starting to hurt pretty bad.

“Stupid asshole.” I place my hand over my cheek, not really sure if I’m referring to Preston or the guy on the phone. My steps are beginning to lag along with the high of being so close to the traffic. Finally, I arrive at civilization in the form of a rundown bar called Larry’s Palace, the one I’ve heard people talk about. I’m sure they’ll have ice and a place for me to sit down for a minute and if rumors are correct, I won’t get carded.

I open the door and instantly get overwhelmed by the musty scent of beer and peanuts. There’s loud music playing from a jukebox, neon lights glowing from the signs flashing in the windows and some girl, probably barely eighteen, is dancing around a pole on a stage wearing a bikini that hardly covers anything.

I note that almost everyone in the place is male and that this bar is actually a strip club. I sigh, disheartened.

I decide to make it quick and walk straight up to the bar. The bartender is one of the few females in the place. She’s also the most dressed one, wearing a white T-shirt that’s a little too small for her.

“Can I get some ice?” I ask politely, crossing my arms on the counter.

She eyeballs my swollen cheek. “How old are you?”

I sink into a barstool and point over my shoulder at the stripper on the stage. “Probably older than that girl you have on stage.”

She narrows her eyes as she reaches for a glass cup under the counter. “Do you want water with your ice?”

My fake smile is shining on my face. “Just ice straight up.”

She rolls her eyes at me as she retreats to the back of the bar. She scoops some ice out of a bucket and then drops the glass down in front of me, before heading to an older guy with salt-and-pepper hair sitting down at the end of the bar.

I pick up the glass and press it to my cheek, wincing at first from the sting but then letting out a relieved breath as the cold begins to soothe the heat. I prop my elbow on the counter and rest my head against my hand as I listen to some guys cheer from behind me. There’s a mirror behind the counter, giving me a good glimpse of how bad I look at the moment. My mascara is running down my flushed skin and my hair is a little frizzier than normal because of the heat. My cheek is so puffy it looks like I’m carrying a giant jawbreaker in it and the skin is tinting purplish blue.

The song switches to a more upbeat one and if it’s possible the guys in the bar get even noisier, cheering for more. I decide it’s time to take the glass and bail because I have a long walk ahead of me and very little patience left. I hop off the barstool while the bartender’s distracted by the old dude at the end of the bar. I’m headed to the door when I notice that the cheering has shifted to shouting. I glance over my shoulder just in time to see a chair flying through the air and then it smashes into the stage. It causes a domino effect and suddenly everyone’s shoving up from the seats and the stripper takes off running from the stage. I’ve never actually seen a bar fight… or a strip club fight, but the idea of jumping in makes my pulse beat faster. It speeds up even more when I spot the guy in the middle of the room getting held back by two guys that look large enough to be bouncers.

Luke Price. He’s wearing a long-sleeved gray shirt with the sleeves pushed up and there’s blood staining the front from a trail dripping from his cut lip. His jeans also have blood on them and his boots are untied. His arms are being held back as a thinner, but taller guy stands in front of him rolling up his sleeve. Luke looks like he’s relishing the fact that he’s getting his ass kicked. I kind of understand it, although I usually try to avoid the actually physical part of a fight, just letting it work up to almost getting there then bailing.

There’s a thin guy wearing a tight black shirt and steel-toed boots standing in front of Luke and he says something to him. Luke laughs as he slams his head back, crashing it into one of the bouncers faces, the taller one with a more rounder gut. Blood gushes from the guy’s nose as he releases Luke. He starts cursing as he clutches his nose, blood dripping down his hands and arms. The bouncer begins to raise one of his arms to punch Luke.

I feel this wave of something, not adrenaline, but close to it, and suddenly I’m shoving through the crowd toward Luke, carrying so much energy in me it’s hard to know what to do with it. I don’t help people out. Ever. But with Luke I feel obligated because he’s helped me out more than once.

A few guys give me a look like I’m insane as I squeeze by them, but I’m too amped up on shock and adrenaline to care. With each step, the emotional aspects of tonight slowly erase, the confusion Preston put in me. The way he hurt me, the feelings that surfaced from his words and his inappropriate touching. By the time I reach Luke and the bouncers, I’m so silent inside I feel like I could do anything.

Luke’s attention darts to me as I step through the last of the bodies and out between him and the thinner guy standing in front of him. The taller and rounder bouncer is hunched over, his nose bleeding all over the floor and the other one has wrapped his arm around the skinny guy’s neck. The thin guy has a puffy nose and a swollen eye, which I’m guessing is why Luke’s knuckles are scraped.

Luke looks at me curiously, his gaze lingering on my cheek, before gliding up to my eyes. I can tell he’s having a hard time focusing and standing, probably because he’s beyond drunk.

“Who the hell are you?” the thin guy asks then spits blood on the floor, his boots crunching against the glass and peanut shells as he turns toward me.

I glance from him to the big guys and then at the thinner one, realizing I should have created a plan before I walked into this mess. Thankfully, being in the middle of guys pumped up on alcohol and testosterone is giving me even more silence from the earlier emotions Preston—the entire shitty day—put in me. I feel high, like I’m flying and could fall at any time. Blood is pouring through my veins and roaring in my ears. It’s like I’m invincible and it feels like I could do anything.

I fix my attention back to the thin guy with barbed wire tattoos on his arm. “I’m here for him.” I hitch my finger over my shoulder at Luke and give the skinny guy one of my best charming smiles.

The skinny one frowns, unimpressed, and crosses his arms. “Your friend broke the rules and he’s got to pay for it.” He leans to the side to look at Luke. “No touching the dancers.” He points to a sign hanging on the wall to my right that matches what he just said.

I look over my shoulder at Luke again, fighting an eye roll. “Really? You couldn’t have just gone home and jerked off.”