Subject Me To Life [Book One] ✔️ *EDITING*

Chapter Twenty-Eight

*Not edited* Not proofread*

Chapter 28—: No Inspector Moore

        It's been four weeks since I arrived in Raven Hollow.

        It feels like forever ago I had pulled up to the unfamiliar drive way of the rented house I now reside in, nothing but a few personal belongings and a burden of a mutt to show the life I lived before. Time seems to have slowed down since that day, dragging out the seconds to make them feel like hours, dragging out the days to make them seem like weeks. Not long after that I had met those five inconveniences that inserted themselves into my life, making themselves comfortable and me suicidal.

        The group has given me nothing but headaches and unnecessary drama that I could have done without.

        Lilah is annoying. She talks too fast, chews too loud, trusts too easily, and pisses me off too much.

        Zeke is infuriatingly happy all the damn fucking time, to the point I just want to snap his neck over and over again.

        Gray is popular and boyish, the dictionary definition of perfect. It makes me hate him more. Because I know he has his flaws and faults— he just walks around like he doesn't.

        Landon is dark and reserved. He doesn't share much and I'm sure he hides more secrets than me behind those dark, calculating eyes of his. He's irritatingly secretive. I don't like it.

        And Dakota— Fuck. Don't even get me started on that tall, tatted fuck. He's too... nice. All of them are, but Dakota is a different kind of nice. He's subtle in the way he does things. Selfless. Actions over words type of guy. I detest it. And I detest the fact I can't understand him. I don't get him. He's a puzzle I can't piece together and it makes my blood boil. I hate him the most. Hate his blue eyes— the same very ones he uses to watch me so very closely. The same ones that shine when he laughs. I hate his blonde hair that bounces with every small movement of his head, how it falls messily in every direction when he runs his fingers through it. I hate his smiles; all fucking three of them. I hate his kindness, his generosity, his selflessness, his silence, his perceptiveness, his...

        Everything.

        But most of all, I hate the thought of him. It's enough for my stomach to churn, my palms to sweat and my heart to race. He makes me feel sick. And if that isn't dislike, I don't know what the fuck is.

        But for some reason, I stand at the very back of the room, my eyes trailing around the poorly lit space, searching for his ugly hair and even uglier blue eyes. I can't find the combo anywhere. There are people with blue eyes, and there are people with blonde hair, but neither have both. Neither of them are him.

        He isn't here.

        But I am.

        I stay most of the night, until the very last fight had been won by a man in his mid-twenties, his arm being held up by the illegitimate referee and a victorious smile on his clean-shaven face.

        Honestly, I was curious. Curious to see what Dakota was like in the ring as opposed to a stupid, childish bar brawl. It isn't like I had something better to do on my Saturday night, anyway.

        I trudge down the steps lazily, my shoulders tense and spine rigid. I feel on edge here at The Ring, especially since Mac is wondering around somewhere.