Unravel Me: The Juliette Chronicles Book 2

back to our group. “You’re going to do that here? In front of everyone? Because these tables aren’t as comfortable as they look—”
    Adam pulls back and slams into Kenji’s shoulder on his way out.
    “Don’t . ”
    Is all I hear him say before he disappears.

SIX
    Kenji lets out a low whistle.
    Castle is calling Adam’s name, asking him to slow down, to speak to him, to discuss things in a rational manner. Adam never looks back.
    “I told you he was moody,” Kenji mutters.
    “He’s not moody,” I hear myself say, but the words feel distant, disconnected from my lips. I feel numb, like my arms have been hollowed out.
    Where did I leave my voice I can’t find my voice I can’t find my
    “So! You and me, huh?” Kenji claps his hands together. “Ready to get your ass kicked?”
    “Kenji.”
    “Yeah?”
    “I want you to take me to wherever they went.”
    Kenji is looking at me like I’ve just asked him to kick himself in the face. “Uh, yeah—how about a warm hell no to that request? Does that work for you? Because it works for me.”
    “I need to know what’s going on.” I turn to him, desperate, feeling stupid. “You know, don’t you? You know what’s wrong—”
    “Of course I know.” He crosses his arms. Levels a look at me. “I live with that poor bastard and I practically run this place. I know everything.”
    “So why won’t you tell me? Kenji, please —”
    “Yeah, um, I’m going to pass on that, but you know what I will do? I will help you to remove yourself the hell out of this dining hall where everyone is listening to everything we say .” This last bit he says extra loudly, looking around at the room, shaking his head. “Get back to your breakfasts, people. Nothing to see here.”
    It’s only then that I realize what a spectacle we’ve made. Every eye in the room is blinking at me. I attempt a weak smile and a twitchy wave before allowing Kenji to shuffle me out of the room.
    “No need to wave at the people, princess. It’s not a coronation ceremony.” He pulls me into one of the many long, dimly lit corridors.
    “Tell me what’s happening.” I have to blink several times before my eyes adjust to the lighting. “This isn’t fair—everyone knows what’s going on except for me.”
    He shrugs, leans one shoulder against the wall. “It’s not my place to tell. I mean, I like to mess with the guy, but I’m not an asshole. He asked me not to say anything. So I’m not going to say anything.”
    “But—I mean—is he okay? Can you at least tell me if he’s okay?”
    Kenji runs a hand over his eyes; exhales, annoyed. Shoots me a look. Says, “All right, like, have you ever seen a train wreck?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “I saw one when I was a kid. It was one of those big, crazy trains with a billion cars all hitched up together, totally derailed, half exploded. Shit was on fire and everyone was screaming and you just know people are either dead or they’re about to die and you really don’t want to watch but you just can’t look away, you know?” He nods. Bites the inside of his cheek. “This is kind of like that. Your boy is a freaking train wreck.”
    I can’t feel my legs.
    “I mean, I don’t know,” Kenji goes on. “Personally? I think he’s overreacting. Worse things have happened, right? Hell, aren’t we up to our earlobes in crazier shit? But no, Mr. Adam Kent doesn’t seem to know that. I don’t even think he sleeps anymore. And you know what,” he adds, leaning in, “I think he’s starting to freak James out a little, and to be honest it’s starting to piss me off because that kid is way too nice and way too cool to have to deal with Adam’s drama—”
    But I’m not listening anymore.
    I’m envisioning the worst possible scenarios, the worst possible outcomes. Horrible, terrifying things that all end with Adam dying in some miserable way. He must be sick, or he must have some kind of terrible affliction, or something that causes him to do things he can’t control or oh, God, no
    “You have to tell me.”
    I don’t recognize my own voice. Kenji is looking at me, shocked, wide-eyed, genuine fear written across his features and it’s only then that I realize I’ve pinned him against the wall. My 10 fingers are curled into his shirt, fistfuls of fabric clenched in each hand, and I can only imagine what I must look like to him right now.
    The scariest part is that I don’t even care.
    “You’re going to tell