Storm: Book 3 Read Online Free PDF Page B

appetite spoiled, sipping my coffee until the cup was done. Chase never bothers to order anything. He just sits there holding my hand, consoling me.

Chapter 7
    Chase held me tightly all night. It felt so good being in his arms again. Normally I would’ve drifted off to sleep after we had sex, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Kim. I had to do something. Something drastic.
    The next morning, Chase knew I was visibly shaken and wanted to stay with me, but I begged him to go to class.
    “Do you need me to go with you?” he asks brewing a pot of coffee.
    “No,” I say, “I think it should just be me and her.” He nods.
    “Whatever you decide to do, I support you one hundred percent.” He cups my hand in his and massages it.
    After he leaves, I open my laptop and my mind starts churning. I decide I’d have to try to convince Kim to go to the police. It’s stupid, it’s wrong, it’s hypocritical. How could I convince someone to go to the police who I didn’t even know that well and I hadn’t gone to them myself?
    I really didn’t know anyone in the group besides Kim and Amy and I didn’t have either of their phone numbers, so I went the group’s Facebook page and grabbed Amy’s number off of it. Finding out Chase’s past with the law the way I did, you would think that I would stop prying in people’s business. But this was bigger than just prying. This was bigger than Kim and me. I hated everything that Connor and his frat stood for. I wasn’t the only one. Something had to be done. I had to come forward. I couldn’t be silent any longer.
    I texted Amy that I needed to speak to Kim and I didn’t know where she stayed. And she wasn’t working at the diner. Texting or calling her wasn’t enough I said. Surprisingly, she gave me Kim’s dorm: Beddows Hall Room 306.
    ***
    I walk through Beddows, a co-ed freshman dorm on the southern edge of campus. I’m glad I don’t stay here. I swear in this lobby exists every clique or in crowd on campus. The hippy crowd sipping almond milk smoothies playing hacky-sack in the corner. The euro students with extra medium V-neck t-shirts playing EDM music on a phone with glow-sticks in their mouths are crowed around talking about ‘wait till you hear this sick drop’. A couple of girls, all blonde, all size negative zero twirling their hair in one hand and in the other droning out to whatever Kim Kardashian posted on Instagram. All three of them are saying absolutely nothing to each other, but let them tell it, they’re having the time of their lives and bonding as friends.
    I can feel the STD’s dripping through the walls as all of the marijuana smoke filters through the air like a vulture. It makes me cough a little. I’m no stranger to weed, but whatever strain this is, it’s strong. A boy, who looks no older than fifteen, wearing a LA Galaxy soccer jersey, approaches me; he compliments me on my legs. I shouldn’t have worn shorts so high up my knees. I say thank you, continuing towards the stairwell.
    “I’d like them wrapped around my face anytime sweetheart,” he says getting shits and giggles from the peanut gallery called his friends standing on the wall behind us.
    I think if I slapped him right now, I’d the send the gum in his mouth halfway across the lobby.
    But I’m not here for that. I have business to take care of. I turn my nose up at them and make my way up the stairs. The elevator is a death trap. The first weekend of the semester, I came to the cafeteria here for lunch and it had yellow police tape across the front. Good thing Kim’s room is one of first out of the stairway, because I won’t be able to deal with the cat calls and all the whistles coming from the boys rooms as I pass them. Her door is open. I knock three times. Faintly. It doesn’t look like anyone is here. I knock again.
    “Kim?” I ask. I hear the faint sound of an acoustic guitar strumming.
    Kim comes out of the room with a notepad with a frown penciled on her face,