Page 60 of Cruel Abandon (Fallen Royals 5)

She releases the tree with one hand and points. Her whole body trembles.

I spin.

Not five feet from where I landed is a pile of loose dirt. I creep closer and then stop in my tracks.

A woman lies in a shallow hole, half-buried. Dirt and leaves cover her, but not enough to hide her. Her hair is bright gold, splayed out around her like a halo. The sun catches it, even now. It’s the first thing that draws my attention—and then her face. Her eyes.

They’re open, staring at the sky.

Her hands are bound in front of her, and…

I cover my mouth.

There’s a gash across her throat. Her skin split open, stained red down her front.

But worse than the horror of this moment is ice poured down my back: the familiarity.

It’s Natalie.

I stagger away and fall to my knees, my stomach twisting. I press my lips together.

Do not puke, I order myself. Keep it together.

“Skylar,” Taryn manages from a distance. “Get… get away from her.”

I close my eyes and breathe.

She doesn’t smell like a dead person. The only scent I catch is dirt and the coppery smell of blood, leaves, and fresh, cold wind. It blasts through me, but it isn’t enough to erase what I just saw.

“Taryn, call the police,” I yell. “W-wait for them on the ridge.”

I force myself back up.

Taryn might not have recognized her—especially from that distance. Or if she did, she’s freaking out silently.

Taryn is gone, her purple coat vanishing back up onto the trail, leaving me alone with Natalie.

I find myself inching closer again.

Her peacoat is splayed open, mud and leaves on the inside like it fell that way before her killer started to bury her. The blouse is ripped, leggings covered in dirt. At least her boots are still on her feet. Her last outfit.

Did they grab her after she parted ways with Whitney on Friday night? Or did she put these clothes on Saturday morning, leave her apartment, and…

Don’t.

Natalie’s coat is open, her shirt raised a bit. Her wrists are bound in thin white rope. The knot…

Memories flash in front of my eyes. It’s a movie I can’t control.

—Run, now, my girl. Don’t look back—

“No.” I stagger away, almost tripping over my own feet.

My shoulder hits a tree, and I fall again. To my embarrassment, tears fill my eyes. I stare at the sky and blink away the liquid. I will not be affected by this.

I won’t.

I can’t.