Don't Look Behind You (Don't Look Series Book 1) Emily Kazmierski (ereader that reads to you TXT) 📖

crows, reading in a fake man-voice. “There’s a girl in my drama club who is constantly questioning how I direct, the choices I’m making, and it’s been challenging. But you know what? I secretly enjoy it, because every one of her questions makes me re-evaluate what we’re doing and why.”

I caught the line when I read it this morning. Even more surprising than the fact that Esau mentioned me of all people in his interview is that I don’t hate it.

“You vex him, and he likes it,” Viv teases, winking at me.

“Ugh, Megan, you’re so vexing,” Fiona says through her laughter.

I focus on my chocolate peanut butter milkshake. The best flavor, obviously.

“I wish it said what kind of tractor he drives,” Marisa says, dreamy eyed. “I wonder if it’s an International or a John Deere.”

“John Deere,” she and Viv say simultaneously, like it’s obvious.

The rest of us burst into laughter.

“I bet you’d like to see his tractor,” Viv says through her giggles, prodding at Marisa with the hand that isn’t on Erin’s thigh.

“Shut up,” Marisa says, an indignant flush to her cheeks. “He’s hot, but no. Besides, I think he’d rather show Megan his tractor.”

My neck heats. “Gross. Like I want to ride a tractor with a sweaty, bossy grump.”

The table falls silent.

Crap, I may have gone a little too far.

That’s when I notice everyone looking past me with guilty expressions.

“He’s right behind me, isn’t he?”

Fiona nods. “Yep.”

I turn, my eyes climbing past the sweaty white t-shirt and messy bun of black hair to settle on a pair of annoyed eyes. “Esau, I…”

His gaze locks on mine. “Grumpy, huh?” He pulls his t-shirt up to wipe the sweat off his forehead, and everyone suddenly is very interested in their food. My eyes jump back up to his face, but from the wicked tilt to his mouth, he definitely thinks I was peeking at his abs.

“See you around,” he says, walking past us to the counter to order.

I watch him walk away, his words from the article on a loop in my head.

“Film is supposed to be evocative. It pushes the boundary of human experience in a way that is intensely relatable and inspiring. At least, that’s the kind of film I hope to make someday.” I can hear Esau speaking the words in my head.

That longing to provoke emotion in other people is a feeling I can relate to. Whenever someone comments that they love one of my photos, it cements in my mind my love for photography. The ability to capture a feeling in an image in a way that other people understand is breathtaking. Empowering. The shared experience makes the hours of shooting and editing worth it.

I study Esau while he orders his milkshake and stands to one side to wait. Somewhere behind that grumpy, bossy exterior is a guy who wants to relate to other people through film. Through emotion.

I can’t hate him for that.

“Hey, isn’t that your aunt?” Fiona asks, nudging me.

I turn to look out the window. “Yeah.” She must have decided she wanted a milkshake.

“Maybe she’s come to yell at you about that photo some more,” Fiona says. “She is so strict. If I was ever in the newspaper, my mom would buy copies to send to all of our relatives.”

Aunt Karen steps out of a shop across the street and walks toward the diner. Even in the oppressive heat, she’s wearing dark slacks and a short-sleeved button-down.

I wave at her through the window, but she must not see me, because she keeps going. Passes the front door and goes around the side of the building. That’s weird.

“I’ll be right back.”

Fiona slides into the aisle so I can climb out of the booth. I go outside and have to gasp at how hot it is compared to the interior of the diner. It’s like walking around in molten lava. The hair hanging down from my ponytail sticks to my neck. Maybe Esau had the right idea about the bun.

I round the corner but don’t see Aunt Karen. She must have gone around back, but why?

I walk to the back of the building and freeze. Aunt Karen is there, but so is Justin. He’s got my guardian pinned to the wall.

I open my mouth to scream at him or yell for help. He’s attacking her! Where’s her gun? I thought she always had it on her. My mind reels as I stand hot glued to the concrete, the heat seeping in through my sandals and searing the soles of my feet.

Oh.

Justin leans into Aunt Karen and kisses her. Her hands fly up to his hair, and they’re one beast with hands and lips and teeth.

Gross.

I back away as quietly as I can, stunned. Aunt Karen is secretly dating Justin. It explains so much—why he’s always around, the warmth in her tone when she mentions him, the casual way his name rolls off her lips.

Then it hits me. The reason she lied to me about him working at the dairy. She’s covering for him. The only question is, what are they covering up? There’s no question his past is shady, but is it murderous?

Chapter 15

Day 122, Wednesday

Noah’s map of sightings of the Mayday Killer has another pin. Another couple is dead, stabbed ruthlessly over and over on their couch. Their children found the bodies when they got home from playing soccer in the park with friends. I wish I could send them something, anything to let them know they’re not alone, but the press are withholding their identities since they’re minors.

It’s the right call. The sickos and freaks who come out of the woodwork when there’s a serial killer involved make my stomach turn.

And I didn’t see Justin at the school today. Which is why I’ve spent the afternoon looking for him on social media and searching his name on the internet to see what I can find out. There’s not a trace of him anywhere. Any mentions of him on the web have been scrubbed