Defective (The Institute Series Book 3) by Kayla Howarth Page B

to him, and he hands me a yellow envelope. There’s no address, just my name.
    “Where did it come from?” I ask.
    “It was dropped off via courier about an hour ago,” he replies.
    I look at the clock above his desk noting that it’s 1:06am “Midnight is a bit late for a delivery, isn’t it?”
    The security man just shrugs. “You’ll be surprised at what gets delivered here at all sorts of hours.” His voice drips with innuendo, and I don’t think I want to know any more.
    Taking it in my hands, I start heading upstairs. I stare at the envelope, wondering what it could be.
    When the elevator reaches my apartment, I open the envelope, pulling out a photograph and a typed note.
    The photograph is of Jayce and me walking the street tonight on our way to the bar. Smiling and looking at each other, the moment looks intimate even though we aren’t even touching. My blood freezes when I read the note.
    Looks like Paxton isn’t the only one with secrets.
     

Chapter Seven
     
     
    I drop the papers to the floor. I can’t breathe. What does this mean? Who would do something like this? What am I meant to do with this?
    “Pax—” I almost call out to Paxton, not caring that it’s the middle of the night, but then I realise he’s still away. He won’t be back until tomorrow.
    Still standing in the entryway, my heart hammers fast in my chest, my breathing quick and shallow. I bend down and pick the papers off the floor, taking them and the envelope into my room.
    Sitting down on the edge of my bed, I rack my brain trying to figure out who could’ve sent me this. What could it mean? I run my hand over the photo of Jayce and me, the reality shocking me that this was literally only taken a few hours ago, and now here it is, in printed form, dropped off at my doorstep.
    My first thought is that it must be Brookfield, but I shake my head at the thought. If Brookfield was alive, and he came back, he’d just kill me. He’d shoot me on the street, not take a photo of me. As much as Brookfield was evil, he wasn’t about playing games. If he wanted something, he took measured steps to get it as quickly as he could. He didn’t play with his prey first. And why come back now? What’s changed?
    Which leaves the only other thing I can think of – a journalist. What do they want?
    The note , I think to myself. I grab it off my bed and look at it again.
    ‘Looks like Paxton isn’t the only one with secrets.’ Isn’t the only one. Are they implying that I have secrets, too? That Paxton and I are hiding the fact our relationship isn’t real? Are they saying that Paxton is keeping something from me, just like I’m hiding Jayce from him? Or is it saying that Jayce has secrets? He’s in the photo, too – it’s not just me.
    I promised Paxton I wouldn’t date, and I’m not. But I did have every intention of keeping Paxton in the dark about Jayce. Not that that will be an option now. I know it’ll just make him angry and jump to the wrong conclusions.
    I rub my neck where it’s all tense from worry. Flopping backwards on the bed, I wiggle my way up to my pillow. Whether it’s the booze, the strange envelope, or the fact that I’m so tired and exhausted, all I want to do is switch off.
    Sleep isn’t accepting my open invitation. My mind is in that middle area – not yet asleep, but not quite awake either. I’m conscious of my surroundings, but I’m also confused when I hear a baby cry at the foot of my bed, and look up to see a talking piece of pizza in my room. Clearly, I’m dreaming, but I’m oddly aware that I’m not really there. This is why I shouldn’t drink.
    I wake at 9:00AM, still in my clothes from the night before, still with the mysterious envelope on the bed next to me.
    My plan was to spend the day in bed, but I know I won’t be able to get any actual rest. I make my way into the kitchen to cook a good hearty breakfast to squash the queasy feeling left over from last night’s drinks.
    There’s