“Great.” I stuck my hands through the food slot andpresented her with my handcuffs, shoulder barking with pain. “Let me out of here, and I’ll gladly bring you anything you want—which toy do you want with your Happy Meal?”
She laughed melodically. “Don’t try to play checkers with me while I’m busy clearing the chessboard.” She winced as she turned.
“You’re injured?”I could definitely work with that.
She straightened, all signs of pain vanishing. “Just a scratch.” Who the hell was she? Who was heremployer—was she helping me or playing me to help herself?
It honestly didn’t matter; I’d do whatever it took to get Sara back, and that started with cooperating so I could get the hell out of here. “Just tell me exactly what you need and I’ll get it.”
“We believe your father hid the information at the estate.” She looked at her nails as they shimmered in the light, and I tensed in realization—they were painted a glittering gold to match her dress. She hadn’t just changed her clothes; she’d had time to do her nails since the last time I’d seen her.Oh fuck.Is that why my head hurt so bad? Had they kept me sedated?
“How long have I been out? How many days?” I swallowed hard, terrified of the answer.
“Long enough that I’d stop interrupting me, if I were you.” She snapped.
“Before your father died, he said?—”
My eyes flared. “What the hell do you know about my parents’ deaths?”
She paused contemplatively. “You know, you and I are more alike than you realize.” She mused, “Orphaned far too young?—”
“What exactly is it that you do here,Seven?” I emphasized her not-name with a bite that she rolled her eyes at.
“Whatever is necessary.” She shrugged.
“What do you know about my parents—about my mother?” I demanded, eyes shuttering as a new, unfamiliar sort of hatred built within me. My father had made his choices, whatever they were, and my mother?Collateral damage?Murdered because ofhis selfish choices? Had there been no one there to save my mother when she needed that help? Charlotte and our shared secret flooded my mind—her arranged marriage—maybe it hadn’t been an arrangement at all. Maybe Brad had bought her, in this very building, turned around and sold his daughter to the same fate—had my father done the same? The question made me nauseous—I couldn’t let Sara end up like her mother had, tied to someone dangerous who thought she was their property—or worse, likemymother, her life sacrificed because of someone even more dangerous. I would burn the earth to ash before I let my darling Sarafina suffer either of those fates. Sarafina was mine to protect, and mine to cherish. I’d been a fool to pretend otherwise. “Did she suffer?” I loosed a defeated breath, not knowing if I could even handle the answer.
“Bring me what I need, and someday I’ll tell you all about it.” Seven said sweetly.
I scowled, knowing that wasn’t even remotely true. “Tell me where to look and I’ll?—”
“Did your father keep any of his paintings in storage?” She asked rather suddenly. I nodded, shocked as she began listing places she definitely shouldnotknow about. But apparently she did. “Anywhere else, I might check?” She asked, one arm banded across her stomach, while she propped the other arm up, snapping her nails in the air with irritation.
I shook my head. “Not that I know of.”
“There must be.” She mused to herself, deep in thought as she paced. “Because it’s not inanyof the paintings I checked, or anywhere else for that matter.”
“It’s been you.” I said, realization washing over me. “Breaking into the house, leaving the letters—how’d you get in and out without the security system catching you?”
She smirked, “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Then she turned more thoughtful. “I know for a fact it’s not in any of the paintings in the house.” She turned up her nose with disdain. “Because I’ve checked them all—thrice.”
Most of the paintings around the house were just investment commodities, many of them I just hung up to enjoy purely for the hell of it until I sold them again—I couldn’t count how many pieces had filtered through the house the last ten years, not to mention the portfolio—if what she wanted was hidden in a painting—it was most likelylong goneby now. If the information was that important, a painting would be the last place my father would hide it.
“Why do you think the information is behind a painting?” I mused. “Why not tucked away in a safe, or a deposit box?” I continued sharpening my plastic shiv.
“Because I checked those too.” She scoffed.
“What did he say?” I asked. “Specifically.” Plastic dust rained down on my feet.
I found her eyes cold and calculating when she met my gaze again. “When I took little bits of flesh from his body, he said I’d never find it, because it was behind your mother’s favorite painting.” Seven said, and I started sharpening faster. Had she been the one to actually do it then? Had she drawn the last breath from my helpless mother? Maybe I’d giveherseven perfect breaths before I?—
The buzzer sounded again, and a towering figure filled the glass window in the door—Seven groaned, but I was grinning.
“Oh goody, the Three Stooges and their lapdog,” Seven spat, slipping out the back just as Theo kicked the door open, looking pissed off at the door itself. “Damn door locks.”
Theo, Liam, and Cade filled the room, and Cade wasted no time attaching a small device to the prison bars. “Step back.” He instructed. “Explosion in three, two.” The device detonated, and a small wisp of smoke curled in the air.
“I’m surprised to see you here.” I said to Liam.
