Then Gilbert looks at me, and my skin prickles at what I see in his eyes. Recognition. Appraisal. Something that looks disturbingly close to pride.
The pieces snap together with sickening clarity.
“Why?” The word comes out strangled, my blood starting to boil beneath my skin.
Axel looks at Gilbert but says nothing. Just stands there like a statue, like he already knows what’s coming.
“Lexi, honey—”
“Don’t.” I cut him off, taking a step forward. My hands are shaking but I don’t know if it’s from rage or fear or the horrible understanding that I’ve been played since the beginning. “Don’t you dare ‘honey’ me.”
Gilbert leans back in his chair, studying me. “I’m only going to touch the surface then.”
“Of what?” I seethe, each word sharp enough to make my jaw ache.
“Vincent is the reason your mother is dead.”
I scoff, the sound harsh and disbelieving. He’s leading with that? Blaming the fucking drug dealer for everything he put her through? He thinks he’s so fucking smart, but the words don’t land the way he thinks they will. I’ve already built armor against this exact wound.
“She’s been dead for years,” I state the fucking obvious.
“Yes.” Gilbert stands, moving to a filing cabinet against the wall. “But do you know how she died?”
“Overdose.” The word tastes like ash. “Pills. I know the fucking story. I saw what happened. I was there, remember?”
“Do you?” He pulls out a folder, sets it on the desk. “Vincent laced his product with fentanyl. Cut corners, maximized profit, killed dozens of people in the process. Your mother wasn’t the only death, Lexi.”
He opens the folder, and I see photographs—crime scene photos, medical examiner reports, toxicology screens. My mother’s face, pale and still, captured by some clinical photographer who didn’t know her, didn’t know she hummed when she cooked or that she cried during sad movies.
“And that little shit tied up to the chair outside?” Gilbert continues, his voice going cold. “He’s Vincent’s heir to this… drug throne. His protégé. His goddamnmasterpiece. So you’re going to—”
I laugh. Actually laugh, the sound cracking through the room like breaking glass. “I’m sorry... what?”
The silence that follows is suffocating.
Axel finally speaks, his voice quiet but firm. “This is justice for Mom, Lex.”
I turn on him so fast he flinches. “Justice for Mom?Justice?” I scoff, shaking my head. “You want to talk about justice? Where were you when I was fourteen and had to identify her body? You refused to go, Dad took off, so I was left to pick up the pieces with grandma! Where were you when a year passed? Oh, right, high as a motherfucker! Do not speak to me about justice because justice hasn’t been served yet!”
I glance at Gilbert.It’s not until he dies.
Axel’s jaw tightens but he doesn’t respond.
I turn on my heel, heading for the door. This is bullshit—all of it. I’m not playing executioner for a father who abandoned us and a brother who only remembers I exist when it’s convenient.
“Wait.” Gilbert’s voice stops me, and I hate that it does. “Here are the autopsy reports. The real ones, not the cleaned-up version the police gave you.”
I whip around. “Why now? Why wait until the first day of college when I thought I could finally move on from all of this?”
Gilbert’s smile is sharp, predatory. “Because if you fuck me on this, if you walk away or talk or try to play hero, you go down with me. You, my dear, finally turned eighteen. Welcome to being an adult. I’ve got enough evidence linking you to Koa’s activities over the last week to make the DA very interested. Kidnapping, accessory after the fact, conspiracy—take your pick.”
The threat lands right at my chest. He played it this way so he could drag me to jail with him? What the fuck is wrong with him? Selfish motherfucker.
I storm over, ripping the papers from his hand. “Fucking asshole!”
“That’s my girl,” he says, and the pride in his voice makes me want to scream.
I storm out of the room, papers crumpled in my fist, rage making everything sharp and clear and intolerable. The warehouse swims in my vision—too bright, too loud, too real.
