Still, something prickles under my skin.
I hesitate for a breath.
Then unlock the door and pull it open.
She doesn’t move. Just steps slightly to the side, like she’s waiting for me to follow.
It’s only then that I see them.
The two prospects who brought me home.
Lying on the ground near the tree line.
Unmoving.
Blood blooming across one of their shirts.
I don’t even get a chance to scream.
Movement.
Four men emerge from behind the trees. Silent, fast, faces covered.
I try to slam the door, but she’s already there, shoving it wide. Her hand clamps down on my wrist, nails digging deep.
She leans in close, voice low and sweet.
“Your father wanted me to pass along a message,” she whispers.
“You’ve been a very bad girl.”
Then everything goes black.
Chapter 8
Ava
Theroomiscold.Damp.
Concrete floor, single bulb overhead, no windows. Just me, a metal chair, and the bastard I’ve been running from for months.
My stepfather.
Richard freaking Smith.
My wrists are zip-tied to the arms of the chair. Ankles too. It bites into my skin every time I move, but I keep pulling anyway. If there’s any give, I’ll find it.
He’s standing near the table, lighting a cigarette with the same cheap silver lighter I remember since forever. Same sneer too, curled lip and eyes that drip with contempt. It’s been only six months, but he looks older, fatter, with deep creases in his skin and more gray in his thinning hair. But the sickness in him? That’s still alive and well.
“You gained weight,” he says, eyeing me up and down with a cruel grin. “Didn’t think that was possible, given how much of a fat little pig you already were.”
The words hit harder than I want to admit.
My stomach twists. I know he’s just trying to tear me down, like always. But part of me? That part deep inside that still looks in mirrors and wonders if anyone could ever really want me? That part listens.
You’re too much.
You take up too much space.
