His face goes red, hands curling into fists. “She is my daughter.”
“And she is my future wife,” I growl. “I kept her blind to aspect of the family because ofyou. Because you were too much of a coward to tell her the truth of her mother and your past. I told you, Iwarnedyou, that my father wasn’t going to let me give her information about who we are until you opened up to her about Sadie. You decided to keep it a secret from her.”
“The past is buried,” he roars.
“No,” I tell him coldly. “It dug its way back out.”
Behind us, Sutton lets out another sob, and the sound cuts through the shouting. John turns, torn. Grief wars with rage as he looks at his wife shaking in the medics arms.
“I’m tired of the two of you bickering over this shit,” Sutton cries. “Peyton did nothing wrong. All she wanted was the truth.” She turns her gaze to John and shakes her head in disappointment. “This is as much your fault as it is his. Don’t pretend that it isn’t. I know you miss Emma. Hell, I miss her too. Every single day, but Peyton deserved to know the truth and you not telling her put her in danger.”
I swallow hard.
“You’re right,” I agree quietly. “And that is why this ends tonight.”
John turns back to me, eyes burning. “If anything happens to her?—”
“It won’t,” I promise, every word carved from stone. “But whoever did this is inside out circle. Someone fed them her location. Her timing. Her protection detail.”
Ace steps closer now, his voice grim. “I know who it,” he says grimly, his fingers typing furiously on his phone. A photo pops up as he turns it for us to see.
John’s face drains of color as the implication hits him full force.
I pull my phone from my pocket, already dialing. “Rage later,” I tell him. “Right now, we hunt.”
The betrayal sizzles in my veins.
They will regret the day they took what is mine.
I will tear this town apart until I have her back.
44
I’ve been sittingin this chair for what seems like hours.
It’s been long enough of a time that the buzzing lights above to sink into my skull, for the cold to creep up through the soles of my bare feet. Long enough for my pulse to slow from a frantic gallop to a steady, miserable thud that echoes in my ears.
And long enough that I really need to pee.
I test the restraints again, subtle this time. Small movements. Wrists rotating. Fingers flexing. The rope bites into my skin, unforgiving, already chafing raw. Whatever’s underneath it doesn’t budge.
Think.
Think.
I focus on breathing. In through my nose. Out through my mouth. Slow. Controlled. The way I learned when I was eight and my mother was screaming at one of her drugged-up boyfriends and I needed to disappear inside myself to survive it.
Henry’s words won’t leave me alone.
Already broken.
What happened to get her there.
What she did…
My stomach twists. I don’t want to believe him. I don’t want to give him that power. But doubt is a nasty, persistent thing. It worms its way into cracks you didn’t know were there and starts chewing.
Footsteps return.
