John turns to me, eyes blazing. “We’re going to bring my daughter home alive,” he says, voice shaking with restraint. “Or I burn everything.”
I don’t hesitate.
“That was my plan.”
I turn, already issuing orders into my comm. Vehicles spin to life. Men move. The night erupts into motion.
Peyton is out there, waiting for me.
And Laurel Masterson has no idea what she unleashed.
46
Slow,deep breaths helped with the pain in my arm. I try not to make a sound because I don’t want to attract Henry’s attention. He’s currently pacing like a caged animal while Laurel sits in a chair, her phone in her hand as if she hadn’t stabbed me in the shoulder with one of Henry’s knives because I refused to answer any of her questions.
“Fuck, Laurel,” Henry shouts at her. “Do you know what will happen if she bleeds out before we get the information we need?” He throws an arm in my direction. “We need to figure out where the money is or what she knows about their plans. Or hell, if you wanted to bargain with them, you sure as hell shot that to shit.”
Laurel rolls her eyes. “They aren’t going to kill me. Not if they want what I know. Plus, my family will have their heads if anything happens to me. I am protected.”
“I’m fucking not,” he roars. “I’ve taken your shit for years. Seduced your fucking daughter. Got her addicted to the drugsyougave me to give to her. Threatened her. Made her life hell. But fuck if I am going to fucking die for your cause. Especially since it looks like there is no fucking money!”
My stomach twists. This isn’t the first time he’s mentioned that it was on Laurel’s order that he get my mother addicted to drugs. Not the first time he’s insinuated he ruined her to gain information.
I can feel Henry’s eyes on as he continues to rant, but I don’t lift my gaze to meet his. Instead, I continue staring at the floor.
“No one is going to die, you pathetic boy,” Laurel replies, sounding annoyed. “They will either give me what I want, or she will suffer the consequences.”
“It’s been over an hour since you delivered your message,” he says to her. “Maybe you are overestimating how much she means to them. Or maybe they are planning something that is going to get us both executed.”
Laurel smirks. “Colter is deeply obsessed with her, and John won’t want to lose another family member. Not like he did Emma. They will give me what I want.
The two of them bicker back and forth on what to do. As time wears on, the throbbing in my arm eases, which I’m not sure is a good thing, especially since I have a migraine forming. The two of them won’t quit arguing, which isn’t helping, and the noise from outside isn’t making things any better.
But I am thankful there isn’t complete silence. Their distracting voices are keeping me from delving into the depths of my mind in self-pity as I look back on everything I can remember growing up.
Henry had been there throughout. Every time we moved, he’d find us. Every time my mother relapsed, he was there. All the pieces of my childhood are beginning to fit together to form a puzzle I never realized I needed to solve and at the center of it all is one person.
The missing piece that kept me from seeing the pattern.
Laurel.
My childhood wasn’t bad luck or bad choices or a broken mother who couldn’t stay clean.
It was orchestrated.
A slow, methodical ruin carried out by people who move pieces instead of living lives.
My gaze drifts, unfocused, to the stained concrete floor, but my mind keeps drifting back to snippets of conversation I’ve been overhearing between Laurel and Henry. Earlier, when he’d been questioning me, Henry kept asking me aboutthe family. I didn’t understand then what he’d been talking about. But now, as they openly discuss what they are going to do, it dawns on me what I’ve been missing since my arrival in Crimson Ridge.
Colter standing a room and everyone going quiet.
Men twice his age waiting for him to speak before they did. My father included.
If there is one thing I’ve learned about John Denver, it is that he doesn’t wait on people. He may not be the loudest voice in the room, but when he speaks, people listen. But with Colter…it is different. Subtle. Almost invisible. Like the argument in my father’s office.
At first, I thought it was respect because his father is the boss.
Now, I’m not so sure.
