Stop trying to get out of this, Ansel.
Your death warrant is already signed. We’re being generous by giving you a chance to stop Cade’s from being signed too.
You have 48 hours to get us what we need. If you don’t deliver, you won’t be the only one the Buckinghams bury.
More photos come through. Black circles around red dots.
Jules.
Wyatt.
Jackson.
Neo.
UNKNOWN
Two days, Ansel.
When my phone screen goes dark, my pale reflection stares eerily back at me.
What the fuck do I do?
What the fuck do I do?
“Butterfly? Are you okay?”
Cade’s voice makes me jump, the phone falling to the table with a clatter.
He frowns, his big hand cupping my face. “Ansel? What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I don’t look at his face. No, I can’t drag my eyes away from the red dot at the base of his throat. Cade doesn’t notice it. Why would he? It’s just a tiny light. So small you wouldn’t notice it unless you looked for it.
But I know. I see it.
It appears and disappears. Winking at me.
Taunting me.
Reminding me.
I summon up a smile, and it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
No. I’m wrong.
That’s the thing I have to do next.
22
CADE
I’ve only felt this chilling fear once before. When I saw Ansel on his knees with a gun against his head. Only the knowledge that Samson was the one wielding it stopped me from spiraling completely.
Samson isn’t here right now. It’s just me and Ansel.
As he takes my hand and silently leads me from the café, I know. Somehow, I know. I’ve known from the second I saw that fake-ass smile. The gray tinge of his skin. The tremble in his lower lip.
Something is wrong. Desperately wrong.
