It’s not a lie. Nothing hurts me anymore.
She's pressed against the passenger door, as far from me as the confines of the SUV will allow. She won’t even look me in the eyes. The memory of her face when that plastic cage exploded is burned into my mind. The way her eyes widened then narrowed like she was calculating something. She didn’t seem horrified or even disgusted. It was like she was just processing the entire situation.
"You didn't have to bring me there," she says, staring out at the endless stretch of highway with a blank expression.
"Yes, I did."
My voice comes out harder than I intended but I need to get my point across.
"You wanted to see the real me, Datura. That's who I am and that's what happens when someone betrays my family."
She finally turns to face me, her dark eyes searching mine like she’s hoping she’ll find some kind of remorse.
"Was that supposed to scare me away? Or was it a test?"
I consider lying, but what's the point? She should know everything. It’s not like she can leave anyway.
"Both."
She doesn’t say anything for a long moment and I almost think she won’t but then her voice comes out and it sounds different.
"Did I pass?" she asks.
I glance over to find her lips are curved into the barest hint of a smile.
"So far but that's what bothers me," I admit. "You should be terrified right now. You should be screaming, crying and begging me to let you go. Instead, you're sitting there looking at me like…"
"Like what?"
"Like you’re starting to understand me."
"I don’t think I’ll ever understand you, Rio," she says with a hint of sadness in her tone.
I want to feel bad about that statement but I can’t bring myself to. After all, how can she understand me when I don’t understand myself most of the time?
"So,” she says, breaking me from my thoughts. “Your sister's methods are…effective."
I laugh out loud at that.
"Nicci enjoys her work. Probably a little too much."
"And you?"
“What about me?” I ask.
“Do you enjoy yours?”
The question hangs between us, and I have to stop and think about it for a second.
‘Do I?’
"Sometimes," I admit, because there's no point in lying about it. "When they deserve it."
"And who decides that? You? Your father?"
I turn off the highway onto the private road that leads to the estate. The security gates slide open as we approach, recognizing the car.
"It's complicated, Datura."
