“How the hell did that happen?”
“Someone deleted it.” His eyes snap up to mine, and there's something in them I don't like—suspicion, distrust. “You were the first person to ask me about it, weren't you?”
“Of course I was. I was the one who saw my fuckin' husband get hit with a fuckin'pipe.”
“Someone with access deleted this, Erin.”
My blood runs cold. “Do you think I?—”
“I don't know what to think,” he says gruffly. “It's a hell of a coincidence, isn't it? You show up, and everything goes sideways. Your da fucked us over.”
“My da?” My voice rises. “What the hell are you on about?”
Declan's expression doesn't change. “You don't know? Sure you don't.”
“Know what?”
He studies me for a long moment, like he's trying to decide if I'm lying. “Your father. The deal he made with Cavin. He didn't hold up his end. Cost us a shite ton of money.”
“What?”
“He ghosted us, Erin. Didn't give us the West Coast connections he promised. Thereisno West Coast connection.”
The floor drops out from under me. My father? No. He wouldn't.
But even as I think it, I know it's possible. My father would sell his own damn daughter if the price was right.
He sold me, didn't he?
“I didn't know,” I say, my voice breaking. “I swear to Christ, I didn't know.”
He doesn't look convinced.
“Listen, we need to get Cavin to the hospital. Dr. Rosenberg is coming today for my sister, and Cavin can barely stand. He's disoriented and sick, and if he doesn't get to the doctor, he's not going anywhere?—”
“He's not going,” Declan says flatly. “Not with you.”
“What?”
“You heard me. He's not leaving this house. Not until we figure out what the fuck is going on. Not with that concussion. Doc says he needs to rest.”
“But… but today's the day. Dr. Rosenberg's coming,” I say, trembling. “This is important?—”
“Then we'll reschedule the doctor,” he says. “Another day won't kill her.”
But the words sit like an anvil in my chest.
Reschedule the doctor. Another day won't kill her.
But it might. It might kill her. Because if Dr. Rosenberg can’t see her… and if that tribute doesn’t get paid…
But I can't say that. I can't tell them anything. Cavin made me promise.
“You don't understand,” I say desperately. “This is important?—”
“What I understand,” Declan cuts me off, “is that my cousin got his skull cracked open, and you're awful eager to get him out of this house.”
“That's not—I'm trying to help.”
