I know this because I'd think the same way. Because I'd need to know she's with me by choice, that what I feel isn't completely one-sided.
Just don't kill him before I get there, baby.
Chapter 58
Roxy
"Did you prepare everything?" A voice cuts through the haze, and I try to move my head.
"For the thousandth time, yes." The irritation in the second voice is sharp.
When my vision clears, I see a fireplace and a brown leather couch. The room is relatively dark, gray curtains blocking the windows, and I'm grateful for the dim lighting because I know my temples would throb even worse if there were more light.
I study the men before me. I spent my childhood with one of them. The other still wears a mask. Where Henry stands at six feet, the other is nearly six foot five and leaner.
The masked man is dressed in black from head to toe. A hoodie covers his hair, but I catch glimpses of dark strands at the base of his neck.
I file away every detail. This bastard is going on my shit list right after I deal with the man now turning his attention to me.
"You're awake. Good." Henry approaches and offers me a glass of water.
My throat feels like sandpaper, so I don't refuse. At this point, I doubt he'd bother drugging me again.
I'm not restrained, which means I'll be able to claw his eyes out without any problems.
After I take a sip, the man behind Henry leans against the wall and watches me. His gaze is the kind that brands itself onto your skin, and despite myself, I feel the urge to shake off his stare.
"It was so obvious," I finally tell Henry.
But my mind is only now making the connections, because in all the loneliness that swallowed me after Mom's death, he was like a light at the end of the tunnel. Because that's what he wanted to be.
I watch him stand and walk without any trace of a limp.
"It was, but it's not your fault,amorino."
"Don't call me that." The words come through clenched teeth.
He stained that name the moment he first said it to me while his hands were still covered in my mother's blood.
But he's wrong. It is my fault because I didn't see the signs. The way he looked at Mom. The way he looks at me now, exactly the same.
"Why the limp?" I ask.
For years I watched him walk with a cane. He never slipped up once.
A smile stretches across his face.
"Psychology, Roxy. No one puts a man who walks with a cane at the top of their suspect list. No one believes a man with that kind of disability is capable of such acts."
That's when it clicks, why no witness ever gave valid testimony.
"You talked to the witnesses," I whisper.
His eyes gleam with pride at my statement, and he moves closer.
"A little trick I learned in college. Ever heard of Palmer and Loftus?"
He notices my silence and continues.
