My father takes off his glasses, glaring at us. “You can’t even do this one thing right, can you?”
He snaps his fingers, and Falk is there, helping Clara lay on the floor, her bound hands rubbing her jaw, the fire I saw in her eyes banked by pain and exhaustion. And because he knows more than he lets on, he scoops her up, carrying her from the room, leaving Smith with me.
“Wait until Falk is back. He might look calm, but that’s when he’s most vicious,” my father states as Smith pulls out his utility knife, intent on cutting me loose with less care than Falk had removed my clothes.
“Yes, sir,” he says, threat in his gaze. But I meet his violence with my own.
Meanwhile, my father sighs, swiping through his phone. “Wednesday evening, we will try again. I had hoped for more from you, Archie. The videos of the two of you were exactly what I’d expected. Such a disappointment.”
He stretches, locks his papers in his safe, and leaves the room.
Smith and I stare at each other, and it’s clear he’s the kind of messed-up that will only fight to the death. He’s already decided Clara should die, and I’m not too far behind on his list, as I’m going to be given all hisfunjobs going forward.
When Falk returns and they cut me loose, tearing my barely formed scabs as they yank the plastic from the ridges they’d settled into, it’s Smith who adds some cuts of his own.
It’s only September. We need to stay until the wedding. And things are only going to get worse.
Not for the first time, regret slams into me.
Clara said she could do this.
Maybe she can. Who am I to guess the depth of strength she has? She’s pulled herself out of a sport-ending injury. Thenshe escaped an abusive relationship and a toxic mother. She’s survived with the four of us, with the terror and mistakes we seem so good at stumbling into.
So maybe this is just another thing to endure with grace and grit.
It fucking sucks I don’t have an ounce of grace or grit. I only survived here by hiding with drugs and alcohol and only got better by getting out.
Maybe she can do this.
But I don’t know that I can.
Which means we’re fucked, because there’s no way out but forward.
Chapter 61
Walker
The smell of chlorine trails RJ and me as we come into the house, Jansen still sprawled in Clara’s bed, half comatose. I don’t know how we’re going to get him in position this afternoon when Clara’s on campus. I’m just going to pray that he’ll get his brain working enough to be where he’s needed. RJ bounds up the stairs, better than he was a few days ago, but still struggling to pull himself away from his computer. Hopefully, class will get him out of his head and into the world enough for us to make it through this semester.
The jingle of the doorbell has my hands sweating. Tuesday morning doesn’t have many visitors.
Glancing through the peephole, I find an unexpected guest. Throwing open the door, I step onto the porch, Clara’s dad stepping out of my way, his face showing his suspicions when I don’t invite him in.
“Hello,” I say, not sure what to do, but knowing I need to get this guy away from the house. “Want to take a walk with me?”
And the man, God bless his reformed criminal heart, catches on immediately, striding beside me as we head down the block.
“Surveillance?” he asks after we round the corner.
“Possibly.”
“Does that have anything to do with why I can’t get a hold of Clara on either her old number or new one?”
“Yes and no.”
“Damn criminals always have to be so cryptic.”
I huff out a laugh. “You’re not wrong. Clara isn’t here and won’t be back here until the new year. Are you big on reading the newspaper or checking up on high society happenings?”
