There’s no point hiding it anymore or playing this sick song and dance we’ve been playing since he showed up at my house. “When I was sixteen.” I eyeball him, and it’s like staring the devil in the face. “Why did you kidnap me?” I have my theories and I’d like to see if I’m right.
“Your father was struggling to understand the implications of our…business relationship. He needed a reminder that he was tied to us for life.”
“You used me to keep him in line. To ensure he continued doing dirty work for you.” It’s what I’ve always suspected, because the only way Dad would ever get into bed with those assholes is if they were holding me or Mom over his head.
He nods. “Did your father know you worked it out?”
“I never told him.”
“But is that the truth?” he asks, arching a brow.
The guy with the missing tooth and an abundance of nose hair on his right tilts his head to the side, his gaze roaming me from head to toe, and I’ve never been more grateful to be wearing an oversized hoodie. I wonder if these guys were part of the crew who kidnapped me.
“It’s the truth. He died not realizing I knew.”
Sinner grins, flashing me perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth that look so out of place in his sneering mouth. “That’s where you’re wrong. I think Pops did know. That’s why he started feeding you false intel to pass to us.”
My heart rate kicks up. “What false intel?”
“What do you mean?” Saint adds, his voice laced with confusion. “Why would Harlow be passing you intel?”
Sinner jumps up, grabbing Saint around the throat. Tension bleeds in the air. “Interrupt me again and you’ll spend a week in the pit.” Sinner shoves him away. “Shut up or I’ll have you removed.”
Sinner sits back down on the seat. “This is the part the board has trouble with.” He looks up at the guys flanking him on both sides, confirming their status. “There are some of us who believe you weren’t aware that the information you passed to us the last twelve months was bogus.”
“It was fake?” I blurt, my brow puckering. “Why? I don’t understand?” My gaze bounces between the men.
“It was orchestrated to trap us, and it almost worked.” His jaw flexes, and murderous rage flits across his face. “Your father paid the price for that treachery, but do you need to pay the price too?”
“I didn’t know,” I protest, my mind whirling at this latest revelation.
It’s true that when I’d figured out it was The Sainthood who had kidnapped me, and they were the ones I was spying on Dad for, I became more careful about the information I included in the monthly drop-offs. Before I knew the truth, I just copied the files from Dad’s office intact and handed them over because I was a scared kid who believed them when they told me they would kill both my parents if I didn’t cooperate.
They threatened me just before I was released, and, even as a young kid, I knew then I would never be free. They told me if I didn’t do what they said they’d kill my parents and take me again, and this time it would be forever. They said, “It’s simple. Just copy the files, bring them to the drop-off point, and no one gets hurt.”
But there is nothing simple about betrayal.
The weight of that responsibility, and the pressure of the guilt, is something I’ve carried with me every day since.
The drop-offs were always in the same place, and I never saw anyone. I used to leave the envelope in the mailbox at the assigned time and go home. I remember being tempted to hang around to see if I could catch a glimpse of my kidnappers, but I never did it because I was terrified they’d follow through on their threat and kill my family.
After I discovered their identity, and I was old enough to understand the information in Dad’s work files, I left stuff out on purpose, only handing over minor shit but enough to avoid arousing suspicion. However, if what Sinner is saying is true, and the information was fake, it means Dad knew I was stealing his paperwork and handing it to the enemy.
I can’t keep the torment off my face as pain, loathing, and guilt battle for supremacy inside me. I hope he understood that I didn’t have any choice. I hang my head in shame, feeling the weight of the guy’s shock boring imaginary holes in my back.
I don’t know if the fact Dad knew makes it better or worse. I’ve carried the guilt for his death these past few months. Knowing he was deliberately feeding them fake intelligence should ease the burden, but I know it won’t. Even if it’s shared, I will forever live with the knowledge that I helped get my dad killed.
I didn’t complete any more drop-offs after Dad died, because there was no fresh information, and, at first I’d thought they didn’t know he had more evidence. Until they showed up at the house, Neo got engaged to Mom, and the guys started harassing me. Then, I knew the stakes had been raised and the strategy had changed.
Right now, I’ve no idea where Sinner is going with this except he’s hoping to cause a divide in the bond I have with his son and the other Saints. The unpredictability of his actions has me on edge, and I’m working hard to hold on to my composure.
Sinner shifts closer to me on the chair, gripping my chin and forcing my head up. “I came to a realization recently. We’ve been going about this all wrong. I sent my son and the other initiates into Lowell High to intimidate you”—he sneers at Saint—“and I was so disappointed in their failure, but I’ll admit I might’ve been wrong. I didn’t realize Trey had taken his protection to such extremes.” He holds my chin painfully. “He’s prepared you well. I see now that intimidation and manipulation won’t work, so it’s time to flip it on its head.”
“Stop speaking in riddles,” I say, earning another slap.
“I know you know a lot more than you’re admitting. I know you know where your dad kept the evidence. You won’t tell us shit while you’re on the outside, so it’s time to bring you in.”
“What?” Saint croaks, looking thoroughly confused when our eyes meet.
