Declan moves before anyone else can react. One second he's against the wall, the next he's in front of her, towering, silent, eyes black with fury.
"You helped someone hurt her," he says, voice low and deadly. "You think walking through that door buys you redemption?"
He doesn't touch her. Doesn't have to. Catherine shrinks back like she's alreadybeen hit.
"Declan, enough!" Ethan barks, though he makes no move to pull him off. "We don't have time for this. Call the police," Ethan calls to his secretary. "Mateo, call Jade. She's more likely to pick up your call." He turns to Catherine. "You're going to stay right here until the police arrive. Then you're going to tell them exactly what you told us."
I'm already pulling out my phone, dialing Jade's number. I put it on speaker so Ethan and Declan can hear.
"Jade?" I say, relief flooding me at the connection. "Listen, we need to talk..."
"No! I need you to listen to me," she cuts in, her voice hard but with an undercurrent of something I can't quite place. "Like I said before...this is over."
I freeze, recognizing something in her tone. Something's wrong. Very wrong.
"If you're unconvinced that a particular plan of action I've decided is the wisest, tell me so."
My mind races. The words sound familiar, but formal, unlike Jade's usual way of speaking.
"Now, if any of you sons of bitches got anything else to say, now's the fucking time!"
I lock eyes with Ethan and Declan, who've both gone completely still, listening intently.
"I didn't think so," Jade concludes softly, and the line goes dead.
For one split second, we all stand frozen.
40
JADE
"I didn't think so," I conclude softly, praying that Mateo understands. Hoping that he really knows Kill Bill by heart and recognizes the lines from O-Ren Ishii, part of the monologue we shared on the plane.
I hang up before he can respond, setting the phone down with a finality that feels like a gamble with my life.
"Happy now?" I ask Becky, my voice hollow.
She smiles, all teeth and malice. "Not yet," she says, adjusting her grip on the gun. "We're just getting started."
The words send ice through my veins. The way she says it, like she's savoring each syllable, makes my skin crawl. In the past hour, I've watched her unravel before my eyes, composure slipping away to reveal something feral beneath.
"You know," she continues, her voice taking on a dreamy quality that's somehow more terrifying than her rage, "when my father died, they repossessed everything. Thehouse. The cars. Even my mother's jewelry." She laughs, the sound like breaking glass. "He mortgaged everything trying to rebuild after you ruined him."
I remain silent, calculating my options. The gun is steady in her hand, but her eyes are wild, pupils dilated, the look of someone teetering on the edge.
"And then..." her voice rises, cracking with emotion, "then I had to see your face. Everywhere. Magazines. Billboards. Television." Each word punctuated by a step closer to me. "Smiling. Always smiling. While I had nothing."
"I was a fucking kid!" I shout. "He wasn't a father. He was a predator. And while you were jealous of his attention, I was being destroyed by it."
Wrong move. Her face contorts with rage, and the gun whips across my cheek. Pain explodes along my jawline, metallic blood blooming in my mouth.
"Don't you dare!" she shrieks. "He loved you! He made you! And you betrayed him with your lies!"
She's panting now, chest heaving, the gun trembling in her hand. For a terrible moment, I think she might pull the trigger right here, right now. But then she inhales deeply, composure slipping back like a mask.
"Your mother was so easy to convince," she says, her voice eerily calm again. "One phone call. The promise of money. That's all it took for her to sell youout."
The words should hurt, but there's no surprise in them. No revelation. Just confirmation of something I've always known. My mother's love has always had a price tag.
