I pull the trunk closed and get into a comfortable position. And now every scenario where this could go tragically wrongstarts playing through my head. What if he doesn’t put his bag on the back seat as normal? What if he goes back upstairs to check on me? What if he hears me breathing?
The car door opens. I hold my breath. Something, I assume his bag, is tossed onto the back seat. And then he climbs into the car and starts the engine. I breathe again now that there’s some ambient background noise. He puts some music on. Sleep Token, if I’m not mistaken. Unsurprising. We’ve never really discussed our taste in music, but this is the kind I thought he’d enjoy. Imagine if he was a secret Swiftie. I could tease him about that relentlessly.
Except there will be no more teasing. No more Lincoln—or Killian, or whoever the hell he is. If my plan works like it’s supposed to, I’ll be free and clear in a matter of hours. It doesn’t matter that I have no idea where I’ll go or what I’ll do for money or food, but I won’t be in prison. Freedom is so close—I can almost taste it.
I close my eyes and mentally sing along to the songs that I know. It’s calming and gives me something to focus on.
And I wait.
Chapter 65
Imogen
The car comes to a stop. The engine cuts off. I hold my breath, waiting for him to get out and leave. I listen intently. His seat belt is unclipped. The door opens and then slams closed. Next, he’ll take his bag from the back seat.
I wait.
He doesn’t open the door to the back seat of the car. Instead there’s noise. Screeching tires. Shouting. A gunshot. Now another. And voices. Familiar voices.
My heart is racing. Adrenaline thundering around my body. I cover my head with my arms. What’s happening?
The trunk opens.
My heart stops beating and I blink as a bright flashlight shines in my eyes, obscuring my view of whoever is holding it. It’s not Lincoln though. The silhouette of the frame is too small to be him.
And then I hear that familiar voice again. “There she is. My darling girl.”
Grandfather?
The light is gone and a hand is reaching for me, pulling me out of the trunk. My head is spinning with confusion and so many questions. Why is my grandfather here? Where is Killian?Was he aware of my plan all along? Does he know I stole the key? What if they’re all in on this sick twisted scheme together.
I spin around, straining to see in the darkness. We’re at a deserted car lot. There are two other cars here. And there is Lincoln, on his knees with his hands behind his head. A gun is pointed at his temple by a man dressed head to toe in black military gear, similar to the kind Lincoln wears. Blood runs down his face.
In addition to the man who pulled me out of the trunk, there are another four men here surrounding the small lot, dressed in a similar getup as the man beside Lincoln. And of course there’s my grandfather, staring at me with what looks like pride. He runs a hand over his thin gray beard and winks at me before directing his attention to Lincoln.
But Lincoln is only focused on me. His scowl murderous and his eyes burning into my skin with laser focus.
My grandfather slips an arm around my shoulder, and like the good granddaughter I was trained to be, I resist the urge to shrug him off. “She did such a good job for me, Killian. Don’t you think? Weeding out our traitor.”
Wait! What? He knows this is Killian? And what the hell does he mean by agood job?
Lincoln growls. “I should have fucking known, Saul.”
Thoughts and questions are tumbling over themselves in my head, none of them making any sense. What should Killian have known?
“I thought you were onto me when her delightful little tracker stopped working,” my grandfather cackles. “But, imagine my surprise when it popped up on my screen last week. I knew then it was only a matter of time before we found you.”
Her tracker?I have a tracker? Where, and how? This is getting more bizarre by the second. I keep my mouth closed, trying to figure out what the hell is going on. Who it is I’m supposed to be most afraid of. Lincoln might not be the man he said he was,but then it’s clear my grandfather has been keeping plenty of secrets from me too. I want to escape them both. Them and every other man who has ever lied to and manipulated me.
My grandfather runs a fingertip over my cheekbone, then hugs me closer, smiling at me, his eyes full of admiration as he looks at me in a way he never did when I was a child. “I knew my good little princess would bring you back to me, Killian. She always does exactly as she’s told.”
“What? No!” I shout my protest. My grandfather’s fingernails dig into the muscles of my shoulder, a warning designed to silence me.
But I’m focused on Lincoln, and the indescribable pain on his face. Not physical pain because I’m sure he could stand a lot more of that, but the deep pain of betrayal. A pain I recognize all too well. At this moment, I have no idea what I feel for him. Everything is too mixed up and confused—my love for him bleeding into my anger and confusion. But I know that I can’t let him believe I betrayed him. “Linc, I didn’t—”
“Now, now, Imogen. Let’s not get ourselves worked up into a tizzy.” Her voice cuts me off, and it’s so achingly warm and familiar that it makes my legs almost buckle.
“Larissa?”
