“You’re forgetting one thing. I’m a Montgomery. You’re just a…Rourke. A nobody.” He cracks his neck, smugness rolling off him. “So. If you don’t get the hell out of New York now, trust that I’m going to use my power. Go straight to the cops and tell them where Ross’s remains are. Say you bragged about burying him on my family’s property. How you took out your parents’ killer. You could try to fight it, but who are they going to believe? A penniless nobody with a motive, or the son of a real estate mogul?”
His words hurt more than a gut punch. My world spins, my stomach churning.
My best friend. The guy I trusted with every secret, every plan. Now he’s dangling this ultimatum over my head like I’m nothing.
Like I’m disposable.
And that threat isn’t empty. He’s right. One word from him, and I’ll rot in a cell, away from her. Years would pass, maybe forever, and before I knew it, she’d forget all about me.
Forget our kiss.
Forgetus.
I can’t let that happen. Can’t let go of her when I’ve finally had her.
Leaving on my own, as much as I hate that idea, will have to do for now.
Whatever. It’s just a minor setback. I’m sure it won’t be long before she seeks me out anyway. If she really is mine, she’ll text me. She’ll let me know she’s chosen me.Us.
If I text first, she might tell Barclay, or it might slip. So I need her to make the first move. Which she will.
Walking away for a few days before we’re talking again is a small price to pay.
“You know what? Fine.” I scowl, then stalk off to the sound of his laughter at my back.
“You have ten minutes to pack up and get the hell out of my house,” he whispers, probably so Elowyn won’t overhear him.
I let his cruelty settle, filing it away like ammo.
He might be stronger. Richer. More influential.
But he’s not smarter.
I will get my revenge.
I will have Elowyn.
Soon.
Any fucking day now.
1
ELOWYN
Ten years later—present day
Fluorescent lights hum overhead. The halls smell faintly of antiseptic, grief, and hope woven together.
But it’s not my place to think about grief or hope. I’m not here for that.
My job, same as it’s been for the past six months, is cleaning this hospital in downtown Manhattan. It’s where I spend most of my time, twelve hours a day, seven days a week, stretching myself thin just to keep what’s left of my family afloat.
Which, at this point, is just Barclay.
I frown at myself for sounding ungrateful. I’m proud of my job, of the paycheck from the cleaning company, small as it is.
It’s honest work.
