“Griff!”
No response.
Oh, God. Please. No.
“Gri—” His name dies on my lips as I reach the chair and find plastic skin. It’s a mannequin.
My stomach bottoms out. A hollow ache spreads through me. The room spins, and my legs go weak.
What is this?
Meaty arms wrap around my waist, yanking me back. A hand clamps over my mouth as I kick and scream. Someone drags me across the room, my heels scuffing the floor, before I’m slammed into the wall. My vision sparks at the edges, white pinpricks exploding like stars.
When my eyes find the stranger’s face, I realize right away it’s not Roger.
Click-clack. Click-clack.
My mother steps out from the shadows every bit as terrifying as I remember. Her eyes are daggers. One cut from them and she’ll poison you.
“Damn, you’re stupid,” she hums, venom dripping from her lips. “Look at how pathetic you are, running in here for the orphan boy.”
Her henchman drives his arm harder into my windpipe.
“I’ve been watching you ever since I got to town,” she says, her black vulture eyes never leaving mine. “It didn’t take me long to learn about your connection to the orphan boy.”
Realization shoots through me.
She baited me with Griff, making it seem like our abusive foster father was back and had him.
“W-What do you want?” I choke, my hands clawing at the stranger’s arm.
She taps his hand. He releases me enough to take a steadying breath.
“Tell me the truth, and I’ll let you go. It’s that simple,” she says, but I don’t believe her. “Tell me what you know.”
She must be talking about the night she killed my dad.
“I didn’t see you!” I blurt. “I was there that night, yes, but I didn’t know it was you until a few weeks ago!”
There’s a pause, and she blinks. A cackle comes next, her head thrown back as her laughter rings out in full volume.
My blood runs cold.
“I’m not talking about shooting your father, you stupid little bitch. Iknowyou were there.”
I stare, unblinking. Hearing her admit it is worse than I imagined.
Her cold eyes burn into my skin. I want to turn and hide the way I used to when she looked at me this way, but I don’t.
“Someone’s been blackmailing me,Lucia,” she snarls. “Interesting mail came a while ago—photos,” she clarifies. “Everything points to Huxley Bay, your pathetic little town. I thought it was you who sent them, but I know you don’t have it in you to threaten me. Which can only mean one thing.”
Wait, she’s being blackmailed?
“What are you talking about?” I rasp.
“Tell the truth,Lucia,” she screeches. “Who did you talk to? Who knows?”
She steps closer, and I can smell her breath. It’s the same horrible whiskey smell from years ago. The scent alone makes my stomach twist, my body remembering things my mind tried to bury.
