“No, sweet girl. I’m talking about more recently. With the bitch who helped put you in an auction.” She smiled at Mila, a new light in her eyes. “The red-nailed slut who came for Kane.” Lastly, she turned to me. “And that male whore who tried to drag you back into the hotbed of sin. For the crimes of harmingmy grandchildren, all fell at my hands. I get what I want. After everything I suffered, it’s only what I’m due.”
The Deadwater murders. The people killed by the neck, Esther, Karla, and Lex. There was no way it could be our silver-haired grandmother.
Two thuds sounded.
And suddenly I knew. Primrose hadn’t told us everything.
Chapter 45
Tyler
Darkness pressed in around me, the material over my head muffling the voices that carried through the walls of my prison.
“They’re doing what?” a man snapped.
“Bonding,” a second replied.
I knew him. Wallace. That meant the first was Presley. Snide, petulant brat. From the descriptions I’d heard, it had to be him. So this was where the little shit had been hiding.
“I thought you said she’d try to get them onto her side,” Presley hissed. “Is it working?”
Glass clinked lightly. Wallace pouring himself a drink, I pictured. “Sounds like it. She’s spilling all kinds of fucked-up history. Do you know, she tried that on me and Able once? Like either of us gave a damn where she came from. She’s got what she wants with doting granddaughters.”
Presley replied something I couldn’t hear over the pounding of my pulse.
Dixie was here. Maybe she’d come for me. Fucking hell, I didn’t want her in harm’s way, but I loved her for it. Ilovedher. Too late to say it. I wished I’d managed the words last night.
But if she was here, she wouldn’t have come alone. Granddaughters, plural, meant Mila. Which meant Convict. He would’ve brought more of the crew.
I might get out of this yet.
I returned to my exploration of my surroundings. This was the Marchant family home, the air scented with furniture polish, and a padded leather desk chair under me. I’d been zip-tied to the hand rests, my ankles secured together then more loosely to the chair stem.
Austin’s personal office.
The floor under me was marble, and my chair worn smooth with use. The wheels were locked.
A laughable way to hold a man. I had a number of options to free myself.
I worked the best.
On the underside of the right chair arm there was the rough edge of metal. A screw, broken, and in just the right position to use as a saw. Slowly, I drew the plastic of the zip tie against it. The chair creaked. I stilled and tried again, small movements, cutting into the plastic a tiny degree at a time.
Wallace’s voice returned. “…don’t know what your problem is. It’s not like this is your inheritance.”
“Fuck off,” Presley retorted. “I have just as much right to be here as you.”
Wallace laughed. “Were you in the will? No, I don’t think so. Do you get a vote? Nah, you don’t. Stop whining about something that’s nothing to do with you.”
“Nothing to do with me? Are you kidding? I’m part of this family. I helped Austin.”
“You lurked around his warehouses and tried to force your way in. He didn’t like you,” Wallace jibed back.
Infighting. Good. Let them distract each other.
I sawed harder.
Wallace got louder. “You don’t get it. This is mine now. If they all vote to close the business, I’m the only person who inherits.”
