And I was the prey.
“No,” I choked, my vision tilting. “No.”
“Happy birthday, Cami.” His laugh broke through, sharp and pleased. “I found you.”
“Get the fuck away from me!” The words tore out of me as I lunged for the nearest thing—the muffin tin—gripping it like a weapon.
If I had to swing it, I would.
Reed laughed again, almost delighted. He bent, grabbed one of the fallen muffins, and took a bite—only to spit it out immediately, swearing under his breath as the heat hit him.
His eyes narrowed.
Then he stepped closer.
“That’s not very polite,” he said, eyeing the pan in my hand. “I thought you’d be happy to see me. It’s your twentieth birthday. It’s been over a year.”
“Leave.” I backed up, keeping the tin raised. I wanted a knife—but I couldn’t risk losing my focus. Not even for a second.
If it came down to it, I’d use my fists. My teeth.
So be it.
“Where’s my son?” Reed asked suddenly, his voice twisting as he rolled the ruined muffin between his fingers.
The question hit wrong.
It knocked me off balance for just a second.
I lowered the tin slightly, confusion slipping in before I could stop it.
And that was all he needed.
His hand closed around my throat.
My back slammed into the wall, rattling the calendar above me. It flipped sideways, crashing to the floor as his face filled my vision.
“What?” I gasped, choking against his grip. I lashed out with my knee, but he pinned me harder, his body locking me in place.
“Don’t play dumb.” His voice came out in harsh bursts. “My son.”
Understanding clicked.
Sick. Twisted.
Of course that’s what they wanted.
A bitter laugh clawed its way up my throat, even as his fingers tightened. I forced myself to meet his eyes—really meet them—and let something colder take over.
What was he going to do—kill me?
No.
I was more valuable alive.
Now that he’d found me, he’d drag me back.
“In bloody clots in a Pennsylvania landfill,” I rasped.
