by Eva Ashwood
Her voice is calmer now, full of a sort of dull blankness that tells me she’s forcing down her churning emotions, pushing them away so she can function. I recognize that tone all too well.
“Alan Montgomery—”
“—deserves to pay for what he did,” she says, cutting Charles off again. “And you’re going to make sure he does. You’re going to help Sabrina expose him. Help her show the world what he’s done. If you don’t, I’ll expose all of the things that you’ve done.”
Her husband’s eyes widen. “Maria, you wouldn’t—”
“Yes, I would.” She sneers, disdain spreading across her features. “I know plenty about your business, including the less than legal things you’ve done to get ahead. I tried to live with it, to tell myself it was just the cost of success, a price every businessman had to pay. Because I thought there were some lines you wouldn’t cross. But I was wrong. And I will tell the authorities everything I know if I have to.”
For a second, Charles looks like he wants to slap her, but he doesn’t. His face goes placid and calm, but I know it’s just a mask.
“Are you threatening me, Maria?” he asks coldly.
A small smile tilts her lips, but her hands are still curled into half-fists, as if she’s itching to scratch his eyes out with her nails. “I thought that was obvious, dear.”
I can’t decide how to feel about this. The last thing I expected when I walked through the front door was to find someone in this house on my side, and I’m not sure how to react to my mother’s support.
Fury finally breaks through Charles’s mask of indifference as his gaze snaps to mine.
“Fine,” he says. “Fine. But what I did was for all of us, even if you can’t see that. I’m not a monster. It was never supposed to get as far as it did, never supposed to get that bad.” His eyes meet mine, and my stomach twists at the conviction I see in them as he adds, “I was only trying to take care of my family.”
22
Family.
The word hits me in the chest like a bullet to my heart.
This man isn’t my family. He gave up the right to call himself that the day he handed me over to Alan. I’ve made a new family for myself, one that doesn’t include people like the fucker standing in front of me trying to defend his actions with shitty excuses.
But Maria…
I look at the woman currently glaring at Charles, her features contorted with rage and tears streaming down her cheeks. She looks psychotic, like the women who used to lurk on the streets I grew up on, addicted to crack or heroin or booze. There’s barely a hint of the polished, groomed woman who walked into the room just minutes ago.
My lips press together as I look at her. If what she says is true, she had no idea that I was traded away. But does that mean I can trust her now? Really trust her?
I don’t know, but that’s not a question I can deal with right now. Maybe later, when I don’t feel like Alan and Cliff are constantly waiting for a chance to kill me or trap me again. Maybe after things get better and I can sit down with her and catch up on all the things we missed, the years we never got to have because of the man standing in front of me.
That’s for another time, though.
I turn to my pathetic excuse for a father, lifting an eyebrow. I refuse to show him how emotionally fucked up this meeting and the knowledge of their existence has made me.
“So?” I take a step toward him, and the Sinners all step with me, an overwhelming force bearing down on Charles. “What do you have for us? Tell me every-fucking-thing you know about Alan. I want details.”
He hesitates, his pissed off expression growing a touch wary, maybe even scared. “Alan is powerful. It’s not just about money anymore. He’s the wealthiest man in California, but his reach goes far beyond that. He’s virtually untouchable because of the network he’s created for himself, the people he keeps in his pocket. He’s very careful, always covers his tracks—or when he can’t, he makes sure he has enough people on his side to keep the truth from getting out.”
I glare at him, baring my teeth. I hate the sound of Charles’s voice, so proper and elegant even at a time like this. I hate everything about him, and I don’t want to prolong this conversation unnecessarily.
“Tell me something I don’t know already,” I press. “We’re aware he’s powerful. We know going up against him is a risk. So cut it out with the warnings and tell me something we can actually use.”
Charles’s jaw clenches. He obviously doesn’t want to say anything else, but when he looks at my mother, she glares at him too. I have no idea what’s going to happen to the two of them after today, but I find myself hoping she serves him up with divorce papers… or murders him in his sleep.
Either way, she clearly knows enough about him after their years of marriage that her threat of blackmail has him scared. He doesn’t argue with her again, just grimaces slightly before looking back at me.
“I can help you find something to use against him,” he says slowly. “Fuck. He’ll kill me if he finds out I did this. He has a… an underground storage unit—”
“Another fucking bunker?” I cut in, my skin crawling at the thought.
Charles narrows his eyes at me. He clearly doesn’t like the reminder of where I was kept for all the years Alan had me in captivity, but that’s too fucking bad.
“Call it whatever you like,” he says flatly. “But it’s where Alan keeps important things. Things he doesn’t want discovered.”
I want to ask him how he knows about this storage unit and why, but I keep my mouth shut. If I can find a way to implicate my dad in all of this, I will. But for now, I need him to believe that if he helps us, I’ll walk out of his life and never come back. That I’ll let him get back to business as usual, which is what he so clearly wants.
So I just hold his gaze and nod once.
“Show us.”
Maria watches us closely as we all leave the Davenports’ house and head back out to Gray’s car. She stands in the open front doorway with her arms crossed over her chest, her gaze fixed on her husband as he climbs into the front passenger seat next to Gray.
I almost expected her to insist on coming with us, but I’m glad she didn’t. There’s no room in the car, for one thing. And for another, having her around would muddle my feelings too much. I need to be sharp and on my game, and it’s easy to stay focused with Charles. My feelings for him are crystal clear, and the anger I feel toward him gives me a renewed sense of purpose.
We have to do this. We have to end this. Not just for me, but for all the other family’s that have been destroyed by Alan and the fuckers who make deals with him.
Charles gives Gray directions, and as we get nearer to our destination, he answers my unspoken question from earlier without prompting.
“I helped design the security system for Alan,” he explains. “It was one of the many ways I was required to… pay my debts. Another person who was in his debt helped design it, and someone else built it. He kept me in the dark about a lot of things, so I don’t know the full layout, but I know enough to get us inside. I think.” He curses under his breath, his hands tightening into fists on his thighs. “He’ll kill me if he finds out I helped you get inside.”
“Yeah?” I snort. “Should’ve thought about that before you went into business with him, I guess. Mom must have some serious dirt on you if you’d rather risk pissing off Alan Montgomery than letting her expose your skeletons to the world.”
He doesn’t answer, but his jaw clenches, the muscles in his cheek standing out so rigidly that I know I’m right.
Even beyond giving up his daughter to secure the success of his business, my father is not a good man.
Under Charles’s guidance, Gray pulls off the two-lane road in the foothills onto a narrow road that’s so overgrown it’s practically invisible. We drive for several more minutes over uneven terrain before Charles nods.
“Here. You can stop here.”
Gray parks his car i
n a small clearing surrounded by a grove of trees. Just like when we went searching for Max after she was taken, we head into the thick woods on foot. It’s not a short hike, and the early afternoon sun combines with the adrenaline coursing through me to make my back slick with sweat.
When Charles finally comes to a stop, I glance around at the woods surrounding us but don’t see anything. He moves confidently though, striding between the trees until he locates a rotting stump. He crouches next to it and then pushes it aside. The stump slides away easily, and I realize it’s not an actual stump. It’s just meant to look like one, like those rocks people hide their house keys under—except on a bigger scale and much more lifelike.
Beneath the stump is a metal panel, and Charles brushes away a few stray leaves that fell onto it when the stump was displaced. Then he grabs the handle at the top of the panel and tugs. The panel opens to a lump of cords and wires that he spends a few minutes messing with.
Once he’s done, he heaves himself to his feet. “Come on. Follow me.”
He leads us several yards away, then crouches down again, digging into the soft dirt until he finds some kind of switch. A moment later, a low, grating sound fills the air, and a large panel slides to one side next to us, exposing an opening in the ground. Stairs lead down into the darkness below.
I realize that when he was messing with those wires a few minutes ago, he was disabling the automatic locks and security measures he put in place. Once the entrance is exposed, the five of us take the stairs down into the black abyss, motion activated lights flickering on as we pass them.
My skin crawls as we reach the end of the stairs. It looks so similar to the last bunker I was in, and all I want to do is turn back and run up the stairs into the fresh air and daylight, but I don’t. I can’t.
A few moments later, we’re standing in the main room of the bunker. Charles reaches over to flick on a dim lightbulb overhead, illuminating the large room in front of us.
The broad room is filled with seemingly random stuff on shelves—stacks of money, weapons, other contraband that looks expensive and important, likely items he’s holding as collateral, just like he kept kids. It makes me wonder if he still accepts children as a means of holding their parents to their word. Maybe these items are simply for those who are childless, their most precious items taken instead.
The five of us spread out, examining the contents of the room as we search for clues that would point to Alan’s dealings or the owners of the items. I find priceless jewelry, paintings that I recognize as original pieces, guns that look one hundred percent illegal, and more shit that makes my head spin.
What does he do with all of this stuff?
He obviously stores it here, but what if someone never pays off their debts? Does he sell the stuff they gave him? Does he use it for himself?
I turn around to ask what the others have found when my gaze snags on Gray. He’s gone still, his entire body frozen in place. My eyes follow his and I realize he’s staring at a worn messenger bag, one that has embroidered butterflies on the flap. His jaw ticks, his cheeks draining of color.
“Gray?” I ask hesitantly, my stomach twisting. “Is everything okay?”
He reaches for the bag but doesn’t touch it, his hand hovering above it. His face is stricken, and I’m not even sure he heard my words. Swallowing hard, I walk over to him, placing a gentle hand on his arm to draw his attention.
When he finally tears his gaze away from the bag and looks at me, his expression is empty. Broken.
“That’s…” His voice is hoarse. “That bag belonged to Beth.”
As if his own words snap him into action, he turns back and reaches for the bag again, picking it up and running one hand over the rough fabric. Pushing the flap open, he rummages his hands through it as if searching for anything else that belonged to her—or some clue as to why the hell this bag is here.
But I already know. I can guess, and I think he can too.
We both know too much about Alan to imagine anything but the worst.
“He killed her,” Gray whispers. I barely even recognize his voice. It’s gruff and strained, shock making way for fury as the truth washes over him. “I don’t know why, but he fucking killed her. She didn’t die by accident. He murdered her.”
Pain slams through my body, my heart breaking for his sake. For her sake. For Beth, the girl I never got to meet, the girl whose place I took at Hawthorne. My throat tightens, making it hard to breathe. Gray’s eyes are haunted as they meet mine.
But then his expression changes.
His gaze flicks over my shoulder, and my breath catches for an entirely different reason.
No. Please, fuck, no.
I can tell before I even turn around who Gray is staring at. I can see it in the way his eyes burn with pure fire, with vengeful wrath. When I slowly crane my neck to look behind me, my heart stops in my chest.
Elias, Declan, and Charles stand with their hands above their heads, their bodies stiff.
Alan stands just inside the room’s entrance. He’s holding a gun, and it’s aimed directly at Gray.
“Put the bag down, please, Mr. Eastwood.”
23
Oh. Fuck.
Time stands still for a second. Two seconds. Three.
Everything seems to hang in a standstill as my gaze darts around the large room, taking in the entire, horrible scene.
Declan and Elias are on the far side of the room, frozen like I am. Gray stands next to me, Beth’s bag still in his hands. My father is nearby on my other side, fear carved into the lines of his face, making him look a thousand times older.
Alan Montgomery stands in the doorway, his handsome features hard and unyielding. Despite my father’s efforts to eliminate the security measures, he must’ve gotten some alert about our presence. Or, fuck, maybe he had some kind of surveillance on my father. Maybe he keeps an eye on all the people who’ve made bargains with him, just to make sure none of them ever betray him or reveal the true nature of his business.
It hardly matters how he found us right now, though. The fact is that he’s here, and from the look in his eyes, he’s pissed.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Gray sets his sister’s bag back down. His hands shake as he places it on the floor, and his lips are pressed together so tightly that his skin turns a pale white.
Alan nods in satisfaction. Then he swings the weapon a little to the right, focusing on my father. His eyes narrow as his lips twist into an angry sneer.
“Well, this is disappointing, Charles,” he says in a low tone that’s dangerously calm, a tone I know not to trust. “I expected better from you.”
My father doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even flinch as Alan takes a step closer to him, aiming the gun at his chest—a killing shot, one that I know my father wouldn’t be able to dodge, even if he had a warning. One second, one mistake, and Charles Davenport will be dead. I tense, my muscles bunching as my pulse races.
“You really had to come down here and fuck things up, didn’t you?” Alan says, shaking his head in disdain. “Your empire is steadily growing, your business booming. And you’re going to throw it all away for this? For her? I thought better of you, Charles.”
Because apparently, in Alan’s personal dictionary, being better means giving up your daughter and ignoring that she ever existed for years. My fists curl at my sides, aching to lash out and connect with his face. To break his too-perfect nose or his fucking jaw.
But I can’t.
Because he has a gun, and I know by now that he won’t hesitate to use it.
My heart thumps wildly in my chest. I’ve never been a religious person. I’ve seen too much shit to believe anyone out there is listening to my prayers. One time, Brody forced us all to go to church with him, even though I doubted he’d ever been to church in his life. I spent the whole hour and a half passing notes to Jared and wondering why my foster father, of all people, wanted to go to church. A few weeks later, I got my answer: Brody was
fucking the pastor’s wife. I decided then and there I was done with church.
I still don’t really believe in a higher power, but I suddenly want to pray to whoever or whatever might be controlling our fucked up universe. I want to beg them to fix this shit, to let us all get out of this alive.
But prayer isn’t going to fucking work right now. The only way we’re getting out of here is by our own strength and cunning. We have to overpower Alan somehow.
As if drawn by my thoughts, the polished older man gestures toward me. “Is she really worth it? I need you to think about what you’re doing, Charles. I don’t want to kill you. I don’t want to kill any of you. But I need to protect my business. I’m sure you can understand that.”
Charles clenches his jaw, but doesn’t respond. Alan lets out a huffed breath, shaking his head. “I’m sorry things worked out the way they did. But I took care of Sabrina while she was under my roof. I kept her safe until she ran away. She was willful and disobedient, and those qualities have only grown worse over time. You can’t trust her. Whatever she’s told you, I guarantee, she’s just trying to use you.”
I see red. I want to lunge at him and rip his fucking tongue out, but I know I’d never reach him before he swung his gun toward me and fired.
I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to turn my father against me, to bargain like he always does and strike up some kind of deal with Charles—the two most powerful and well-connected men in this room striking an arrangement that will benefit them both.
He’s trying to keep this from getting any messier than it already is. Trying to limit the number of people he needs to kill. And he still thinks Charles is his best shot at finding an ally, if he can just turn my father against me.
“I’ve read her file, Charles,” Alan says in an almost conspiratorial voice. “She’s a mess. She tried to seduce her foster father. She attacked my son. I don’t know why you let her talk you into this, but if you leave now, I can make all this go away. You’ve had a great first quarter this year, haven’t you? I can make the rest of your year even better.”