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I grab Holly by the front of her shirt. I don’t think as I throw her up against the nearest wall. I keep her there, wedged between it and me. I have to do everything in my power to keep from going absolutely postal on her.
“Where the fuck is she?” I snarl. “She’s pregnant! Where is she?”
Holly grips my wrists helplessly. “I’m not telling you shit,” she spits out. “You can look for her all over creation, but you’re not going to find her if I can help?—”
My fists press against her throat and I watch as her face starts to get red. She coughs beneath my hold on her, sputtering.
“Tell. Me. Where. Olivia. Is. Or I swear to God, Holly Wilson, I’ll kill you here and now.”
For the first time, Holly looks truly afraid. It’s the look of someone who’s overplayed her hand. She thought she could come here, pull the strings, make me dance like her little puppet.
I’ve done a lot of things wrong in this life.
But I’d never do that.
Hands trembling, she reaches for her phone and shows me an address. “Happy?” she rasps, her voice wobbling and breaking.
“Almost.” I grab her arm and drag her down the hall.
“Hey—let me go! I’ll scream! I’ll?—”
“Oh, shut the fuck up.”
I sling her into the guest bedroom. Before she can even try to get away, I slam it closed behind her and lock her in. She bangs on the door, screaming her lungs out.
But I’m already out the door.
I need to get to Olivia.
58
OLIVIA
The first day is hard. The second day feels like the darkness is starting to seep into my bones. I can’t even think about escaping anymore. My mind just drifts off into random little nooks and crannies of memory.
I remember the tears on my face the day I left Liam and Sophie.
I remember when Mom got her diagnosis. The first time I found her fallen.
I remember Reese running after me when I thought I had turned my back on him forever.
I remember?—
CLINK!
I nearly scream at the loud, metallic screech from the other side of the door. I scoot away from it, hackles rising. It’s either Holly, the guard, or…
No.
It’s the girl.
She’s carrying a cheap metal tray, the kind that evil doctors in scary movies always use to tote around their torture devices. But instead of scalpels and pointy corkscrews, this one comes with a sandwich, an apple, a bottle of water.
I’d probably trust the scalpels more. At least I’d know what to expect with it. The food could be a peace offering… or it could be something far worse. I’ve seen Snow White. I know what apples are capable of.
The girl comes in. The tray wobbles in her arms, not like it’s too heavy but more so like she’s incredibly nervous. Her face is weighted down in worry. Eyes shifting from one side to the other again and again.
What does she expect: a boogeyman? The only person in here is me and I’m a pregnant, terrified prisoner. What am I going to do—spew some morning sickness in her direction?
