Page 48 of Sick Little Devotion

What the fuck?

I pull off to the side, fighting the urge to climb out of the car. But I know better than to do that. Instead, I squint from inside, a few feet away.

Have you seen me? Sahara Walker.

My stomach tightens at the sight. Who the fuck reported her missing? And why would they have? I left a fucking note. Did they not find it?

“Or did they not believe it?” I ask the question aloud. I hadn’t expected this. Don’t get me wrong, I knew that more than likely the girls were attached to Sara in some capacity, but who would post this? Why wouldn’t they just accept that she’d walked away to start over?

I grit my teeth. Surely, Ron’s death was deemed a suicide. My hands tremble as I clutch the shifter. It would be a big fucking problem if the authorities thought Sara was somehow involved, although the flyers only say that she is missing. It isn’t pointing the finger at her. Still, my paranoia is ravaging my thoughts. I pick my phone back up and dial Carlos again.

“Yes?” He answers it the exact same way I did, and while normally, I might find it entertaining, today, it annoys me.

“Was the bastard I killed deemed a suicide?” I demand, not wanting to utter the pervert’s name.

“Yes sir,” he replies quickly. “It was. There weren’t any questions. Had a funeral this last weekend. It all went the way it was supposed to. Just like always. You’re skilled at what you do.”

My lips flatline. “What about Sar—Sahara,” I correct myself. “What about her? I just saw a missing flyer hanging on a telephone pole.”

“Uh, yeah, well, I don’t know about that.”

My shoulders slump as someone honks from behind me. I smash the gas and whip out, making a mental note that the flyers need to be taken down ASAP. “I need you to look into it. I need to know if a report has been filed. Now.”

“I’ll look into it, but, boss, one thing,” he says, his words strikingly careful.

“Yes?” I snap.

He sighs. “Don’t take offense, but you can’t hide her away forever. It’ll never last that way. Her love for you will die out with the light inside of her.”

Then I’ll die with it.

Chapter Twenty-Three

SAHARA

Out of a need to do something, I pull out the pots and pans, as well as ingredients from the cabinets of the private kitchen. There isn’t much, but my brain needs a distraction. When I was little—before my father passed away—I often used to bake with my mother. I try not to think about those times anymore, but the more time I spend alone in this massive house, the more they plague my mind.

Life wasn’t always hard.

I take a deep breath as the image of my mother, her skin glowing and blue eyes bright and clear, peering down at me, fills my head. Emotions race through my body, and tears threaten to form in my eyes.

Don’t let it get to you.

I swallow the lump in my throat and dig through the rest of the ingredients, opting to make brownies. However, as I set the ingredients out across the counter, it hits me.

I don’t know the recipe. There’s no phone or internet access to help me either.

Flipping around the cocoa powder, I hope for a miracle. Maybe there will be a recipe on the back of it. My eyes scan the backside, and within just a few seconds, I’m left in dismay. I check the others, and while some do have recipes, none work for what I have sitting in front of me.

Unwanted grief fills my chest, and I slide down the counter to the floor, letting it pour out of my body. Sobs rack my chest, and I gasp for air between the gut-wrenching cries. I hope no one can hear me, but at the same time, I’m not sure if I care anymore.

Fuck Aiden for bringing me here.

Fuck my mother for her addictions.

Fuck my father for dying.

The last thought nearly sends me over the edge into a mental breakdown. His death is what started everything. I don’t even want to think about what life might have been like had he not died in the accident all those years ago. Mom was happy back then.