Page 172 of Beautiful Scars

And now my mother is the one grimacing as she realizes she’s just said the crazy word within earshot of me. She tends to avoid things like that. No doubt makes her feel guilty.

“Whose place is this?” I ask as she leads me down the stairs.

“A friend’s,” she says airily, and catches me narrowing my eyes. But instead of crapping me out like she always does, she gives my hand another squeeze as we enter the living room.

“A friend, huh?”

She brushes away the question with a wave of her hand and steers me into the kitchen. “Tea? Or a nice hot chocolate, like I always used to make?”

What, when I was five?

“Something stronger.”

When she glances over her shoulder, I almost think she’s going to deny me. But then she nods faintly and goes to the fridge, taking out a bottle of white wine and pouring us both a glass.

“So were you just biding your time, or what?” I ask her. “Because I know you love making a dramatic entrance, but this is a bit much.” Plus she wasn’t even there. Just one of her drivers.

Instead of becoming defensive like I expect, my mom motions me to follow her into the living room and perches on one of the ultra-modern sofas.

“I’m sorry,” Mom says, patting me on the knee as she plumps out her mouth. “I should have remembered who I was dealing with the second I got their message.”

I sink back on the sofa, snuggling my shoulders against the upholstery in an attempt to get comfortable. “You left me there.”

I don’t phrase it as a question. More of a statement. I’m not exactly sure how I’m supposed to feel. Mad that she didn’t rescue me? That would be the obvious choice. But I’ve literally just been rescued, and I’m not nearly as elated about that as I thought I would be.

Instead, it just feels like I’ve been kidnapped again.

I eye up the front door visible through a short passage leading off the living room.

Could I escape?

Fucking hell, why am I planning to escape from my own mother’s fuck-buddy’s house?

I frown at her as I take a sip of the wine and try to sort through my muddled thoughts. I’d been expecting something stronger than this, but I keep forgetting Mom’s a stickler for propriety. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her tipsy.

“I couldn’t let this leak,” she says, finally, twisting to face me. She rests the wine glass on top of her knee, holding onto the stem with two fingers. “I couldn’t risk Alex finding you. “

Alex? “Oh.” I hadn’t thought about it like that. I take a sip of wine, trying to disguise whatever it is I’m showing on my face.

“You don’t sound surprised.”

“Honestly, I thought it was him,” I tell her. I try to laugh, but it doesn’t come out right so I cut it off. “When your guy grabbed me?”

Mom pinches the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut. “Oh my God. I didn’t even think...” She opens them again, her pale blue irises swimming with unshed tears. “I didn’t mean to just leave you there, but I honestly thought he’d accept the deal.”

“The...deal?”

Mom waves away the question. “I was being...optimistic. I regret that now. Of course he wouldn’t have just let you go. If I didn’t sign off on what he wanted, he’d likely have held you for ransom. Drug dealers will never say no to free money.” She squeezes my knee. “Forget about it. You’re safe now. I’ve dealt with him. In fact, the police already have a warrant for his arrest.”

His arrest? I give her a faint nod as thoughts scurry around in my head like rabid mice. Cillian never mentioned a deal...then again, he hardly said a word to me about business. Always keeping me in the dark, that one.

Which is bullshit, seeing how he couldn’t keep his fucking nose out of my private life.

Grace.

Alex.

No.