I think about Micah. He’s the best chance I have at getting Dennis put away for the foreseeable future, but first, my stepfather has to be caught.
“Okay, yeah,” I concede. “Dennis knows people on this sideof the border—cops, DAs, judges.” I say quietly. “I don’t know who I can trust.”
“To be fair,” B cuts in, “itwasself-defense. He would have killed you, Fi.”
I blink and swallow. “It just goes away?”
Brantley nods. “Yeah, it’ll go away. It’s not always right, but money talks, right? How much shit did you and your friends get out of because your mom paid them off?”
“Not murder, Brantley!”
He laughs. “Okay, that’s fair. But when I was in high school, I did all kinds of stupid stuff to get my dad’s attention—grand theft auto, breaking and entering. One guy I knew got out of rape charges.”
I nod in defeat because he’s right. Whitmore U was full of rich assholes who got away with all kinds of illegal activities and bragged about it to boot, so I shouldn’t be surprised.
B’s shoulder nudges mine. “But I think it’s time for you to tell us about Dennis. He’s still a huge problem, and if we’re going to hunt him down, we need to know the gory details.Allthe details. Not to mention, you’ve definitely been avoiding Charlie and the guys since you left Vancouver, and now you need to loop them in, so all the secrets have to end. Now.”
I sigh. “Yeah, okay. But can we go inside so I don’t have to look at the dead guy?”
They nod, and we stand and walk inside.
“Should we talk about the fact that it wasn’t even Dennis, but his kid?” Seb asks. “Do you have feelings about that, Fi? He was your stepbrother.”
I shrug. “I honestly didn’t really know the guy—only met him a handful of times. I definitely don’t know why he was stalking me, but Nedry is a former dirty FBI agent, so maybe Dennis sent him to spy on me? I doubt Dennis actually wants me dead though. He’s a creepy, horrible man, but he’s never been murdery, you know?”
“I don’t think that’s a real word,” Seb murmurs.
I roll my eyes. “I just mean, whatever his reasoning, I don’t think Nedry was playing by Dennis’s rules. Dennis needs me alive. He wants me to sign the papers to contest the will, and his time is running out.”
He wants me alive for other reasons too.The thought churns my stomach.
We all agree that we need to clean up, and within the hour, I’m in cozy flannel PJs, sipping on tea laced with lemon, honey, and a tiny bit of THC. Brantley and Seb join me shortly after.
B changed into purple sweatpants and a gray T-shirt, and Seb is deliciously distracting in nothing but low-slung basketball shorts. I raise an eyebrow at him.
“What?” he asks innocently, tossing another log into the fireplace. “All our clean laundry is still in the truck.” Then, he sits down on my other side.
We relax on the floor in companionable silence until the fire is crackling merrily. The sound helps me collect my thoughts.
I take a faltering breath. “If I tell you guys this, you have to promise not to go all alpha male and go after Dennis. The prick may not want to kill me, but he will definitely hurt people I lo—care about.” I look away quickly at the verbal slip, my cheeks heating.
“No way,” Seb says, grinding his teeth. “I will not promise not to protect you. That’s not fair, and you know it.”
B nods in agreement, a fierce look in his eyes.
I sigh. “That’s not what I’m asking, and you know it. If we take Dennis down, we do it together. Charlie and her dumb, headstrong boyfriends have to do the same. No one goes rogue.”
“Fi—”
“Promise me, Seb, or I won’t tell you.”
Seb’s mouth flattens into a disapproving line, but he finally whispers, “Fine.”
I look pointedly at B. “Brantley?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles. “No more spontaneous murder. Got it.” He winces after he says it. I suspect the fact that he just killed a guy—even someone as shitty as Nedry—is a shock to his system.
Satisfied, I take a breath and stare at my hands. I feel exposed. Seb and B are staring at me expectantly, but I don’t know if I can do it. Micah knows what happened; he was an accidental witness. But I’ve never spoken about it aloud to anyone else. The atrocities have only lived in my head, tucked away behind high-functioning anxiety and depression. I never even told my therapist, though I’ve come close.
