“I thought so, but I was wrong.”
“Well, I’m not clairvoyant. Unless you tell me exactly who you are, when you started stalking me and what secrets you know about me, I can’t give you an answer. So why don’t you keep that fucking button on and start talking, Butterfly Man?”
I chuckle. “I’ll tell you everything when the time comes, little butterfly. For now, I have a better deal for you. I’ll ask you a question. If you tell the truth, I’ll keep the heater on for one more hour.”
“What’s the question?”
“Who is Shane Fletcher?”
She blinks. “You already know who he is. Was.”
“Do I?”
Her inhale carries a heavy weight. “I’m not going to play any other game of yours, Butterfly Man.”
“You’re gonna have to because if you don’t answer, you can kiss the heater goodbye, and if you lie…” I bend my head to hers, savoring the attention she’s finally giving me.
“What happens if I lie?”
“If you lie… I fuck you.”
CHAPTER 8
Reagan
Mason Bloom is staying in our house tonight.
Mrs. Bloom, his mother, died this morning. Heart attack. One minute she was making breakfast, the next she was gone. Just like that.
I wish I were that lucky.
My mother was the one who found the dead lady and called Mason to give him the news. She and Mrs. Bloom were friends, and she offered to let Mason stay here for a few days. “Until the funeral arrangements are settled. Mason’s dad left years ago, and they don’t know where he is. Declan, Mason’s only sibling, is enlisted, and it’ll take him a few days to come home. The poor boy shouldn’t be alone in an empty house.”
How nice and kind of her! The good neighbor. The caring adult. The disguise that hides the monster she becomes behind closed doors.
It’s not like Mason needs any help. He has the MC. He can stay at the clubhouse, and he’ll have plenty of people to take care of him, keeping him warm and safe and loved. Unlike me, her own daughter.
Cold pierces my bones as I curl on the mattress. Its springs bite through the thin fabric. The flimsy, worn-out blanket isn’t doing much to warm me up. I’d kill for a hot drink or an extra blanket, but I can’t come out of my room until tomorrow because my mother has locked me in for the night.
“Can’t have you wandering around with a boy in the house,” she hissed, her breath reeking of vodka as she twisted the key in the lock. “I know what little whores like you do when men are around.”
I don’t argue. I just write down everything I feel, everything I need to say. My journal sits on my pillow in the dark. The cold steals the air from my lungs. The bed creaks beneath me, as if it might splinter under the weight of my trembling breath. I tuck my knees up and pull the blanket tighter, listening to the silence beyond the door, waiting for it to break.
It’s going to be a long night.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
My head snaps toward the sound. It’s coming from the window. Am I imagining things? I convince myself that I am. Getting up from under the blanket, despite how useless it is, is a sacrifice I’m not ready to make for a false alarm. I’ve barely just stopped shivering.
But then it comes again.Tap. Tap. Tap.
My heart stutters. I creep toward the window, my bare feet silent against the freezing floor. When I pull back the curtain, I jump.
Shane.
He’s crouched on the roof outside my window, his cut catching the moonlight. He grins, all cocky confidence, like sneaking onto a second-story roof in the middle of the night is the most normal thing in the world. “Open up, baby girl. Let me in.”
I fumble with the latch and push the window open. Cold air rushes in, sending a shiver down my back. “Shane? What are you doing here?”
