Her eyes start roaming the van, teeth worrying her bottom lip while she thinks. I let her take her time, watching the way herthroat moves when she swallows, the way a few loose strands of hair tremble with every turn of her head.
Finally, she looks back at me. Worry and anticipation vibrate off her.
“Okay,” she says breathlessly. “We’ll start with questions first. And then—” Her voice cuts off, cracking. She swallows hard, licks her lips, and tries again. “Then… I want you to tell me about prison.”
The word ‘prison’barely leaves her lips. It’s not even a whisper, but it lands like a knife twisting between my ribs. Fuck. I’ve imagined this conversation a thousand times, whenever I woke up from nightmares, gasping for air.
Memories claw at the edges of my mind, the darkest ones, begging to be let in. I manage to hold them back. For now. Their time will come, after her questions. And then I’ll drown in that hell again.
I just nod and let her take the lead. This is her show. She shifts in her seat, clears her throat a few times, then pins me with a determined look.
“First, about the tracker,” she starts, and my heart drops. She wants it out. Fuck! “It’s clear you have some kind of unholy need for it, and I’m willing to make you a deal.” She pauses for effect. My heart comes back. My eyebrows lift. Whatever she fucking needs, just so the tracker stays where it is.
“I will not remove your stupid tracker for the time being,” she says, eyes narrowing to slits, “ifyou wear one yourself and I get to trackyou.”
She lifts her chin and crosses her arms. She’s expecting a fight. She has no idea how happy she just made me. I feel like I just won the jackpot.
“It’s a deal,” I murmur, still riding the high her words gave me.
Thank fuck I had the brilliant idea to also blackmail a backup tracker from Luca. Dealing with Arcangelo for this shit would’ve been a nightmare.
A wicked smile spreads across her lips. She leans in, voice dropping low.
“You’ll inject it in the same place you did mine,” she hisses, then leans back and waves her hand with a flourish. “Now, let’s continue.”
She whips out her phone, taps a few times, and glares at the screen. Did she write an actual fucking list?
“The rat in the cell, from when you kidnapped me… it didn’t just stumble in on its own. You put it there on purpose, didn’t you?” Her jaw clenches tight.
The question catches me off guard. Shit. She’s going for all the little fucking details, isn’t she?
“I did,” I admit with a nod. That rat can’t sink me lower than where I already am.
She gasps like I just slapped her and jabs a finger at my chest. “I knew it! You are such a fucking dickhead.”
One of my eyebrows lifts in stupefaction. “Is that really such a surprise?”
“No,” she admits grudgingly, glancing at the phone in her lap, then back at me with a sigh. “Forget the rat. What I actually want to know is — did you really stop watching Liz? Like you promised?”
“Yes,” I confirm. Then my brain freezes. Shit. The last person I talked to about Liz — Adora’s so-called father.
“What’s wrong? You’ve got a weird look,” Adora demands, alarm in her voice. “Is it about Liz?”
“No.” I shake my head and brace for impact. “It’s about Reggie.” I pause, then let it out in one breath. “I killed him. Months ago.”
Silence drops like gravel on a casket. She blinks, jaw slack. Seconds stretch. Finally — finally! — a whoosh of air escapes her and she slumps, looking out through the windshield.
“I can’t believe what a relief that is,” she mumbles, almost in shock. Her eyes drift back to me and I see the pain behind them. “He didn’t deserve to be a father. But he was one anyway.” She pauses. “Did he suffer?”
My jaw clenches in frustration. “Unfortunately, no.”
“Is it weird that I feel relief?” she asks, frowning like she’s afraid of the answer. “He never hit me. Or yelled. He just stood by and watched.”
I pin her with a hard look. “Yeah, he watched and did nothing. That's not a father, that's a coward. So no, it’s not weird to feel relief.”
She sucks in a breath. “I think you might be right.” Then she straightens, wipes every thought of Reggie off her face like it’s nothing, and snaps back into business. “Next question.”
She peeks at her phone. “I want to know how long you were watching me before you decided to strike.”
