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The five of us spread out, examining the contents of the room as we search for clues that would point to Alan’s dealings or the owners of the items. I find priceless jewelry, paintings that I recognize as original pieces, guns that look one hundred percent illegal, and more shit that makes my head spin.
What does he do with all of this stuff?
He obviously stores it here, but what if someone never pays off their debts? Does he sell the stuff they gave him? Does he use it for himself?
I turn around to ask what the others have found when my gaze snags on Gray. He’s gone still, his entire body frozen in place. My eyes follow his and I realize he’s staring at a worn messenger bag, one that has embroidered butterflies on the flap. His jaw ticks, his cheeks draining of color.
“Gray?” I ask hesitantly, my stomach twisting. “Is everything okay?”
He reaches for the bag but doesn’t touch it, his hand hovering above it. His face is stricken, and I’m not even sure he heard my words. Swallowing hard, I walk over to him, placing a gentle hand on his arm to draw his attention.
When he finally tears his gaze away from the bag and looks at me, his expression is empty. Broken.
“That’s…” His voice is hoarse. “That bag belonged to Beth.”
As if his own words snap him into action, he turns back and reaches for the bag again, picking it up and running one hand over the rough fabric. Pushing the flap open, he rummages his hands through it as if searching for anything else that belonged to her—or some clue as to why the hell this bag is here.
But I already know. I can guess, and I think he can too.
We both know too much about Alan to imagine anything but the worst.
“He killed her,” Gray whispers. I barely even recognize his voice. It’s gruff and strained, shock making way for fury as the truth washes over him. “I don’t know why, but he fucking killed her. She didn’t die by accident. He murdered her.”
Pain slams through my body, my heart breaking for his sake. For her sake. For Beth, the girl I never got to meet, the girl whose place I took at Hawthorne. My throat tightens, making it hard to breathe. Gray’s eyes are haunted as they meet mine.
But then his expression changes.
His gaze flicks over my shoulder, and my breath catches for an entirely different reason.
No. Please, fuck, no.
I can tell before I even turn around who Gray is staring at. I can see it in the way his eyes burn with pure fire, with vengeful wrath. When I slowly crane my neck to look behind me, my heart stops in my chest.
Elias, Declan, and Charles stand with their hands above their heads, their bodies stiff.
Alan stands just inside the room’s entrance. He’s holding a gun, and it’s aimed directly at Gray.
“Put the bag down, please, Mr. Eastwood.”
23
Oh. Fuck.
Time stands still for a second. Two seconds. Three.
Everything seems to hang in a standstill as my gaze darts around the large room, taking in the entire, horrible scene.
Declan and Elias are on the far side of the room, frozen like I am. Gray stands next to me, Beth’s bag still in his hands. My father is nearby on my other side, fear carved into the lines of his face, making him look a thousand times older.
Alan Montgomery stands in the doorway, his handsome features hard and unyielding. Despite my father’s efforts to eliminate the security measures, he must’ve gotten some alert about our presence. Or, fuck, maybe he had some kind of surveillance on my father. Maybe he keeps an eye on all the people who’ve made bargains with him, just to make sure none of them ever betray him or reveal the true nature of his business.
It hardly matters how he found us right now, though. The fact is that he’s here, and from the look in his eyes, he’s pissed.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Gray sets his sister’s bag back down. His hands shake as he places it on the floor, and his lips are pressed together so tightly that his skin turns a pale white.
Alan nods in satisfaction. Then he swings the weapon a little to the right, focusing on my father. His eyes narrow as his lips twist into an angry sneer.
“Well, this is disappointing, Charles,” he says in a low tone that’s dangerously calm, a tone I know not to trust. “I expected better from you.”
