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"Son, are you—"
"This ends now," I tell them, my voice leaving no room for argument. "You've failed to look after this town, to look after the people you should be protecting. The Kingsley line is done, and things are going to change."
"Easton, I'm not sure—"
"I'm not asking for permission, Phillip," I spit. "Get your shit in order. Either get me Cade, or I'll find him myself and put an end to all of this."
Both of their mouths are hanging open when I storm away from them, flinging the double doors at the end of the hallway open with a bang.
"Bex, are you—"
"Let's go," I interrupt Brandon who was walking toward the doors I blew through. “We have shit to take care of.”
* * *
I drive us both back to the house where I review the security tapes from the previous two days in case us disappearing has led to him being careless. But exactly like I thought, there's still no sign of him.
"Are these tapes even real?" I mutter. "How can a person get in and out unnoticed."
"He was the one who installed the system."
"What?" I ask Brandon, who's standing behind me, staring at the same screens.
"When we first moved in, he had the whole place redone."
"He's got fucking control of this?" I bark.
"Well, no. His cell was cut off the night of the explosion. He should no longer—"
"He has though, hasn't he? He's in this fucking system. Jesus fucking Christ. What else does he know?"
"It's Kingsley," Brandon mutters. "He knows everything. He always has."
A thought slams into me so hard I stumble back. "Mia."
Pushing Brandon aside, I race from the room and soon after, the house.
"Bex, what's—" Alex calls when I pass him on his way out of the kitchen, but I don't hang around long enough to hear the end of his question as I fly toward my car and start the engine.
My heart pounds in my chest, my palms sweating against the wheel as I make my way out of town as fast as I can. I forget all about looking in my mirror in case I'm being followed. I already know I'm not.
He's played us.
He's fucking played us.
Marcus' accident was no fucking accident. It was planned down to the very second. He knew what we'd do. He knew it would get me into town. He knew I'd leave. I suck in a ragged breath, praying that I'm wrong, that he hasn't been one step ahead of us all this time.
The drive back to the cabin seems to take twice as long as the journey to Gravestone did only a couple of hours ago.
My foot anxiously taps the floor as my fingers wring the wheel. "Please be okay, please be okay."
Dragging my cell out, I hit call on Channing's number.
By the time I get to the hidden turnoff that leads toward the cabin, I'm a fucking mess.
I slow my speed as I hit the gravel track but only marginally, causing stones to fly out from beneath me, and I come to a stop with a screech of my brakes once the cabin comes into view. It looks exactly as I left it with Channing's car parked outside, but the sight does little to calm the panic that's racing through my veins.
I have no idea how I know, but I fucking do.
