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Both men looked at me expressionless yet as if I had asked to go skydiving without a parachute.
"You are going home. I’ve already contacted Joel. He will take the three of you back to Virginia."
I stared at my father incredulously. Was he fucking serious? He couldn't be. He was.
FUCK!
Anger started to build deep in my core and spread throughout my body. "I'm not getting on the damn plane!"
"Yes. You are," he stated as he checked the chamber of his P365XL.
"The fuck?" I ripped the gun out of his hand.
In hindsight, that was an irresponsible and completely dumbass thing to do. I mean, it was a loaded fucking gun. But the chance of keeping my temper in check was about as likely as jumping out of the previously mentioned airplane without the parachute and surviving. No chance at all.
If they seriously believed I would get on that damn jet while Lilly was held hostage by her psycho bio-mom, they were more delusional than my ex thinking I’d come back to her.
Dad stared at me with a murderous glare, not just for ignoring every gun safety rule, but for interfering with his mission. And bringing Lilly home had become his mission.
"I'm not having you anywhere near the place when we go in. We have no idea what to expect. We don't know if it's just the two of them or if there are more. Henry is still missing, for Christ's sake," he barked at me.
Henry. I completely forgot about him.
"You think he is involved?" I narrowed my eyes at Dad.
"No." My father’s response came so quick and convinced that I paused.
We stared at each other, and then it clicked. "She did something to Henry."
This time, he didn't answer, which was everything I needed to not hear. George had told Dad about Turner's visit to the warehouse district and what he most likely procured there.
Dad and George ended up letting me stay with Nate, but Denielle and Wes were put into a car to the airport with George's guys. They were going home—Den kicking and screaming. Even Wes couldn't calm her and, eventually, had to step back. George's men caged her in and deposited her in the SUV by her hands and feet. It was not a pretty sight, and I don't think she has forgiven George since.
Nate was to watch me which, let's face it, was fucking hilarious—I didn't point that out, though. What was the guy gonna do? He could barely keep his eyes open, let alone stand straight between his exhaustion and his stab wound. He'd been avoiding the pain killers after he fell asleep because he didn't want his brain to turn all fuzzballs again. But once Dad and George were ready to move out, he finally agreed to self-medicate.
It only took five minutes for Nate's eyes to droop, and I was off. The keys to Lilly's G-Wagon hung with the rest of the cars in the entrance to the massive garage. I put the address I had memorized from earlier into my phone and was no more than maybe ten minutes behind the rescue operation.
Looking back, following them was, by far, the most reckless shit I’ve ever pulled. I’m fully aware that I would’ve died that day if it weren’t for Francis Turner.
Turner had been Emily's lapdog since they were kids. But we didn’t know that until my mother arrived in Los Angeles.
The moment I walked into the house, all I had to do was follow the screaming—Lilly's screams. My pulse was pounding in my ears as I crept along the hallway toward the noise. A lot of what came next was a blur.
Should I remember it? Process what I saw? What happened with Emily and the gun? Maybe. Okay, probably. But I have no desire to hash that shit out with the therapist Dad has had me see once a week since. Lilly is alive. I'm alive. The bitch is dead. Moving on—or pretending to. All I want is to get through today, and I know we'll move past it eventually. Dr. How-Do-You-Feel-About-This is not going to be part of that progress.
I do think about everything that followed Lilly coming back to consciousness, though, and it sends me into a fucking tailspin every single time.
Maybe I should open up to Doctor McShrink?
George had stayed back at the house of horrors with his men, securing the scene and dealing with the authorities.
I bet that was an interesting conversation.
Dad tried to take Lilly from me so she could get medical attention, but as soon as he reached for her, every muscle in my body locked. I braced my legs, my arms tightened around her, and my hands curled into fists, clutching her clothes. Even if I had wanted to hand her over, I couldn't. The thought of losing contact with her in any way had my chest constricting, and I felt like someone was choking me.
We made it to the G-Wagon, but the events are distorted. Skipping. It’s like my brain has blurred it all out of focus.
Self-preservation?
