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“You’ll see.” I smirk.
When the lock gives way, I look at one of the cameras Gray installed in the hall and throw him a mischievous wink as I remove the earpiece from my ear.
“Zoey!” I hear him yell out before I shove the device between my breasts, silencing him for good.
He’ll probably kill me for what I’m about to do, but hopefully it will be worth it.
I step inside the dark room and flip the light switch. The minute it turns on, I’m disappointed to see that it looks like just your run-of-the-mill office. There is a desk in the middle of the room, with a computer and a few carefully placed papers. I quickly go and check those out first, but nothing screams pedophile ring.
“There’s got to be something in here,” I mutter under my breath.
I turn around to the filing cabinet behind me, thinking if I were a kingpin of a criminal enterprise, then I’d probably have my secrets locked away but easy to get to in a pinch. With my bobby pin still in my hand, I try to get one of the filing cabinets open. When I’m hustling to break into the damn thing, something grabs my attention.
There’s a small Newton’s cradle right in the center of the filing cabinet behind the desk. It’s not something that looks too out of place, just some tacky decoration, but its presence still bothers me, and I don’t know why. As if under a spell, I raise my hand and flick one of the silver balls, making it hit the other, and it’s the sound of them singing in unison that pulls me out of my reality and back into a distant memory I have no recollection of.
“Please. I just need to call my aunt. She’ll take us in. She will. She has to,” Layla pleads desperately while I stare at the Newton’s cradle device on the oak desk.
“We’ve made every attempt to reach your next of kin, but unfortunately we haven’t been successful,” a soothing voice explains.
“Then let me try. Please. I know I can get through. I just know I can. Please,” Layla insists.
I tune out the rest, focusing on how one silver ball hits the one next to it. The clicking sound is loud in my head, like a bullet piercing through the air until it hits skin. Much like how my father killed my mom and brother. Much like how the avenging angel that was in the car shot my father down.
Clink.
Clink.
Clink.
One bullet.
Two bullets.
Three.
I hold onto the armrest of the chair, digging my nails into the upholstery as the silver balls hit one another.
One body dead.
Two bodies dead.
Three.
But there are five balls. Five bullets. Each one with our names on it.
Mom.
Gage.
Dad.
Layla.
Me.
I swallow dryly at the thought, holding onto the armrest to keep me tethered to the present and not back on that lonely road where most of my family died, but I can’t stop replaying the sound of each bullet in my head.
Five balls.
