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“Is this true?” I flick my gaze to Effie, and she breaks eye contact right away, staring at her feet. That one small movement is enough to shred my heart like it’s nothing but a piece of paper. Effie’s always been able to look me in the eye, even when I held a gun to her head she didn’t waver.
That one glance tells me all I need to know but I still storm over to her. “Tell. Me.”I can’t conceal the hurt in my voice, it’s ripped from me the same way my tattered heart is ripped from my chest.
“Yes, but—”
There is nobut.“Leave.”
“Fi—”
“If you don’t walk out that door right now, you’ll be leaving in a body bag.”My voice is stripped of emotion, cold and detached because if I lean into what I’m feeling I’ll burn this fucking place to the ground, and I won’t care who’s inside.
I cut Luciano out of the tape next. “The only reason you’re still living is because I haven’t decided how I want to kill you yet,” I say with deadly intent.
He gets up, acting like he doesn’t have an ounce of fear in him, but I see the sweat stain down his back and the heavy exhale he releases. Effie is still standing at the same place I left her. “Euphemia, let’s go,” he says gruffly, not waiting for her before disappearing out the door.
She gives me one last teary-eyed look before following him. I react without thinking and pull her back by her hand. There’s a flicker of hope on her face before I speak, crushing every speck of light in her painfully beautiful eyes.
“This is the last time. If you ever betray me again, it won’t matter how sweet your pussy is or how I once felt for you, I’ll just fuck you one last time before slitting your throat.”
2Then I let her leave. I let her leave so she doesn’t see me crumble.
Her words from the gala dance through my mind, soft and pleading:I wish I could live in this moment forever.
What I thought was the start of forever, was just a spoonful of sugar before the poison. I realize now, she wanted to stay in that moment because she knewthismoment would follow. I close my eyes, willing my brain to push down those sweet memories plaguing me so I can think about my next moves.
I’ve never had trouble shutting off my emotions. It was like flicking a switch, if the lights were even on to begin with. I came to prefer operating in the dark. Easier, cleaner, and hell of a lot less painful. But right now, it’s like trying to stop a flood with paper walls.Useless.
Well, I can start by getting rid of the dead body on my floor. But I can’t be in here any longer, I feel like I’m drowning in memories of her. I call my cleaning crew while walking to my car, it’s a ten-second conversation.
I get in, sliding behind the steering wheel and slamming my head back on the headrest, not feeling any less like I’m drowning. I glance to my right and see the sunflowers I never grabbed in my haste to save her.
It’s like the sunshine yellow of their petals is laughing at me.What a love-blind fool.
I stare at the flowers a little longer, are they laughing at me or screaming at me to open my fucking eyes? Or maybe I’m just losing my goddamn mind if plants are talking…
I’m trying to think through the torrent of emotions battering my insides. I force myself to focus, drumming my fingers in thought.
If Effie was working with her father behind my back, why was he beating her? I wouldn’t put it past the son of a bitch to hit her over a small slight, real or imagined. But I’ve conducted enough interrogations to recognize one. Fuckhead holding her arms while her father took swings…yeah, they were after information that she clearly wasn’t giving them.
I hop out, slamming the door behind me. Effie was up to something, but I don’t think it was betraying me…at least not intentionally.
Or maybe I’m letting my emotions cloud my judgment. I think back to the conversation I overheard at the gala. Her father was again trying to get something out of her, but was she participating?
It’s too damn hard to be objective when the person I’ve grown to treasure most in this fucked-up world is being accused of breaking the one thing I asked of her: honesty and loyalty. My mind and heart are tied up in a crippling knot, and there’s only one way to untangle this mess: Find out what she was planning.
Storming back into the barn, I check the downstairs first before coming up empty. I try her studio next, finding exactly what I was looking for in the drawer with her materials. I pull out her phone, my chest cracking open when I read the painted message on the back.
Inbox
I ? u
I navigate directly to her messages and open the top chat. The number isn’t a saved contact, but the most recent interaction was an outgoing text:
Finn is going to call, tell him everything. Juicy tracksuits and Star Wars DVDs.
I read the damn thing ten times. I have no idea what the second half means, but the first part is pretty fucking clear. I call the number, my heart waiting in my throat while it rings.
The line connects. “It’s Finn.”
