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Reed pressed the code into the door and pushed it open. “Of course, I will, but thankfully, me being a complete fuck-up will be one of the things she loves about me.”
“Thank God you’re here.”
“Fuck,” I cursed, looking up and seeing Aspen standing at the end of the entry hall. I moved toward her, shaking my head. “What the fuck happened?” Aspen’s face was bruised, gauze over her eye and on her head. Not to mention her hunched-over posture, with her arms wrapped around her body protectively.
I didn’t want to hurt her, so I carefully ushered her into the living room, and she eased into an armchair, tears dripping down her cheeks as she explained what happened. Or at least what she could remember.
“He was talking about how she should’ve just admitted that Brian didn’t deserve to die.” She was struggling, which was saying a lot for the Aspen I’d met before, who was ready to face off with me if I messed with her friend. “We tried, but he busted down two doors. It was superhuman.”
It was fury.
Anger.
I think sometimes people forget that it’s not just fear or stress that releases adrenaline. It comes with anger too, and it does just that. It makes someone’s fury seem like they’re superhuman or invincible because they keep fighting through the pain.
I thought he’d backed off.
A friend at the airport even let me know the day after I’d had my chat with him that he’d flown out of the state and back to New York. So I didn’t follow through on the threats I’d made, at least not yet.
“What set him off?” I questioned out loud.
Aspen sighed. “My aunt lives in the town they’re from, that’s how Cassie and I met. She said people were talking about Brian. More girls were coming forward saying he’d done it to them too. People are even saying there could’ve been a girl gomissingwhile she was with Brian. Her family still doesn’t know what happened to her.”
So the family was being dragged through the mud just like I’d threatened to do.
Only he has his fucking brother to blame for it.
And Cassie’s paying the price.
CASSIDY
“Home sweet home,” Emmett mumbled under his breath as he finally pulled the car off the road.
We’d been traveling for hours, the sun just thinking about setting below the skyline, which should’ve been a beautiful sight that really took your breath away as the sky was decorated with rich pinks and oranges.
But all I was focused on for the moment was surviving.
My bladder felt like it was about to burst.
My head throbbed so hard it was blurring my vision.
I blinked hard as I looked up through the windshield, though I didn’t need to be able to see clearly to know exactly where I was.
Santerson Brothers Auto Shop.
Emmett and Brian’s mechanic garage.
We were back in Brighton, the small town where I’d called home not that long ago. Where I’d spent more time here, in this workshop, than I’d have liked—afternoons, weekends, days when Brian’s paranoia was running wild, and he felt like he couldn’t trust me at home on my own. I hated this place, and I hated this town and how it felt like my own personal jail cell.
Emmett pulled into the garage and hit the button to close the door behind us before he finally got out and came around to my door. He yanked it open and grabbed my arm, pulling me out onto the dirty, stained concrete of the workshop. My legs struggled to keep me up while my hands and arms were completely dead because he’d tied them behind me and forced me to practically sit on them for the past almost three fucking hours.
He shoved me back against the car, my shoulder and head hitting it with a hard thump, and a wave of nausea suddenly hit me like a slap in the face, the entire room fading in and out for a minute while my mouth filled with saliva.
“I need the bathroom,” I managed to croak out, already wondering if it was even worth trying to make it to the toilet when another wave washed over me. When he didn’t answer, I tried again, though a little differently this time since he seemed to have lost any kind of sympathy. “I really don’t want to pee or puke all over the floor, especially because you’ll probably have to help me get back into the car if we’re going any—”
“Fucking shut up!” he roared, grabbing my arm and leading me through the doors to the office where the customer bathroom was located. We paused at his secretary’s desk, and he picked up a letter opener. I held my breath as he swiped it through the rope holding my wrists, then pushed open the door to the bathroom. “It stays open.”
I rolled my wrists a few times, and my legs screamed at me to sit the hell down—they were struggling to keep me upright while my brain was pounding so damn hard against my skull. A rush of pain suddenly had me tripping over myself to get to the toilet, my stomach tightening and twisting hard and forcing me to heave all of nothing into the bowl.
