She fanned the flames. The question is, can she withstand the inferno?
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
ERIN
“Wake up, hon!”Mom bangs on my bedroom door. “You’ll be late, and turn that alarm off!”
My eyelids are heavy. I groan and put a hand to my thumping head. Little dots cross my vision, and everything’s hazy. Maybe I’m coming down with something…
“I’m up now,” I croak, heaving myself out of bed with great effort and silencing my beeping phone.
After being molested by Robert, I endured an afternoon of pretending it didn’t happen. I followed him around the course and laughed at his stupid jokes. He found it especially amusing to make me cheer whenever he potted a ball.
When I returned home, I expected something to happen. I stayed up until three a.m., waiting. The slightest noise made my heart race in anticipation, but they didn’t come, leaving me with only disappointment for company. Perhaps I’d lost my chance to get any answers about Sarah. They could have got spooked and left town for good.
“You have twenty minutes,” Mom calls. “Your father will be waiting.”
“Of course he will,” I grumble under my breath, dragging my feet to the bathroom.
I take off my nightshirt, getting ready to jump in the shower, then catch my reflection in the mirror.
What the…
The stark contrast between my pale skin and the color red is first to draw my attention. Smeared bloody fingerprints cover my chest, like someone has grabbed my breasts and pawed at my hips. Next, tiny indentations from where teeth have sunk into the skin around my nipples leave possessive purple marks behind.
Marks.
Their marks.
How can I not remember? I part my legs and gulp, looking down to see bruises from where their ghostly fingers touched me. Another bite mark taunts me from my soft inner thigh. It stings as I run my finger over it.
I pull down my panties with shaking hands, half expecting to see blood, or worse, but there’s nothing. I breathe a sigh of relief, spinning to check the rest of my body and find bloody handprints over my ass.
None of this makes sense.
As I turn, I inhale sharply. My hair…Shit!My hair looks like it’s been hacked with gardening shears. Half of it has been crudely cut into uneven jagged lengths.
I’m not the type of girl who cares about her appearance, but we live in a town where image matters. Mom insists on taking me to the salon every six weeks for a cut and color. She’ll lose her mind when she sees me.
I grab my nail scissors. It’ll take a lot to tidy up this mess, but I start desperately cutting. My locks fall into the basin. How can they expect me to leave the house looking like this?
“Erin!” Father barks. “Where are you?”
I have seconds to react, managing to put on my bathrobe before he barges inside.
He glares at the scissors in my hand. His eyes narrow into slits, like he’s caught me standing over a dead body with a bloody knife.
“What did you do?” he spits through gritted teeth.
“I…”
I’m lost for words.
He grabs my arm. “You’re coming with me.”
“Dad, that hurts,” I whimper, struggling to keep my robe together.
