“That’s it,” Roland mutters. “Off the main strip. Behind the old market.”
The building comes into view—low, white-brick, unmarked. It looks like a dental office that’s been abandoned for years. Curtains drawn tight. No signage. No lights in the front.
And somewhere inside... Natalie.
I don’t realize my hand’s shaking until I throw the car into park, shove open the car door, and sprint across the lot. Roland is right behind me.
I slam my fist against the heavy metal door. Hard enough that my skin stings. “Natalie!”
No answer.
I back up, ready to kick the door in, but Roland grabs my arm.
“Side door,” he says. “Always left unlocked. In case they need to move fast.”
Move fast. Get rid of evidence.
My gut twists violently.
We race around the side of the building, our feet slipping on patches of black ice that coat the cracked pavement. The wind cuts through our coats like knives, and I can see Roland's breath coming in sharp, painful gasps as he leads, limping but determined through the treacherous footing, his body moving through sheer force of will.
Frost coats the metal handrails and window frames. He reaches the door—paint peeling, metal handle so cold it burns—and tries the handle with fingers that must be numb from the cold.
It swings open with a faint creak, and warmer air rushes out. The smell hits me first—sterile and chemical, but wrong. Underneath, there’s something rotten. Like old blood.
I have nothing but my fists, but I don’t care. I’ll tear through this place barehanded if I have to.
We move down a narrow hallway, the floor sticky underfoot. A broken fluorescent light buzzes overhead. Every second stretches razor-thin.
I hear low voices arguing. An older woman’s voice—sharp, commanding. Another voice—desperate.
Natalie.
I bolt forward, instincts overriding everything else. The room bursts open under my weight.
There she is.
Natalie’s on a gurney, struggling against two women in scrubs. Her wrists are strapped down, her cheeks wet with tears. She looks small and terrified and furious all at once.
I see Lucas on the ground as if someone has knocked him down. He’s wiping blood from the corner of his mouth.
And standing over Natalie, with her fist in her hair like a vice, is a woman who shares some of her features, only crueler, harsher.
Her mother.
CHAPTER 27
NATALIE
I would never have gottenin Rose’s car if it hadn’t been for the small handgun concealed behind her purse. She would have shot me, but from the way her eyes darted towards Helen, I knew she was the one in real danger at that moment.
So I left.
What choice did I have?
When I slid into the passenger seat of Rose’s car, I didn’t expect her to tie my hands together with a zip-tie.
“What are you doing?” I strain against the hard material. “What is wrong with you, Rose?”
