Angelica tilts her head to the side. “Are you in love with them? Because they won’t love you back.”
I meet her gaze. “You don’t know that.”
She cocks an eyebrow and says just two words. “Madeline Briggs.”
Maddie’s face flashes through my mind. Her curly blonde hair and her shaky smile. She was the first one he made us cut. I bite my cheek. “What about her?”
Her mouth rounds. “Oh. You really don’t know.”
My heart kicks up a storm under my ribs and the adrenaline has me hopping off the table. I take a step towards Angelica before I stop myself. My hands clench into fists. “Know what?”
She laughs, a breathy, disbelieving sound. “Maddison Briggs: wife to Eddison March and mother... to Elijah March.”
My limbs go cold. It feels like the rest of my blood drains from my veins. “No.” The word trips past frozen lips. “No. No.” I keep repeating it, like my body thinks if I say it enough it won’t be true, but my mind is connecting the dots. The way Eli flirted with me outrageously... until he found out my true identity. The moment in the hall with his hand around my neck, pure hatred in his eyes. How he told me that liking me was the biggest fucking betrayal in the world.
“Oh my god.” My hand covers my mouth. Tears prick my eyes, but their sting is just a fraction of the pain I deserve.
I tortured Eli’s mother.
I watched her die.
Angelica moves closer to me. She runs her hand though my hair like I used to do to her when we were kids. “Shh,” she says. “Listen. Do you hear that?”
I hold in my sobs and listen. The rumble of tires against gravel. An engine humming before switching off.
Angelica smiles. “Daddy’s back.”
A deafening bang punches through the warehouse and the door behind Angelica slams open.
Eyes gleaming with victory lock on me.
He’s here.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Eli
I CRACK MY neck again, but the ache is trapped deep in the bone, a hundred times worse than usual. I can’t even ask for some pain meds because the nurses are mad at us. We’ve turned Oz’s hospital room into an investigation room, and they keep glowering our way every time they come to check on him. I guess having the window and walls covered in crime scene photos isn’t viewed as conducive to healing.
Any other time I’d be charming the hell out of those nurses but right now the only thing I can think about is finding Freya. We’ve just passed the six-hour mark since Jude found her gone and my chest keeps getting tighter.Fuck. I shouldn’t feel this way.
Oz has a minor concussion exacerbated by the drugs in his system, but he’s going to be okay. None of us wanted to leave him alone though, hence the angry nurses. He confirmed Freya was at the warehouse with him and her twin, but he doesn’t know what time she arrived or how long he was out before waking up near the gas station.
I look over at him in the hospital bed. He’s propped up against the cushions, working with River to try and remember everything he can about the warehouse. Dark circles hang under his eyes and butterfly strips hold together the cut on his forehead, but he looks a lot better than he did before.
Jude comes back in holding a plastic cup filled with ice chips for Oz. He keeps going on pointless errands because he can’t stand still right now.
Jude’s like my opposite when it comes to being stressed. He buzzes with energy; I go quiet and mean. I don’t like the cruel side to me. It reminds me too much of how my dad gets when he’s missing mum. My head’s been so screwed up lately that the darkness has been right at the surface. Freya’s reaction when we accused her of hurting Camilla and Posy was what finally jolted me out of it.
Eva was right, I care for Freya and part of me still hates that, but I’ve been trying my best to make amends for the way I’ve treated her. If we don’t figure out where she is soon, I might never get a chance to make things right.
I run a hand over my face. We should have kept a closer eye on her. We knew she was a flight risk. What really worries me though, is how reckless she is. I know where her type of recklessness stems from, it’s what happens when you don’t value your own life. I’ve seen glimpses of the way she views herself and it’s not good. She may attest her innocence, but she feels guilty, and I’m scared it’s going to be the death of her.
River’s phone buzzes against the bedside table. He checks the screen and puts it on speaker. “Ramsey, tell me you’ve found something.”
Ramsey keeps it short and sweet. “Traces of paint.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
