“Why don’t you ask your fucking Rafe what happened to Faith?” he demands.
The engine whines as the van lurches forward even faster. Genuine alarm creeps through the numbness, and only now do I realize how tightly I’m gripping my chair. So tight, my knuckles are white.
“Branden, stop—”
“One good fuck, and you already care about him more than me, huh?”
“Look out!”
Another car cuts into his path, and he barely manages to swerve in time to avoid it.
“Slow down!”
“Come home,” he counters. “Say you’ll do it. Now.” He wrenches on the steering wheel, cutting directly into the path of another car.
“Branden—”
“Say it.” The engine revs to enforce the threat.
“Slow down!”
He raises his voice to easily drown out mine. “Come home.”
We’re going too fast. The vehicle sways, fighting to stay in the same lane. Only God knows what the drivers nearby are thinking. Who he’s putting at risk.
All of this to make a point.
He’s always in control.
“Come home,” he goads to reinforce the thought. “Everything will be like it was. All you have to do is come home. Because I’m worried what will happen if you don’t. Your friend Rafe thinks he’s hot shit, but no one is untouchable, Hannah—and he isn’t the one calling the shots. You have no idea what you’ve stepped into—”
“Then, just tell me!”
“Come home,” he insists in a softer tone. “I’ll tell you everything if you do. I mean it.”
It’s easier than ever to sense the lie in his words. I’ve known him long enough to catch that telltale dip in his inflection. A denial springs to my lips just as another van comes into view.
He speeds up until we’re rapidly approaching it, able to see the white stickers plastered on the rear window—a small sticker family, down to a little dog.
“Come home,” Branden warns, a dangerous note in his voice. “I mean it, Hannah.”
He breaks into the next lane, speeding even more, most likely to cut the other van off.
“Fine,” I whisper. “I’ll come with you.”
“Good.” The vehicle gradually slows to a normal speed, and he signals to take the next exit. “This is the best way for everyone,” he says. “You’ve made the right choice.”
But my hand is still resting over my pocket, sensing Faith’s hair clip beneath.
What choice had she made when it came to him?
And did she pay the ultimate price?
Chapter Fourteen
The setting sun provides an ominous backdrop of shadow as we pull into the driveway of a scenic, two-story home in the heart of a peaceful, idyllic neighborhood. Children play in the distance, and their laughter is audible even with the van’s windows rolled up—a mocking, twisted soundtrack.
“This is where you belong, Hannah,” Branden says while shutting off the engine. He braces his hands on the dashboard, his knuckles cracking with tension. “With your family. With me.”
An ironic boast, all things considered. This place is a world apart from my crappy apartment or a flat above a tattoo shop. A pale yellow Victorian-style townhouse, guarded—quite literally—by a white picket fence. The imagery symbolizes my childhood perfectly.
A beautiful image when glimpsed from the outside. But what lurks within those four walls? A cage.
I can feel the bars of it closing in as Branden exits the car and circles around to my end, wrenching open the door before I can do so myself. In the same motion, he snatches my wrist and tugs me to my feet.
At the back of my mind, I realize I could always scream. Resist. But I don’t. As he hauls me up the front steps, I ask, “So you’ll tell me the truth? About everything?”
He shrugs, unlocking the front door. Inside, the narrow foyer opens onto a short hall extending past the living room and into the kitchen. Memories descend, reminding me of how trapped I felt here. How desperately I longed for an escape.
“Honey, is that you?” A blond woman peeks through the doorway, her expression wary.
“Yeah, it’s me,” Branden says, muscling me forward. The door slams behind us, and I can’t disguise how I flinch at the sound. “And Hannah’s back like I told you.”
“Hey,” Kaitlin says with a strained smile. Her blue eyes flit over my posture and linger on my face before drifting away to a painting hanging on the wall. I can only speculate as to what lie Branden told her to explain the bruises. “I’m glad it’s you,” she says to him with unmistakable relief. “I was worried they had come back and—”
“We’ll talk about it later,” Branden growls, cutting her off. Just as quickly, he flashes a strained smile and inclines his head down the hall. “Why don’t you make us some lunch?”
“Okay.” With a terse nod, she scurries into the kitchen while Branden pulls me into the living room, effectively blocking the doorway with his bulk. He meets my gaze, and for the first time, I see a hint of the brother I recognize. The caged, suspicious one willing to do anything to stay in control.
“You promised,” I say lamely, but I don’t expect a damn thing from him. Mentally, I scan the room, spotting one of the large bay windows overlooking the back garden. It’s low enough to jump from.
“I will,” he snaps, his voice low. “But first you tell me something. Where is it?”
Real confusion makes me blink. “What are you talking about?”
Belatedly, I sense a telltale weight in my pocket, and the answer becomes obvious. Something small enough to fit within his grasping, flexing hands.
“You know what,” he says. Nervous energy seeps through his confident exterior, and he starts to pace, his shoulders hunched. “You mentioned a hair clip. So, where is it?”
He eyes my bags, and I instinctively back up a step.
“W-What hair clip—”
“You know what,” he growls.
Maybe
