145
Isabella hadn’t moved from the top of the stairs yet. Her eyes flicked from me to the car, then back. Her mouth twitched, not in annoyance, not in anger. Uncertainty. That weird twitch people do when they want to ask a hundred questions but don’t know where to start. She scratched at her scalp, rough and slow, her thick black curls shifting, falling over one shoulder as she did. Her fingers tangled in a few strands, and she pulled them free with a quiet curse. Then finally, she stepped down. One step. Then another.
Her sandals which she had slipped into when she went inside, made soft slaps on the concrete. Her arms hung stiff at her sides like she didn’t know what to do with them. She didn’t look scared. Just… cautious. Like someone who’d walked into a room and smelled smoke but hadn’t found the fire yet.
We started around the car, both of us slow. I could hear Tina inside already: low, strained curses in her language, every word like gravel being ground out through her teeth. By the time we reached the passenger side, she was already trying to push the door open with one hand, her other clutched tight to her stomach. Her skin looked awful. White. Not pale, not light. White. Bloodless. Sweat was plastered along her temples and her hairline, white strands sticking to her face. Her lips were cracked, stained a little red, like she’d bitten through one of them.
“Tina, don’t move—” I said, yanking the door open before she could do it herself.
She cursed at me. Loud. Sharp. Like I’d just offended her great-grandmother. Her voice cracked halfway through, and she winced hard, doubling slightly as the pain surged through her.
The car stank. Like blood, sweat, and old fear. Thick and metallic. The coppery scent of it turned my stomach. There were smears of red on the door, on the seat, and down her jeans. She’d been holding it all in, sitting there, clutching herself, saying nothing. Her shirt was soaked through. Her whole body trembled.
“Jesus, Tina,” I muttered, reaching in, unbuckling her seatbelt even though she kept swatting at my hand and snapping something else at me in her language. “I said don’t move. You’re not winning an award for stubbornness today.”
She let out a guttural groan as I tugged the belt free. “Merda!” she hissed, grabbing at the handle again.
Then Dominic leaned in from the other side, reaching across her to help—and our hands collided. Hard. My knuckles hit his fingers, and for a second, we both froze. Just one second. His eyes locked on mine. They were dark. Intense. Like he wasn’t even seeing me—he was searching for something in my face. Like he already knew the question but wanted to see if I’d lie about the answer.
I looked away first.
Tina groaned again, whispering something between clenched teeth that sounded like “You two are worse than death,” which would’ve been funny if she wasn’t half-dead in the front seat.
I wrapped one arm around her shoulders, careful of where her blood had soaked through. She sagged into me, breath hitching as she moved.
“Fuck—fuck,” she whispered, trying to keep her legs under her. “I can walk. Don’t carry me like some fucking—”
“I’m not carrying you,” I said through gritted teeth. “You’re just leaning. Like the Eiffel Tower. Slightly crooked, extremely expensive, and completely full of shit.”
Isabella stood off to the side, watching. Her arms were folded tight across her chest now, her fingers tucked under her elbows like she was trying to hold herself together. She kept shifting from one foot to the other, scuffing the toe of her sandal on the gravel, her thick curls pulled back messily, but one strand clung to her cheek from the sweat. Her eyebrows were drawn low, lips pressed tight, her gaze sharp as glass. She hadn’t said a word. Just stared.
Then I heard the unmistakable thump of the car door closing behind me.
Dominic.
The slight creak of leather as he got out, followed by the soft click of the back door opening again.
Then Adam.
His small voice came out fast, panicked, high-pitched in the way only kids get when their little worlds stop making sense.
“I don’t wanna stay here. This isn’t my house. I want my mom. I wanna go home.”
My entire body froze. Like a damn statue. Legs locked, arms stiff, spine pulled taut. Tina’s full weight pressed into me so hard it knocked the air right out of my lungs. She swayed a little, and so did I. My boot slipped on the dirt and I had to plant my heel again before we both went tumbling. Her breath was hot and shallow against my neck, sticking to my skin. Her shirt was soaked through with sweat, and her stomach trembled each time she breathed in like she was holding back a sob or a scream or both.
The sound of Adam whining again cracked through the air.
“I wanna go home. Please.”
God.
God.
He’d been kidnapped. Of course he had. And now he was doing exactly what any kidnapped child would do when strangers dragged him somewhere unfamiliar and kept lying to his face. Begging. Pleading. His voice was like glass under foot—thin and sharp and impossible to ignore. He doesn’t know I’m his mother, and Dominic was his father and we had just saved him from being kidnapped and worse, killed or trafficked, whatever the hell Vaughn did
“Hey,” Dominic said softly, firmly, and I could hear the strain in his voice even though I couldn’t see his face. “It’s okay, buddy. You’re safe now, remember?”
Adam didn’t stop. He cried harder now, not a tantrum, not loud, just desperate. Confused. Because we had lied to his face to get him to come with us, lied his parents had sent us to fetch him. Tina leaned heavier against me, and my hand gripped the side of her shirt tighter, trying to hold her upright. Her heart thudded so hard I could feel it beat against my ribs. She was burning up, fever-hot. Her skin was damp, her body trembling. I could feel how close she was to passing out, but that wasn’t what terrified me now.
What scared the hell out of me was Isabella.
She was still watching. Silent.
Her arms had dropped to her sides now. She hadn’t moved an inch, but I could feel her eyes on the boy. Then on me. Then back to Adam.
Was she putting it together?
Had she heard something?
Had she seen the news?
Was she just pretending not to know who he was?
My stomach lurched like I was about to throw up right there on the gravel. My gaze locked with hers. I tried to keep my expression neutral, like nothing’s wrong, we’re fine, this is fine, everyone’s fine, but I could feel the panic crawling up the back of my throat. She wasn’t going to call the cops on us. She wouldn’t. She promised she wouldn’t.
Tina muttered something under her breath. I thought she was talking to herself until I caught the tail end.
“Stop... stop looking like that.”
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