“So, what’s the plan?” I ask.
Grayson just shakes his head as a rumbling of thunder shakes the foundations of my home and instantly sends the house into darkness. “Fuck,” he grunts, walking over to the stove and cutting the gas, a firm believer in better safe than sorry.
I lean up against the counter, wanting to stay close to the guys as with the dark clouds outside, and the electricity out, there’s not a lot of light shining through my home. I point toward the half-cooked breakfast. “Is that still good to e—”
A loud bang sounds through the house and the words fall from my mouth as my eyes widen in horror. That was more than just a crack of lightning.
There’s someone in my house.
CHAPTER 37
The boys come to the realization just as fast as I do and are gone within seconds, sprinting toward the stairs, intent on ending the dickhead who’s been responsible for helping Preston and Jacob Scardoni—at least that’s who I assume it is. “Fucking hide,” Cruz yells back over his shoulder. “And don’t come out until we come and get you.”
I’m not fucking stupid. I’ve been through enough attacks to know to listen to them straight away.
I slip straight into the massive floor to ceiling walk-in pantry and close my eyes, desperately trying to calm my racing heart as I rely on my other senses. Besides, it’s dark in here and trying to peer out of the gap in the pantry door is just going to end up freaking me out.
So, I wait … and wait.
I hear the guys upstairs, racing round and double checking every little space, but after ten minutes, I hear Cruz calling out from upstairs. “Babe, you can come out. There’s no one up here,” he tells me, making a heavy sigh of relief pour out of me, my knees instantly going weak. “Ember left her fucking bedroom window open again and the storm blew a frame off the wall.”
I nod to myself, gripping the pantry shelf as I give myself a second to relax. Far too much has gone down over the past twenty-four hours; I’m so much jumpier than normal. Though, speaking of Ember, I should probably check in with her today. She was certainly rattled last night, and I need to make sure I haven’t scared her away for good.
I push through the pantry door and step out into the kitchen, aiming straight for the two pancakes Carver managed to cook before the power went out, and as I reach for them, a soft laugh bounces through the room. “Don’t fucking move,” a familiar voice says just as a feminine body presses into my back and a sharp sting hits the base of my neck.
I suck in a gasp, my body freezing as my eyes snap up to the mirrored backsplash and find a familiar face staring back at me, my face staring back at me.
It’s the woman who stood outside of Carver’s home, the one who worked side-by-side with Preston Scardoni and planned for an innocent eighteen-year-old girl to be drowned in her family’s pool.
She’s a fucking monster.
My whole world stops as I stare back at the woman who stands beside my father in all the pictures, only now eighteen years older.
London Fucking Ravenwood.
My mother.
“No,” I breathe, unable to believe what I’m seeing as I meet my mother’s cold and calculating stare. “You’re supposed to be dead.”
A grin pulls up the corner of her mouth. “Surprise, daughter,” she spits, pressing harder against the knife as a twisted, sick laughter sounds in her tone. “Now, move.”
I swallow hard and the movement only makes me feel the sharp sting of the knife more. A trickle of blood seeps down my throat and she pushes me through the kitchen. I keep my feet moving, knowing better than to piss off the woman who’s been trying to kill me for God knows how long.
We get through the foyer and she leads me toward the internal door of the garage. She silently opens it as my mind reels with questions, the main ones being how the fuck is she still alive and where the hell has she been hiding for all these years?
My mother pushes me down the steps leading into the garage, and I follow her lead as I’m pushed toward the side of the room. Keeping her knife on me, she leans across to the table and pulls out a secret drawer and my brows raise as I find every key for all of my father’s cars lining this impressive garage. I didn’t know they were there, but I guess it doesn’t matter now because it looks like I won’t be living long enough to drive any of them. Not that I ever had a chance to learn to drive anyway.
“Move,” she orders, shoving me in the back.