Nightfall (Devil's Night 4)

My eyes twitched, and she chuckled to herself.

“You don’t even want to know what really happened the day you got arrested, either, do you?”

“I know what happened,” I growled.

She laughed again, but her eyes fell, and I saw tears pooling. “Yes. Everything except my side of the story, and maybe you would’ve done things differently and you would still hate me for what I did even if you knew the whole story, but maybe you’d let me say words that need to be said, but you won’t. You know why?”

I heard movement upstairs, and I knew we needed to hide. Right now.

“Because you don’t want to deal with things,” she whispered. “Damon knew it. I knew it. Everyone knew it. You didn’t have problems, because you didn’t want problems. You let the current carry you and c’est la vie.”

My fists tightened around her shirt.

“You were the child everyone protected,” she went on. “Damon said you were untainted by anything bad, and that’s what made you special to us. That quality needed to be preserved.”

They talked about me? Together? Behind my back?

“You never thought it was odd?” she pressed. “Damon and I had hated each other. What were we doing that night? How come I was the only person to know about his sister?”

I assumed she was talking about Banks and not Rika. None of us found out about Banks until more than a year after we’d gotten out of prison.

Emmy knew about her in high school?

She held my eyes, the tears in them shaking. “Why did you never ask these questions?”

“Because I—”

“Because you didn’t want to know the answers,” she told me, cutting me off. “If you didn’t know what was going on, then you didn’t have to deal with it.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh, right,” she fired back. “I forgot you had a method of dealing with your problems, after all, unlike the rest of us weaklings.”

I flared my eyes. What the fuck?

How the hell did she know about me using? Goddammit.

Her gaze faltered, and I could tell she saw the look on my face and maybe thought she shouldn’t have said that, but I shoved her away, every muscle on fire with fight.

Alex grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the stairs. “Just shut up, Emory,” she gritted out through her teeth. “Everyone is hurting. It’s not all about you. We have to pull together.”

She yanked her arm free and backed up toward the door, her eyes darting between us.

“You should go hide,” she told Alex. “And I hope you get home safe.”

She was leaving. She was actually walking out of here, to her death, because her pride took up so much room in her head that there was no space for common sense.

She’d been fine earlier. Or somewhat fine.

She couldn’t stay here with both of us. She was leaving me.

“And when the crew arrives?” Alex whisper-yelled. “We’re not leaving this island without you, and you’re only going to delay our getaway as everyone scours the terrain for your dead body, dumbass!”

“He got sent here,” Emmy argued. “It’s his fault any of us are here now.”

She spun around, grabbed her bag, and clutched the door handle. Alex rushed over and yanked her wrist away.

Emmy twisted around and shoved Alex, sending her body flying backward. She stumbled, spinning around, and landed on her hands and knees…