The clock on the wall ticks away steadily, the only noise that seems to fill this part of the house. It can be deadly quiet here at times, especially when the men are all hiding away doing their own things, or—as is the case right now—down in the basement with their prisoner.
I haven’t been able to stomach the thought of going back down there. Not since I heard my mother’s name come from Leland Bennett’s cracked and bloodied lips.
Camilla.
Mom.
You were supposed to be dead.
I bite my lip, trying to force down the wave of emotions surging inside me.
Hale reaches up, cupping the side of my face and brushing away a tear I didn’t realize had spilled over my lower lid.
“Talk to me, Grace,” he says quietly. “Let me help you.”
This is a side of Hale that doesn’t exist outside of these moments with me, or in small interactions with his three closest friends. There’s none of the hardness that usually fills his expression—just a soft intensity, as if he could somehow fuse our souls together if he just looked deep enough into my eyes.
“I didn’t want to cry,” I mutter angrily. “I can’t even figure out if I should cry, or what I should be crying about. I loved my mother. I mourned her death. Or what I thought was her death anyway.”
Hale nods, still watching me intently.
I let out a breath, trying to organize my thoughts so that my words will make sense. “Not long after she died, Dad took me out of Chicago. We went on the run, hiding from… from you. From your father. From the Novak Syndicate. My whole life got uprooted, and I don’t
think I ever truly processed her death until we settled in Washington. That’s when it hit me that she was really gone. Over the years, my grief faded, but it was always there in the background, in little moments when I’d wish she could be there with me.”
I think of my wedding day, of Dad telling me my mother would be proud of me, and nausea roils my stomach. After that day, I thought both of my parents were dead. I have no idea how to feel about the fact that my mother has been alive all this time.
And not just alive.
Working against the Novaks. Against me.
“She was a good mother and a good wife,” I continue when Hale doesn’t speak. His hands drop down to rest on my hips as he holds me on his lap. “We were never all that close, but I always knew she loved me and my father—or so I thought. Now, I don’t know what to think. I keep picking apart every memory I have of her, but I can’t fit a criminal mastermind or murderer in there anywhere.”
Hale’s grip on my hips tightens, a flash of pain and anger moving across his face.
I understand it. And I can’t blame him. Because if what Leland confessed is true…
My mother killed that dog.
My mother tried to kill me.
My mother gave the order to kill Hale’s father.
A shiver runs down my spine, and I half expect Hale to push me off his lap as both of our thoughts turn to the awful night of Damian Novak’s murder.
Why in the world is Hale still okay with me—why are any of them still okay with me? They know what my mother did, what she’s trying to do.
And she’s my fucking flesh and blood.
She’s been conspiring against all of us, working with Leland to try to scare me into running from the men’s protection. She’s responsible for Hale losing his dad and having to step into the role of leader of the Novak Syndicate too soon.
So why do these men keep trusting me, keep treating me as if nothing has changed after the revelation of such earth-shattering information? Coping with the truth that she’s still alive is hard enough, but seeing that look in their eyes, as if they’re worried about what this is all doing to me, kills me.
“I feel lost.” The words fall from my lips before I can stop them, and I’m proud that my voice sounds more steady than I feel inside. “I thought I knew what it felt like to be untethered, to feel like I couldn’t find solid ground. There’s been enough chaos and mayhem in my life over the years that I thought I was used to weathering the storm. I should’ve been prepared for this moment. But I have no idea what to do. How to feel.”
My words die out, and only the quiet tick, tick, tick of the clock remains.
Hale lets out a long breath, his fingers still digging into my hips a little. “I should’ve been prepared too, Grace. The moment when my father died—on paper, in my mind, I was prepared. I had been preparing my whole life, but nothing could’ve made me truly ready for that moment. You can’t blame yourself for feeling lost, because there’s no way you could have been prepared for this. None of us could have. It’s just the way things have happened and we’re dealing with it one day at a time.”