I flicked my gaze back to Cole’s dad, trying to shove down the panic that was doing its best to shut off my brain. I needed to think. Needed the cobwebs out of my mind, needed time, needed help.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Shifting in my seat, I pulled at the bands of tape around my arm, testing the strength of the restraints. My leverage was all wrong, and the tape was wrapped around my wrists too many times for me to budge it at all, and I stopped trying quickly, not wanting to give away any movement to the man looming over me.
“Where… where is he? Where’s Adam Pierce?” I slurred, trying to split my groggy brain into two halves as I questioned Mr. Mercer and simultaneously ran my fingertips over the back edge of the chair I sat on.
Come on, come on…
Something.
Anything…
There!
My fingers grazed over a small, jagged edge where one of the pieces of the backrest met the seat. Trying to keep the movements small, I hooked the edge of my binds on the jagged protrusion and tugged, tearing at the tape.
Cole’s dad stepped back, chewing on his lip as he gazed down at me. I made my movements even smaller, afraid he’d notice what I was doing now that he wasn’t right up in my face.
“Adam Pierce? He’s dead.”
He spoke like he was exhausted, as if he was bored of this topic already—as if I, or my mother, or the Hildebrands in general, had inconvenienced him beyond what a reasonable man could endure.
His words were so matter-of-fact that it took me a second to absorb their meaning, and when I did, the tiny motion of my hands stopped momentarily.
There was no real reason to grieve. I hadn’t even known Adam, only knew him through a few pictures I’d seen and a barely sketched portrait of his personality from Jacqueline.
But maybe that was why grief bubbled up so intensely in my chest now. I hadn’t known him. And I never would.
“How?” I whispered, forcing myself to resume scraping the tape over the jagged piece of metal even as I asked. “When?”
Mr. Mercer opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, Mason’s father threw up his hands.
“For fuck’s sake, Richard! You don’t think we know what you’re doing? Tell her any more and we’ll have to kill her, just like you want.”
The dark-haired man growled, turning and stalking back over to his friend. “She already knows too much! That’s why I fucking brought her here today. Goddammit, we should’ve finished the job before she even went back to school.”
“We can’t—” Mr. Prescott started to say, but Cole’s dad wheeled on him too.
“What do you want to do, huh? Let her go? Make her swear to fucking secrecy? You want to spend another four years like we did after Charlotte left? Wondering when she’ll finally crack and spill everything?” He pressed his lips together, tension vibrating under his skin. “It’s cleaner to just end it. No loose ends. It’s the only way to be sure.”
The other two men didn’t respond to that. They stared at him in silence for a few beats, and I worked the tape harder against the sharp edge of the chair, taking less care to disguise my movements.
He was winning them over.
I still didn’t quite understand what they were talking about, but whatever they’d done in the past, whatever had happened between them and Adam Pierce and my mother, they hadn’t let my mom walk away from it.
Or at least, not for long.
Mr. Mercer wanted there to be no loose ends, and right now, I was a loose end. I could see the two other men coming to that realization, grudgingly acknowledging that their friend was right.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The single word became my mantra, my motto, my prayer, as I tore desperately at the binds on my wrists, feeling them start to give way as the sharp edge weakened them.
The men were still talking, but I forced myself to tune out their debate, to focus on one thought, one goal.
Get out of here alive.