My hand’s fist. My muscles coil, stretching my skin. “I couldn’t bear the thought of him or Ruby knowing. Still can’t.” She shakes her head.
“They wouldn’t see you differently.” Anger boils inside me, needing an outlet. Those motherfuckers hurt her.
“Yes, they would.” She turns her gaze to me. “They’d have guilt that they can never get rid of. I’d never do that to them.”
“You said you inherited this place, does that mean your grandparents are both dead?” I hope one is alive so I can wrap my hands around their throat and feel the life fade from them.
Opening the truck door, she steps out, and I follow suit.
She walks down the driveway and stops by the windowless wall. Closing her eyes, a single tear falls to her cheek. Her anxiety is palpable, pulsing through my own veins.
What did they do to you?
“They’re both dead,” she finally says. Taking a deep breath, she smiles to herself before looking back to me. “Because I killed them.”
CHAPTEREIGHT
PAST.
LILY
Eighteen years old…
I shove my clothes into my backpack, feeling energized for the first time in a long time. Jameson got me a job at Hell-made Helmets and said I could stay with him whenever I want.
Eighteen.
I made it.
Getting to my feet, I look around my room, wishing I could burn it to the ground, and close the door behind me. The smell of grandma's pot pie fills the house, turning my stomach to acid. Since I reached sixteen and got my driver's license, I have spent more time out of the house and eating out with Ruby. She noticed the weight I was losing and was concerned I had an eating disorder.
"Where are you going?" My stomach drops at the sound of Grandpa's voice.
Hoisting my bag strap further up my shoulder, I say, "Work."
"Say goodbye to your grandma.” He juts his square jaw toward the kitchen, his checked shirt tucked into a pair of gray slacks, the bottom buttons straining to stay closed around his beer belly. I'm tempted to tell him no, but I want to get out of here in one piece.
I walk into the kitchen, and he follows, the scent of Old Spice clinging to the air around me. "Grandma, I'm leaving," I say quickly, looking over my shoulder to see what he's doing. He opens the basement door and disappears down the steps, each thud making me breathe a little easier.
Giving grandma my attention, my brow furrows at the paper in front of her, a little girl's picture clipped to the page, her details written beside it.
Rebecca
Age 9
Foster care for two years.
"What is that?" I ask, a cold whip lashing at my spine.
"Now that you're eighteen, we’ll have a room spare."
No. FUCK NO! No.
My fate was sealed by blood. Mother left me to these demons. This child doesn't deserve it.
"Isn't she precious? She looks like you when you came to live with us."
"No." My backpack drops to the ground as I shake my head, my hair swishing around my face. "No way."