Page 88 of Lethal Danger

“Took me to a room where they left me tied up to wait for Patch.”

She stared at Hawthorne’s profile, shock rolling through her. “But they all seemed so friendly and kind. Like nice people.”

“That’s the visitor treatment.” Hawthorne returned his gaze to Jazz. “They wouldn’t get anyone to join if people knew how dark and disturbing they actually are.”

“But why would anyone stay if that’s what they’re really like?”

Hawthorne turned away again. Sighed. “A number of reasons. For one, they don’t tend to treat the adults badly, depending on how you define it. The adults could technically leave when they want or report abuses, so Patch handles them carefully. He gives them what they think they want. He just happens to be able to convince them that whatever he says is what they want.”

“So they’ll put up with things people wouldn’t ordinarily?”

Hawthorne glanced at her. “He gets them so twisted around. They believe lies are true and the truth is all lies. He preys on their selfish desires and heightens them by having them spend all their time focusing on themselves. Contemplating every thought and emotion, acting on desires and impulses and prioritizing what’s best for themselves above all else.”

Hawthorne gripped the top of the steering wheel. “But the irony is they aren’t even doing what’s best for themselves. Only what Patch has convinced them is best. They’re like puppets on his strings, but they voluntarily stay there because he gets them to want that life.”

“That’s insane.”

“Yeah.” Hawthorne let out a humorless laugh. “That’s the perfect word for it.”

Hurt for Hawthorne, for the boy who’d had to deal with all of that, swelled behind her ribs. “How’d you ever get out?”

His eyes found hers, softening slightly. “I was twelve when my family joined. That helped. I was old enough to know what we’d left behind and to see the problems of the cult. Though what bothered me most at that age, of course, were all the rules about what I could and couldn’t do.”

His mouth curved in a wry smile. “But being old enough to question my parents helped me see things more clearly than they did. I worked hard to convince them to leave every year until I was eighteen. I don’t know if they ever thought my attempts were anything more than teenage rebellion.”

He ran his hand over the light stubble on his jaw, weariness settling on his features.

Jazz longed to reach over and rub his shoulders or just hold his hand and tell him she was there for him. But they weren’t a real couple.

“Some family, huh?” He glanced her way with that same crooked smile that did nothing to hide the pain in his eyes.

“We can’t pick our family.”

Something in her tone must’ve given away the hurt tightening her throat. He tilted his head slightly and watched her. “Have your own family problems?”

“Mainly a lack of family, I guess.” Her turn to look out the windshield at the quiet parking lot.

“I just dumped all my baggage on you. Don’t hold back.” His attempt at humor brought her gaze back to him.

“My dad died two years ago. It was just him and me growing up, except when I’d stay with my aunt and uncle instead. None of them ever liked me. Not my dad, Aunt Joan, Uncle Pierce. Even my cousins hated me.”

Silence hung between them as she looked out the passenger window, not really seeing anything but a jumble of sad memories.

“Did you ever get to see your mom?” Hawthorne’s question came to her soft and gentle, like a comforting touch.

“No.” Jazz brought her gaze to his. “She left when I was a baby. I have no memory of her.”

The muscles at the corners of his eyes and mouth twitched like in a flinch. For her sake. He did care.

The proof of it pumped her heart faster.

“I’m so sorry.” Sincerity emanated from his eyes.

“I’m sorry about your family.”

He gave the smallest of nods. “I guess we have that in common, too.”

So he’d noticed they had things in common. Almost like he was keeping track.

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