Page 56 of Falcon's Prey

Last time, I was a coward, but I wasn’t the same girl now. I was no longer scared. Silas had stolen everything from me; it was only fair I did the same for him.

“I always go to the Día de Los Muertos celebration.” I spoke with a confidence I had not heard in myself since the night it all changed.

I celebrated day of the death as a way to honor my mother. I read in an article she would go to the parade. Once my father even told me she made altars to honor her dead. It seemed fitting, almost like a sign. If it all went wrong, there was no better way to die, I guess.

Silas dismissed it. “Absolutely not.”

“I go every year. One year is understandable, but two in a row? Whoever sent those pictures might get even more suspicious. Your perfect little stack of cards is one blow away from tumbling.”

He stayed quiet because he knew I had a point, and he didn’t like it. It looked like whoever had put a hit on my head was observant. It turned out that the very thing that wanted to kill me could also end up saving me.

“Looks like whoever put a price on my head knows me quite well.”

Silas didn’t show any emotions. “Get out of my face.”

“Gladly,” I spat.

As soon as I was out of the room, my hands shook. Nerves, excitement, addiction—who the hell knew. What I did know was I had one shot at making it count and proving I wasn’t a coward.

* * *

“How’s my father doing?”

It was the first time I had asked about him, and it surprised not only me, but also the doctor. My father woke, but he wasn’t the same. When the accident happened, my dad had a piece of glass stuck in his spine. They had put him in an induced coma so they could do the surgery and his body could heal. When they tried to wake him, it didn’t work. Sometimes those things happen—people die in surgery, or it doesn’t go as planned. The Remingtons had money, so they kept him plugged.

“He’s doing better,” Dr. W replied hesitantly as he worked another round of vitamins through my bloodstream.

I wondered what he thought of all the mess we were in.. Now that my head was a bit clearer, I could see things didn’t add up. Sammy was murdered, but it was brushed under the rug. It was contained, so the media didn’t know of the actual shitstorm we—I—had been dealing with.

“Any function in his legs?”

The great Michael Remington was not only not fully inside his mind, but he was an invalid. I had built up my father to be this great man who was too busy for his rebel daughter, and look at him now. He couldn’t even walk or talk.

“He started to have movement below his knees, so that’s a good sign.”

Yay. Go, Dad.

“He stays in your room.”

I felt the doctor’s gaze on me, but I ignored it.

“I think it calms him to sleep there.”

Silas had moved me out of my home and dropped me here, and he put my father in my penthouse. It was all about power with him—his way of showing us who called the shots.

“He enjoys being in your closet. I think it’s because your essence is still present there.”

Yeah, like that wasn’t weird or anything.

“Doc…”

I didn’t want to, but I turned to look at the doctor. I had never been more grateful for him until now. He kept me from teetering into oblivion.

“Yes?”

Why was it so hard to ask for help? Could I even trust him? What if I opened my mouth and he ran to Silas? Then my one shot would be taken away from me. The world was full of lies, some nicer than others, some tame, some vile, but no one ever said what they felt. It put a mask between yourself and harm.

“I miss my bong. You think you can bring that?” I let out a humorless chuckle.

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