Page 1 of Stone Rules

Part One

Charlie

Prologue

I feel nothing as I watch them lower her into the ground.

Actually, that’s not entirely true. While most of those in attendance are grieving—or at least putting on award-winning performances, considering many have made their living on the big screen—I can only think of one thing.

Ding dong the witch is dead.

My best friend squeezes my hand in support. She’s the only reason I’m here. Piper Mitchell is the one person in this world I would do anything for. So when she called, begging me to fly home for the funeral, I could hardly refuse.

‘Closure,’she called it. ‘Maybe now you can start to heal,’ she said.

I know she means well. After all, she got her happily-ever-after with Mason. I sneak a glance at the two of them. Even here, surrounded by corpses in a graveyard, they look hopelessly in love. He caresses her shoulder with his thumb, holding her tightly against him as she stands between us.

Piper thinks my story can end like hers. But even though we have similar pasts, we are so very different. She grew up knowing love. The love of parents who would do anything to protect her. The love of sisters who would give their very lives for each other.

Hers is the only love I’ve ever known. The love of a soulmate sister, bound by horrific events no child should have to endure.

Piper’s mother, Jan Mitchell, tried to take me under her wing. She tried to show me what the love of a real mother felt like. And she did a fabulous job. But it’s not the same. It’s not the same as having the love of the woman who birthed you, raised you, cuddled you when you were hurt—then ripped your heart out.

As people take their turns throwing dirt onto the casket, I think back on the service. How could such a terrible person draw that kind of crowd? How could people speak about her as if she were a wonderful, caring, giving individual? My skin crawled as a few of the mourners told tales of her philanthropy. Jan and Piper flanked my sides, each holding one of my hands. Not because I was grieving, but to keep me from jumping out of my seat and telling everyone the truth. The truth about the monster who was my mother.

But I didn’t stand up. I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t draw more attention to myself. Especially since I knewhewas probably there.

I haven’t seen my father since I was twelve. That was ten years ago. I know he’s alive. Piper ran into him last year. She said he looked old. Haggard. Broken. Serves the bastard right for leaving his daughter the way he left me.

I don’t know if he’s here. I haven’t bothered to look around. The reality of what else, or more specifically, who else, I might see here sickens me. So I’ve gone through the motions hoping to remain invisible. I’m here for one reason and one reason only. To see for myself that the bitch is gone.

“Charlie?” I look up to see that people have disbanded and are walking back to their cars. “You coming?” Piper asks.

“Give me a minute please.”

She nods before Mason escorts her through the maze of headstones. I watch them walk over to where the rest of the Mitchell clan is standing. None of them knew my mother. They all came for me. Piper’s older sisters, Baylor and Skylar, accepted me as part of their family long ago when I started escaping to their house in Maple Creek, Connecticut, where we grew up.

I look back over at the hole in the ground. I shake my head as I lower my eyes to the frozen February grass in front of me. What kind of twisted person feels happy when a parent dies?

The kind of twisted person my mother raised me to be, I guess.

“That could be you,” a man says behind me, making me jump out of my skin.

“Excuse me?” I ask in disgust.

“Sorry.” He laughs. “I meant you are the spitting image of your mother.”

He steps closer to me. Too close. He reaches a hand up under my hair, placing it suggestively on my neck. His dark eyes rake over my body as a sick familiarity washes over me. Bile rises in my throat as I try not to become the helpless girl I once was.

His hand tightens on me. “You’ve grown,” he says.

I maneuver myself out of his grip like I was taught in self-defense class. I hold his surprised eyes with mine. “Don’t you ever fucking touch me again or I’ll kill you.”

He laughs again. It’s a cold, devious chuckle. “You’re a little firecracker, aren’t you?” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small baggie of white power. “I’ll make it worth your while. Just like I did for Mommy Dearest.” He nods to the grave.

Flashbacks of the scumbag in front of me bombard my thoughts. All of a sudden I’m a scared and naked fourteen-year-old focusing on the mural painted on my bedroom wall as this man pleasures himself while staring at me.

Was I really naïve enough to think none of those perverts would have the balls to show up here?

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