Page 69 of Alfie: Part Two

Whoa. Three grim-looking Sons in similar black coats. Kellan, Eric, and Finn.

“Uh, hey. Who died?” I asked. Then worry set in, because who fucking knew. “Wait, did someone die?”

“Who is it, love?” West called.

“The Three Stooges!” I hollered back.

“We need to speak in private,” Finn told me. “Let’s go to my car.”

What the?—

“Oh—hello.” West joined us and put a hand on my lower back. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not here to wish us a happy Thanksgiving?”

I swallowed uneasily, and dread crept up my spine. Had something happened? I’d texted with Dad an hour ago, so it had to be Sons-related, in which case it couldn’t be too bad, could it? But to get a personal visit like this?—

“You’re welcome to join too,” Finn told West.

“Join what?” West furrowed his brow.

I pushed pause on the unfurling chaos in my mind and turned to him. “Tell Trip we’ll be back in ten.”

Perhaps he sensed the urgency; he didn’t have any follow-up questions. He just headed up the stairs, and I closed the door and went with the others toward Finn’s SUV.

“What’s this about?” I asked.

“The case,” Kellan replied.

Fuck. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. Like a flip of a switch, a noose tied itself around my throat, and a million scenarios flew past my eyes. The attackers were already dead, they’d fled to Europe or South America, there was no chance of ever tracking them down, the cops had gotten to them first?—

“I’ll wait out here.” Kellan opened the door for the back seat for me, while Finn went around to the passenger’s side, and Eric got in behind the wheel.

West strode quickly toward us as I got in.

“Before we show you this, I wanna be clear about one thing,” Finn told me. “This isnotyour mother. You hear me? It’s one of the other victims.”

They had footage, didn’t they? I was gonna see a video or something like that. CCTV?

“Okay.” I nodded.

West slid in too, and Kellan closed the door.

I put my hand on his thigh. “They’re gonna show us something—one of the other survivors.”

Eric extended an iPad between the seats and pushed play.

It was dark and grainy, with a lot of motion, as if someone was running or jumping around, so that ruled out surveillance footage. This was someone filming.

“No!” someone shrieked. “Please stop!”

I flinched and went rigid in my seat.

The shadows cleared as the silhouette of a woman was pushed against a dumpster, where a lone light shone down on her.

“Help me!” she screamed.

I gnashed my teeth. I heard heavy breathing on the video, in the background, and—then the video stopped abruptly.

I snapped my stare to Finn and Eric.

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