Page 61 of Pretty Lies & Ugly Truths

“I feckin’ believed ya when you told me you lost our baby. That you were so blinded by grief, you ran out of fear of retribution, even though you know I wouldn’t do that. You know I’d never hurt you. I would neverdiscipline you for something that wasn’t your fault.” He caresses her cheek lovingly before taking her mouth in a punishing kiss.

“I even forgave you for your indiscretions. Do you know what that was like for me, to have all my men know my wife was a whore, running off with one of my own men? My parents called for your head, but I vouched for you, convinced them to let you live.”

“What makes you so sure she's yours?” my mother asks defiantly. “Seeing as how I’m such a whore—she could be anyone’s. Maybe she’sJohn’s.”

He raises his hand as if to strike, but my mother doesn’t flinch. She just holds his gaze unblinking, as he balls his raised hand into a fist.

“Don’t you mess with me, Cara!” he roars, slamming his fist against the back of the seat. “You know as well as I do that girl is mine. Look at her. She has my eyes, for Christ sake,” he says, finally looking at me as I shrink back against the seat.

I look up into a pair of green eyes that do indeed match my own, only his are cold, lacking any warmth. Still, there is a flicker of genuine hurt there, and for a second, I hate my mother.

I always assumed she gave me up because she was unfit to raise me, that maybe she didn’t have the resources or the money to care for me. But as she sits across from me in her designer clothes, a large diamond sparkling on her ring finger, I realize that couldn’t be further from the truth. My mother wasn’t poor or on drugs; she was just selfish.

All my life, I was told my father was dead. Yet, here he sits, and it’s clear from his reaction that he wanted children. He wanted me. So why did she and Jane hide the truth? This whole time, they let me believe my dad was dead. They let me mourn the loss of a man I’d never met, only to discover he has been alive this whole time.

I feel all the hurt and anger bubble up from that dark chasm where I keep it buried deep, and this time, I let it.

I’m so sick of all the deceit. It’s like everyone thinks I am weak, that I’m some delicate little flower to be protected.

Well, I think I’ve more than proven that I’m not, and I wish everyone would stop treating me like I am. I don’t need anyone to feed me a bunch of pretty lies in order to hide all the ugly truths of this world. I know full well just how cruel life can be.

The car lurches to a stop, and the door opens, revealing an older gentleman with salt and pepper hair and a grave face. My father steps out before turning back to help me.

A cool breeze ghosts over my bare legs, causing me to shiver. I’m still wearing Archer’s t-shirt I put on before bed, and though it hits me just above the knee, I feel very exposed.

He must notice, because he removes his jacket, draping it over my shoulders before leading me up the walkway. The loose gravel digs into the soles of my bare feet, causing me to stumble. With my hands still tied, I’m unable to catch myself, but before I go down, my father reaches out to steady me.

“Careful,” he says, looking at me with something that almost resembles affection.

“Where are we?” I ask, taking in the massive house before me.

“This is Rosewood Estate. It has been in my family for almost a century,” he says as he smiles up at the stone front building with pride before turning back to me. “This, my daughter, is your new home.”

He wraps his arm around me as he continues to lead me up the path, and I have to fight off the shudder of revulsion that passes through me from his touch. He may be my father, but there is still something about him that sets me on edge.

I turn back in time to see my mother as she exits the car, a look of quiet resignation on her gaunt face. She looks so tired and worn down that my anger at her dims. When her somber eyes lock with mine, they are filled will regret.

As I cross the threshold, I can’t help but wonder just what horrors lay in wait inside these stone walls.

23

Archer

We touch down in Logan Airport late in the evening following Maggie’s disappearance. Beckham was able to hack into the traffic cameras to see them heading in the direction of the Savannah airport, where they were spotted boarding a private plane belonging to none other than Ronan McGregor, Colin’s father, with a still unconscious Maggie in tow.

After a long chat with her adoptive mother, Jane, I was able to put enough of the pieces together to assume this was where they were headed.

According to Jane, Maggie’s biological father is a right bastard—this I already knew—who has violent tendencies and likes to take them out on his wife. So, when her mother found out she was pregnant with Maggie, she convinced one of the guards to help her escape, determined not to let her daughter succumb to the same fate. They managed to stay hidden long enough for her togive birth before they were found.

Cara managed to get away, but the guard was shot and killed. Now alone and penniless, she knew she couldn’t continue to run.

Jane said she came home one night to find them both on the doorstep. She tried to convince Cara to stay, but she knew Colin would never stop looking for her, so she ran, leaving Maggie behind.

According to Jane, he never knew about Maggie, but something must have changed, because she was pretty sure she spotted him in the bookshop a few daysearlier.

My first instinct once my feet hit the tarmac is to drive straight to Rosewood and get my girl back, killing anyone and everyone who dares to stand in my way. But I have to put the brakes on that idea, knowing it wouldn’t be in Maggie’s best interest to just show up guns blazing without some sort of plan.

They could spook, move her somewhere I can’t find her, or worse—she could be harmed in the crossfire.

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