Page 179 of Dance of Deception

“Because I’m broke, Lyra,” she finally says, her voice cold, matter of fact. Emotionless. “I’m in debt to some very, very bad people.”

I trip over the steps as she forces me onto the porch.

“I need money. Lots of it.”

The door yawns open, and I’m shoved inside.

My nightmares come roaring back: the echoes of my screams from all those years ago. The terror closing in on me.

The chains.

The cages.

The rack of dresses and the nauseating sound of flesh on flesh.

Vera keeps pushing me down the hall, to the door that leads to the basement.

No.I can’t go down there.

I start thrashing and yanking in Vera’s grip.

“Mom!” I sob, my vision swimming. “Mom,please!” A sob wrenches from my throat as she heedlessly shoves me toward the door to the basement. “I can't go down there! MOM!”

Suddenly, she freezes. Her grip on my wrists tightens, and she sucks in an angry breath of air.

“Stop calling me that.”

I flinch as the venomous words spit from her lips. My pulse skips, my stomach knotting as I turn to stare at her. But she won’t even look at me.

I blink, my head shaking slowly. “Mom, what are you?—”

“I saidstop calling me that!” Vera whirls on me, gun in hand, her face twisting sharply.

My blood runs cold.

“Get down the stairs, Lyra.Now.”

Vera shoves me forward toward the basement door. My knees lock up, my heels scrabble against the floor, but she’s more determined than I am desperate.

She wants me down there.

The air feels like it’s getting thicker, suffocating, pressing down on me and wrapping around my throat. My vision swims, vicious memories slamming through me so rapidly I feel like I’m being pulled under.

I can hear the echoes of my own screams, still embedded in the walls of this house. I can smell the blood, the filth.

I can see my father’s hands around that girl’s throat.

“Mom,please,” I sob. “Please don’t make me go down there!”

Her fingers dig into my arms, forcing me closer.

“You’re mymother!” I choke, tears streaming down my face. “Please! Why are you doing this? If you need money?—”

“I told you to stop calling me that,” she hisses, her tone razor-thin and cutting deep.

I shake my head, my vision blurred with tears. “I don’t understand,” I whisper. “Why are you saying that?!”

Vera’s jaw tightens, her lips pressing into a thin line. She looks like she’s about to break, like something is ripping her in two different directions. Like saying the words out loud has physically hurt her.

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