Page 67 of Pose for Me

Lacy throws her head back and laughs.

It's not the nervous giggle of someone facing death, nor the hysterical cackle of a mind unhinged by fear. No, this is a full-bodied, genuine laugh. The sound echoes off the bare walls, filling the small space.

Knox tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at our captive. His finger tightens imperceptibly on the trigger, but he doesn't fire. Not yet.

When Lacy finally calms, she shakes her head, a sardonic smile playing at her lips. "You seem to be missing a tiny detail," she says, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "I may have delivered all those little presents, but they weren't from me."

As though she timed it perfectly, in the silence that follows her words, we hear noises from upstairs. A muffled voice, calling out and getting louder as it approaches. Whoever it is, they're coming down toward the basement.

The atmosphere in the room shifts instantly. Knox's grip on his gun tightens, his knuckles turning white. My body tenses and I pull out my own gun, aiming it toward the basement door.

But it's Rayne's reaction that truly catches my attention. Something shifts on her gorgeous face, a flicker of... something? Her eyes widen slightly, a mix of emotions swirling in their depths–surprise, confusion, and something else I can't quite place.

The footsteps grow louder, echoing in the stairwell outside. A shadow passes across the small, grimy window in the door. The handle turns with an ominous creak.

As the door swings open, light from the stairwell spills into the room, momentarily blinding us. A silhouette fills the doorway, tall and imposing.

"Well, well, well," a deep voice drawls.

It’s then I realize what the other emotion is as it fills her face and I want to set the world on fire; it’s fear.

Her voice is barely audible but it makes me murderous. “Dad?”

Chapter 39

Rayne

Theeuphoriaoffinallyrevealing my secrets vanishes in a microsecond. Fear claws at my insides, threatening to overwhelm me as I stare at the man who had haunted my nightmares for so long. My father. The monster who murdered my mother when she tried to protect me from his vile intentions.

For a heartbeat, I feel like that terrified little girl again, cowering in the corner as violence erupted around me. The metallic scent of blood filled my nostrils, phantom echoes of my mother's screams ringing in my ears. My legs tremble, threatening to give out beneath me.

But then, as quickly as it came, the fear recedes. In its place, a tidal wave of pure, incandescent rage washes over me. My hands clench into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms hard enough to draw blood. The pain grounds me, fueling the inferno building inside.

I am not that helpless child anymore. I am not a goddamn victim.

I am a fucking killer.

My eyes narrow as I take in every detail of the man before me. He looks older, of course—prison will do that to a person. His once-dark hair is now shot through with gray, and deep lines etch his face. But his eyes... those cold, cruel eyes are exactly as I remember them. They sweep over the room, taking in Knox and River with their weapons drawn, before finally landing on me.

A slow, predatory smile spreads across my father's face as his eyes lock with mine. It’s a look I know all too well—the expression of a man who thinks he holds all the cards, who believes he is about to crush his opponents beneath his heel.

How wrong he is.

I can feel Knox and River tensing behind me, their weapons trained steadily on my father. The air crackles with tension, thick enough to cut with a knife. One wrong move, one twitch of a finger, and bullets will fly.

But this isn't their fight. Not yet.

Without taking my eyes off my father, I raise my hand. "Wait," I say, my voice low but firm.

"Rayne?" Knox questions, a note of concern in his gravelly tone. I can hear the unspoken questions in that single word. Are you okay? Do you want us to take him out? What's the play here?

I don't answer immediately. My mind is racing, piecing together the puzzle before me. How is he here? He should be rotting in a prison cell, not standing in this dingy basement with that smug grin on his face. And Lacy... how does she fit into all of this?

My father's grin widens, no doubt thinking he has caught us off guard. He probably expects me to cower, to shrink back in fear at the sight of him. But the fear that had initially gripped me has burned away, leaving nothing but cold fury.

I feel my lip curl in disgust as I stare at the him. "How the hell did you get out of prison?" I ask, venom dripping from every word. "I was hoping you'd been shanked by now. Save the taxpayers some money."

My father throws his head back and laughs, the sound grating against my nerves like nails on a chalkboard. His amusement only serves to stoke the fires of my rage.

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