Page 100 of Hidden Echoes

Smart woman.

Too bad I don’t care.

Inside the room, the air is thick with dust, the only furniture a rickety wooden chair and an old metal sink with a rusted faucet.

I shove her down onto the chair, grabbing some rope I found earlier, wrapping it tight around her wrists. She thrashes, but she’s weak. Strung out. Easy.

“You little bitch,” she spits, eyes wild. “I knew you weren’t just some slut. Paulina sent you, didn’t she? I told her she could have what we agreed on. She doesn’t need this.”

Paulina?

My stomach twists.

Shit.

If Zane’s mother knows my stepmother, I might’ve just made a huge mistake.

“I’m not the type to gossip,” I say, masking my unease, turning toward the sink, grabbing the bucket resting beside it. I fill it with water, the sound echoing in the small room.

When I turn back to her, she’s eyeing me with something close to amusement.

“What are you gonna do?” she asks, voice shaking just a little.

I tilt my head, letting the silence stretch. Then I smile sweetly. “Isn’t it obvious?”

I don’t give her time to react. I grip her hair and shove her face into the bucket.

She thrashes, body convulsing as she struggles, but I don’t let go.

Her muffled screams bubble through the water, turning into frantic gurgles. I hold her there, long enough for her lungs to burn, for panic to take over. Then I yank her back up.

She gasps for air, choking, water dripping from her face.

“Why are you doing this?” she coughs. “I don’t even know you.”

“Oh, don’t worry, mother-in-law,” I hum, wiping my wet hands on my jeans. “By the end of tonight, we’ll have plenty of time to bond.”

Her eyes dart around, desperate, but there’s no one to save her.

“Let’s start with Paulina,” I continue, crouching in front of her. “How do you know her?”

She sputters, still catching her breath. “I’ll tell you,” she rushes out, voice hoarse. “Just don’t do that again.”

Boring.

“We went to high school together,” she says, chest heaving. “I moved to town, and she had a thing with Zane’s father. We hated each other.”

That doesn’t surprise me.

“She brought me drugs after Peter died,” she continues, her voice turning bitter. “At first, just to try the things her husband did.”

My blood runs cold.

“You know who her husband is?”

She scoffs. “How could I not? That bastard’s soldiers killed Peter.”

And yet she took the drugs.

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