Page 76 of Behind the Shadows
There, pixelated, timestamped, and undeniable was a photo. Red hair. A kid’s face, wide and terrified, tied to a chair.Shadows loomed behind her. A man’s hand on her shoulder. My mother negotiated Holland’s sale in the thread. The Pied Piper’s signature approved the sale.
“Jesus Christ,” Death muttered, rising beside me. His features were carved in stone. “Your mother didn’t only take Holland—she was running the fucking show.”
I stumbled back, hitting the wall, my breath ripping out of me. My fingers dug into the drywall, scraping like I could peel the world open and find a version that didn’t end with this.
“All of the flashbacks, I knew my mother was involved, but I wasn’t sure how much. I thought she tried to save Holland, but I’m all fucked up. I—” My shoulders slumped in defeat. “How could I ever come back from that? She’ll never forgive my family for the part they played. She’s the only woman I’ve ever loved, and I’m going to lose her either way because of what my family did, or worse, she’s my fucking sister.”
Death rocked back on his heels. “But do you love her enough to survive this?”
My head whipped up, vision burning. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means,” Death said softly, “you better know whether you’re saving her … or saving yourself.”
The room blurred.
Dope’s voice was a low hum, Death’s a sharp echo, the computer screens a pulsing glow I couldn’t focus on.
Blood. Family. Holland.
The words cracked through my skull, sharp as a bone splinter. My fists slammed into the wall, once, twice, three times, the pain a jagged thread barely holding me together.
“Goddammit,” I choked out. “She can’t be?—”
Dope spun in his chair, exasperated. “Kip, man, slow the fuck down.”
“I’m past slowing down,” I snarled.
Death stepped forward, gripping my shoulders hard enough to make my teeth clack. “Focus. Where would she go now?”
I staggered back, chest heaving, head swimming.
Dope frowned at the screen. “Her phone last pinged over near Cottage Grove.”
My gut twisted as bile scorched my throat.
“She wanted answers. I know her. She wanted to confront this.”
Death’s gaze landed on mine, sharp, assessing. “And she went to Lily.”
Tension snaked through my shoulders and neck. “Fuck.”
Dope clicked again and he released a low whistle. “Hold up. Her car’s moving, man. She’s on the highway. Looks like she’s headed back to Portland.”
For a heartbeat, I stood there, pulse pounding, air slicing in and out of my lungs like a knife.
Relief hit me hard.
But tangled in it was something darker, sharper—panic.
She went to my mother. She went alone.
And now she was coming home, raw and rattled, and I wasn’t there to hold her, to steady her, to explain all the things I didn’t even understand myself.
My jaw clenched, my chest heaving now that she was okay.
I needed to be at her place when she got there. I needed to see her. I needed to make this right before it all slipped through my fucking hands. Even if she was my sister, she deserved to have support through this.
“I’m going,” I said, already shoving my arms into my jacket and then grabbing my car keys out of the front pocket of my jeans.
