Page 103 of Linger

When his stare shifted to where his kids were still napping in Jentry and Aurora’s arms, Dare said, “We’re going, Kieran—we will go. Not yet.”

Right...not yet.

Because, as I’d found out after waking up with the biggest damn knot on my head, Willow had been stabbed when I’d shot the guy holding her. I’d heard her screams the times he’d slowly drawn the knife across her back—they were echoing in my mind.

But she’d been fucking stabbed because of me.

From what Dare said, even the brutal Lachlan Keane hadn’t wanted to risk pulling the knife out of her.

The only comfort I had was Lily.

Maverick had continuously assured me that Lachlan wouldn’t have released Lily to us if Willow hadn’t survived. That Lachlan had most likely waited twelve hours before releasing Lily to be sure Willow would.

“You?” Kieran asked, slanting his disturbed stare my way. “You’re fine just sitting around here?”

“I’m not fine with shit.”

“Leaving now puts more of us in danger,” Dare said in that tone we weren’t supposed to argue with. “We know what’s waiting for us when we go. We need to be able to get in and out, and Willow was severely injured. We need her to heal enough to not have to be carried out.”

Kieran watched me for a second longer, and I struggled to maintain my carefully crafted expression because I knew what would happen if I argued with my boss about this in front of everyone again.

But as I’d said...I wasn’t fine with shit.

A noncommittal grunt left Kieran as he held something out for Lily to take. As soon as she lifted her hand, he dropped it and stalked out of the kitchen.

A shuddering breath left Lily, and after a second, she looked back at Dare before slowly walking over to where Jentry sat. “I think...I think this was one of Jessica’s.”

A solid clank sounded as she placed the item on the table, and that grief filling the air magnified when she removed her hand, revealing a knife.

WILLOW

Faith can be rocked in the strangest of ways.

Faith in humanity after watching your boyfriend be murdered in front of you. Faith in the justice system after they failed to produce anything on the murder—granted, I hadn’t known the detective was in on it. Worse, faith in a love you’d been sure was unshakable when it fails you again and again.

Diggs had told me why he was pushing me away. I’d understood the push almost as much as I’d understood the fierce pull because I needed him just as badly. But his words that last night had been calloused and sure. He’d stayed silent as my nightmare had taken me away.

And he’d let me remain with my demons ever since.

I wasn’t entirely sure how long it’d been since that God-awful day. I’d lost consciousness before we made it to Virginia and had woken sometime later in a lavish, windowless room.

Sore. Crying out in pain when I’d tried getting off the bed. Completely wrecked all over again because the pain radiating across my back let me know the disturbing images flashing through my mind were real. But I’d held on to the knowledge that Diggs was coming. That his family would be coming to get me any moment.

But the only person I’d seen had been a masked girl who’d come in at random to check on my wounds and bring me meals, complete with nauseating entertainment in the form of drawings.

Not that the sketches were of anything disturbing, especially considering what I’d seen. And if I hadn’t been so disgusted with them, I would have to admit that the artist was incredible. But they were mocking. They were a clear show of how closely Lachlan had gotten to me without my ever realizing it. They were a knife to my heart, as if the passing time wasn’t enough of one.

A dog—a bloodhound, to be more specific. But with how the picture was drawn, it could’ve easily been sleeping or dead, and I’d felt something in my soul crumble at the implication.

A lavender sprig and to-go coffee cup. Which, after the weirdest sense of déjà vu while studying them, I’d realized I probably left those exact items on my counter the morning I’d first run into Lachlan.

A bed shrouded in darkness. Something I wouldn’t have thought twice about if it hadn’t followed the others. But it had, so I knew, which meant Lachlan knew. Now even those memories with Diggs felt tainted.

But with this latest meal, there’d been nothing other than food, water, and the immensely welcome okay to finally shower. And even though the art’s noticeable absence had warning bells sounding rather than the relief I’d expected, I didn’t ask the girl about it as I’d hurried from the offered food toward the attached bathroom. Besides, she’d never spoken to me about anything other than my wounds, and I didn’t want anything from her or anyone wearing those disturbing masks.

And as I washed the grime and dried blood away, being mindful of how every slight movement pulled at the stitches in my back, I wondered when exactly I’d stopped expecting Diggs and his family to come. Or when I’d stopped worrying over my class and what Cora must be thinking—what they must have told her to explain my abrupt absence.

After all...I wouldn’t be getting back to them.

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