by Eva Ashwood
I press my lips together, biting back a sharp response. As long as the cops question the man who held me captive, I don’t care why they do it. It doesn’t matter if they pursue this case because they take their jobs seriously or because they just want to get the Sinners off their backs.
They’ll talk to Alan.
Now I just have to hope he slips up and says something he shouldn’t.
7
After climbing back into Gray’s car, we follow two of the squad cars through the foothills and onto the highway. All three of the Sinners had to throw their weight around to get the cops to agree to let us come with them, and to be honest, the fact that they did let us come makes me nervous about how well they'll handle this investigation.
If the police can be bought, then it'll all come down to who's got the most power and influence. And Alan has us beat on that count.
The ride is silent. Apart from the gentle hum of the engine and occasional click of the signals, none of us makes a sound. A glance at the clock shows it’s late afternoon—on a normal Monday, I’d be finishing up classes and heading back to the dorms right now, not accompanying the cops to interview the man who threatened to kill me just hours ago.
I don’t know whether to be overwhelmed or numbed by the reality that has become my life.
Gray reaches over the console between us and rests a reassuring hand on my thigh, his palm warm against my jeans. All I want is to go back to the dorm and crawl into bed, bringing the Sinners with me and tearing off all our clothes as we try to shut the rest of the world out. I want to forget about Cliff and Alan and Reagan, want to forget about the bunker and the scars of my past that are being torn open again.
Alan lives north of Hawthorne, in an area where the mansions start to get even bigger and the cars start to get more expensive. I’m not sure exactly how long the drive will be, but Gray seems to know where he’s going, either because of the squad cars in front of us or he’s been to Cliff’s house for some reason or another.
Sure enough, a few minutes later, as those big fancy houses start getting farther and farther apart, not to mention bigger and bigger, we pull onto a private drive, flanked by immaculately trimmed hedges on either side. Alan’s house is at the end of it, behind an iron gate and tucked into its own little hill overlooking a private bay area, where just beyond, I can see a yacht shimmering in the sunlight.
I want to gag thinking about Cliff on that yacht, acting like a pretty little rich boy with all the girls flocking around him simply because of who he is. Simply because they like feeling noticed by someone like him.
A would-be rapist and a fucking asshole.
One of the cops up ahead of us rolls down the window and speaks into a little console set by the side of the driveway, presumably calling into whatever security or gate team Alan employs.
After a moment, the gate opens up, and we proceed down the driveway. The hedges open up to a grand entrance and manicured lawns. It’s a private little paradise far away from reality—and far away from a dirty, dark bunker where an innocent girl was once locked away.
Because God-for-fucking-bid Alan Montgomery’s home life ever get messy. He probably planned to kill me in that fucking bunker and then come back here and pretend nothing ever happened.
My stomach clenches, and I realize my hands have done the same, curling into tight fists.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Elias asks from behind me, worry in his voice. “You can wait in the car with one of us, and the others can go inside. You don’t have to face him if you don’t want to, Blue.”
I think about it for a second. Really think about it.
Do I want to go in there and confront the man who has held me hostage not once, but twice? Do I want to go in there and face the monster who stole everything away from me, who wants to kill me, who ruined my life?
Absolutely fucking not.
But I need to stand up to Alan, to show him that I’m not afraid of him. I need to prove to him that just because he captured me twice, he can’t make me fear to live the rest of my life. He can’t make me fucking run.
“I need to see him.” My voice is scratchy and rough. I’m intensely aware of each one of the marks left on my body by my struggle with Reagan and my attempt to escape. “I need to see his face when he sees mine.” I turn my head slightly, meeting Gray’s serious eyes. “I need to show him that I’m not afraid.”
He nods slowly, and we follow the police cars to the grand front entrance of the house. We park behind the cops, and Gray cuts the engine, the car thick with tension as we step out. The sun is warm on my skin, but a chill runs through me anyway as one of the officers rings the doorbell set next to the imposing cherry wood door.
The door swings open, and to my surprise, it’s not a servant or a butler that greets us.
It’s Alan.
Our gazes connect instantly, before he even takes in the uniformed officers, before he takes in the two police cars and the Sinners and Max. My heart stutters in my chest, pounding dully against my ribcage, but not an ounce of recognition flickers over the man’s face.
Not one hint.
After his gaze brushes over me for a split second, it’s gone. I realize when he starts to speak to the officers that he’s in casual clothes, his hair slicked back and wet, as if he’s just come back inside from a swim in the crystal blue pool we passed by on the drive up. He wears his age well, his body fit and toned—likely because he can afford the best personal trainers, dietitians, and plastic surgeons out there.
“Excuse me?” His brows draw together, and he shakes his head as a look of convincing confusion fills his expression. “What’s going on?”
“We need to ask you a few questions, sir.” Banning’s voice is respectful, even a little hesitant. “May we take just a few moments of your time?”
“Of course. Come in.”
Still wearing a look of vague confusion and concern, Alan ushers us inside.
We follow him into the house, filing in one by one, and my entire body feels tense and stiff. I feel like a feral cat whose fur is standing up on edge, teeth bared, ready to fight. The guys and Max all stick close to me, their stances angry and defensive.
Alan leads us into a sunny living room with stylish, expensive looking furniture. He gestures to a couple of couches and chairs gathered in the middle of the massive room.
“Please, sit. Can I offer you anything to drink?”
“No, thank you. We won’t take much of your time, Mr. Montgomery,” Banning says, pulling out a notepad and taking a seat. “We just have a few questions for you. Do you know this young woman here?” He points at me, then adds, “Miss Sophie Wright.”
Alan’s gaze brushes over me again, frighteningly blank and innocent. “No, I don’t believe I do.” His brows pull together in a sympathetic look. “Are you all right? You look like you’ve been through a lot.”
My jaw clenches so hard it aches. I want to scream, to lunge at the man as he settles onto his plush couch. I want to claw and tear at him until he admits that yes, he does fucking know me. He knew me a decade ago when I was a little girl, his captive. And he saw me less than twelve hours ago in a bunker, when he had me tied to a chair and was threatening my life.
I have been through a lot, and he knows it.
“Is there a problem?” Alan continues, looking at Banning when I don’t answer his question. “What’s this all about?”
Declan tenses next to me, as if he’s ready to lunge too. For a second, I almost wish he would. It’s torture to be sitting across from a man I know is guilty, hearing him speak to the police in a polite and polished tone, as if he’s nothing more than a concerned, upstanding citizen.
He’s a psychopath. A monster.
I want the whole world to see that.
But they don’t. Not yet, anyway. And if Declan attacks him before we get solid proof that he kept me captive, it’ll be me and the Sinners who pay for Alan’s crimes. We’ll look like the guilty ones.
Detective
Banning looks like he’s seriously regretting letting Gray push him into coming here. He shoots Alan an apologetic look. “We’re very sorry to bother you, but Miss Wright claims she was attacked last night, and we need to ask you a few questions. This will only take a second. Do you mind if we get your answers on record?”
“Absolutely,” Alan answers without hesitation.
“Where were you last night?” Banning asks.
Alan purses his lips. “Last night, I spent the evening with my son. My wife died several years ago, so it’s just the two of us. We barbequed and then went out on the yacht to watch the sunset.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Jesus fucking Christ. Even his alibi makes him sound like a privileged douchebag.
“How late were you out on the yacht?”
“Oh, eleven or so.”
I grit my teeth. Assuming Cliff will back him up, Alan has covered his tracks for the period of time the guys and I were out in the woods, when Reagan managed to knock me out and drag me to the bunker.
And I have no fucking reason to believe that Cliff won’t have his back. He’s a fucking asshole, just like his dad.
“Did you go anywhere after that?” the detective continues.
“I showered and went to bed.”
“What about this morning?”
“I usually wake up around six,” Alan explains. “I showered and came down to make breakfast since my cook has the day off. Then I headed in to the office. I got back home around three and went for a swim. I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
He gestures to his damp hair and casual athletic clothes, as if apologizing for not greeting us in a three-piece suit.
Banning nods, jotting a few notes down. “Do you own any property other than your estate here?”
“You may know that I own many real estate properties for investment reasons.” Alan rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward a little. “But at the moment, this house and my Palm Beach residence are the only ones that are used by me and my family.”
“What about properties used for business?”
“Again,” Alan says, a slight undercurrent of annoyance entering his voice, “my investment properties would be considered my business properties, as well as my offices in Orange County. If you would like a list of those real estate properties, I can direct you to one of my managers.”
“No, that’s fine,” the officer says almost apologetically. “One last question about property. Do you own any property around the Lamar Foothills?”
Alan’s brows pull together again, and he looks thoroughly confused by the question.
Motherfucker. This guy is a damn good actor. Maybe I should’ve expected it though, considering how many fucking secrets he’s got. He’s probably had plenty of experience with lying over the years.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t.” He runs a hand over his still damp hair. “I may know someone who does, though, if you need me to inquire. I’d be more than willing to help your investigation in any way I can.”
“No, that won’t be necessary, Mr. Montgomery.” Banning shakes his head, darting a glance my way before turning back to Alan.
He asks him a few more questions, but they’re all softball questions with easy answers, and he never presses Alan for any kind of follow-ups. It occurs to me that the very same fear of power and authority that Gray leveraged to get Banning to come here is keeping him from pressing too hard now. He doesn’t want to risk pissing off the man who controls half of Hawthorne.
My hands clench so tightly that my fingernails dig into my skin, but Alan keeps his cool the entire time, maintaining an air of confident patience as he answers Banning’s questions.
Finally, the officer stands and shakes his hand. “Thank you for being willing to talk to us. We won’t take up any more of your time today.”
Alan gives a small nod, and my heart drops to my stomach.
No. He can’t just get away with it. It can’t be that fucking easy.
But apparently, it can. Apparently, money can buy more than just yachts and fancy houses.
The bruises and marks on me came from somewhere. Detective Banning has to know that. But he clearly doesn’t believe Alan Montgomery had anything to do with it.
“Let me walk you to the door,” Alan says politely, rising and gesturing for us to follow him.
I feel like I’m sinking in sand while trying to walk, my thoughts and my steps muddled. I feel a hand brush against my arm to steady me, but I’m not sure who it is, not sure how I’ll make it to the door and down the front steps without passing out or lashing out. Detective Banning and Alan make polite small talk, but I don’t hear any of it. All I can hear is a dull rushing in my ears.
I don’t understand how this could just happen. How someone could get away with that. Why don’t they believe me when the evidence is all there?
As we near the front door, Alan suddenly halts in his steps, interrupting my thoughts.
“Actually.” He draws the word out as he turns toward me, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he’s remembering something. “I believe I was mistaken earlier. I do know who this girl is, although we’ve never formally met.” He stares at me for a long moment, nodding as if he’s piecing things together in his head. “Yes, I do. She goes to my son’s school, Hawthorne University. She attacked my son.”
Detective Banning blinks, his eyebrows shooting up. He pulls the notepad from his pocket and jots something down.
“That’s not true.” My words are barely intelligible. I’m so overcome with rage that it’s almost impossible to speak. “That’s not—”
“Yes, she attacked him.” Alan cuts me off, his eyes going hard. “She attacked him unprovoked. Put him in the hospital. I can get you the admission records, as well as the medical files.”
Banning looks at me with narrowed eyes, and my heart sinks.
Fuck. Coming here was a bad idea. Going to the police was a bad idea.
Not that we had any better ideas, but all we’ve done is give Alan a chance to build up his credibility and tear down mine. The longer Alan talks, I can see every ounce of belief in my story being wiped away, being replaced with distrust and even a little anger.
“We declined to press charges at the time,” Alan says, rubbing at his forehead as if fighting off a headache. He purses his lips. “Despite the injuries Cliff sustained, he decided he’d rather just move on from the incident, to try to put it behind him. I believe Miss Wright was almost expelled for her actions,” he adds, cutting his gaze toward me. “At the time, I thought leniency was best, but now I’m wondering if that wasn’t just a one-off incident like I assumed. Perhaps it was a part of a larger pattern of violent behavior.”
His gaze rakes over the bruises on my skin again, and this time, there’s something almost like disappointment in his eyes. As if I somehow brought this on myself. As if I went looking for trouble. As if I chose to fight.
Before I can force my stunned mind to form any more words, the sound of the front door opening catches my attention. We’re only a few yards away from it, and when it opens, all of us turn in that direction.
My shoulders stiffen as I lock gazes with Cliff. For a second, something unpleasant crosses his features. Then he glances at the cops, the Sinners, and his father. I don’t know if he has any idea what’s going on. Did Alan tell him? Does he know about what his dad did to me?
But in this moment, it doesn’t matter. Whether Cliff knows everything or not, it doesn’t change the fact that he hates me—or that he’ll back up everything his dad says about the night I beat the shit out of him in that alley.
“What’s she doing here?” Cliff asks, closing the door behind him.
Alan frowns at me. “There were some issues with the police,” he says. “They came by to ask a few questions. Apparently, Miss Wright here got herself into another altercation with someone.”
Of course that’s a fucking lie, but the police don’t even protest at the way he phrases it as if it’s my fault.
Cliff’s nostrils flare. “She attacked me,” he tells the cops, like a whiny little boy who’s used to getting whatever he wants. “She was like a wild animal, scratched up my face.”
He points to a few scars on his pale skin, and rage boils in my gut.
I won’t deny I punched him. In fact, I’m damn proud of it. But only one of those scars on his face is a mark I gave him. The other one on his cheek had nothing to do with me. I remember noticing it the first day I met him, long before our altercation in the alley.
“Yeah, because you couldn’t take fucking no for an answer,” Elias says, stepping forward. He’s holding himself back, but I can tell he wants to get in Cliff’s face. “What about the part where you cornered her and tried to rape her? She beat the shit out of you in self-defense and you know it. Just because your daddy made sure that didn’t end up in the police report, that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”
Neither Alan nor Cliff says a word in response, although Cliff’s eyes flash with anger and Alan’s jaw tightens.
“We’re sorry again for the intrusion,” Detective Banning says, herding us toward the door before the situation can grow even more tense. “Thank you for your time.”
As soon as we’re outside, I storm toward Gray’s car, ignoring the pissed off looks from Banning and his men. Of course they think I’ve just wasted everyone’s time. Why won’t they fucking believe me? I’m an eyewitness—I led them to a fucking hidden bunker they never would’ve found without my help, and I have the bruises and cuts on my body and face to prove to them that someone attacked me.
Do they think I did this to myself? For attention?
The thought nearly makes me lose my shit in the driveway, but I manage to make it to the car, sucking in deep breaths and trying to calm my nerves. My entire body feels like it’s on fire, burning with hatred toward Alan and his family.
The doors slam shut as the Sinners all pile into the car too, and a brooding silence hangs over us as Gray turns the key in the ignition.
The last thing I see as we pull down the driveway is Alan and Cliff, watching us from behind a clear, sun-reflecting window. At the sight of the two of them standing side-by-side, a united front against us, a chill goes down my spine, breaking through the hot waves of anger.
