“Let’s make this quick,” Carver says. “I’m going to start upstairs.”
Just like that, the boys all go separate ways to look for information, and I’m left with Cruz dragging me through the lower portion of the house, showing off everything as we go. His fingers brush over every wall, and just when I’m about to ask why the fuck he’s touching everything, I realize that he’s searching for hidden walls or little secret rooms like my home back in Ravenwood Heights.
Cruz leads me into a study and it takes us no time to realize that this is the room we’ve been looking for, giving us all the proof we need to confirm that she has in fact been living here.
There are shelves filled with folders and paperwork, a desk scattered with random things, USB sticks, and a laptop which Cruz instantly takes and slides into a backpack. I drop down onto the desk chair and start pulling out drawers, looking for anything that ties her to any of the heads of Dynasty.
I get nothing and quickly move onto the drawers of the small table that sits behind the desk. The first drawer is locked and I jiggle it for a second, desperate to get it open. After a quick scan of the room, I realize that searching for a key in this massive house is going to be a whole new task that nobody has the time for. So instead, I bring my foot up in a sweeping kick, and slam that motherfucker right into next year.
The lock breaks and I dive for the drawer, yanking it out to find at least fifteen different passports and driver’s licenses, all with London’s face on them. Only in each one the names are different and her hairstyles are slightly changed.
They pull at something within me, memories that I’d long tried to forget. The woman who lived down the street when I was eight, the woman who worked at the grocery store when I was ten, my substitute teacher at twelve.
What the ever-loving fuck?
She’s been following me my whole life. Every step of the way she’s always been ahead of the game, always watching me, always keeping close by just waiting for her chance to strike.
Nausea drops into my stomach and I grab the passports and licenses off the desk and shove them into my back pocket before I race from the study, desperately searching for a bathroom to hurl.
I’ve been such a fool.
I make it to a bathroom just in time and slam the door before Cruz decides that it’s a free for all and helps himself to an up-close view of the snacks I’d stolen in the car. “You good, babe?” he calls through the locked door.
I throw up a little more. “Get lost. You don’t need to hear this,” I call back. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“CRUZ,” I snap.
“Jesus. Alright,” he mutters. “I’m going. Just come back when you’re done. The last thing we need is you falling down the laundry chute or accidentally getting stuck in some hidden secret dungeon.”
Ha. Ha. Fuck, I hate him sometimes.
I get myself cleaned up and as I stare at myself in the mirror, the anger quickly sweeps through me. How could I have missed this? My mother has been stalking me my whole life. Add that on top of the shit Sara pulled on me last night and the fact that just up the stairs of this massive house lies the very spot that my father was betrayed and murdered ... I’m seeing red.
I’ve let these bitches walk all over me. They’ve gotten away with it, but not anymore.
How could I be so stupid?
I pace the small bathroom, my hands pulsing in and out of fists by my side. The anger is too much. I can’t control it. I need to run. I need to be free. I need a release and it’s not the kind that I’m going to get from any of the boys. It’s the kind I get from beating the ever-loving shit out of a pervert behind a bar.
I need to get out of here.
Without thinking, I unlock the door and throw it open. Instead of doubling back to Cruz, or any of the guys for that matter, I find my way to the impressive garage. Just as I knew it would be, my father’s stolen car sits idle, the front end still smashed from when my bitch of a mother drove it through my garage door less than two months ago.
I tear open the door, and finding the key still in the ignition, I drop down into the driver’s seat. Despite never having a single driving lesson in my life, I kick over the engine and hit the gas.
The car jolts forward and a panicked squeal tears out of me as the muscle car tears straight through yet another garage door and flies down the long driveway, taking me away from the pain that resides in that house and giving me the freedom to take back my control.