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“If you want to go down that path, Storm, it’ll take sacrifices,” he finally says. “Ones I’m not sure you’re willing to make.”

I think of Shae again. I think of the fragility of what we’re building, and how much I want to see it safe. How much I want to see it flourish.

And I realize if I leave this alone, Shae will be less safe, more at risk, more damaged just because of her association with me.

So it’s my duty to make this right.

For her, if not for anyone else.

“I know what’s at stake,” I reply, holding Riale’s gaze. After a tense stare-off, he nods, as if accepting the truth of what I’m saying.

“So, Brains,” I say to Axel, “where do we start?”

33

STORM

By the time Axel drops me and Riale back at the Suburban, there’s an hour until daylight, and I have one mission in mind: get to my parents’ house.

Guilt and anger at not being able to reach out to Shae morphed into an all-consuming need to make sure I got this shit handled once and for all.

Then I could be safe—Shae could be safe—and we could move on with our lives.

All night as Axel, Riale, and I spun up scenarios and contemplated the outcomes, one thing became clear, we need to figure out who my father is in this fucked-up play.

Is my father the enemy, a victim, or an understated hero in all of this?

I honestly don’t know the answer.

“Want me to wait for you?” Riale asks, but I shake my head.

“No.Come back for me in thirty, though.”

With a two-finger salute, he drops me at the gate of my parents’ home and drives off.

The estate looks different in the new daylight. Golden sun rays make the flowers and shrubs glow where they linethe intentionally distressed cobblestones leading to the main entrance.

Sandoval Manor looks perfect,isperfect. Everything except what’s on the inside.

I head to the keypad near the gate and dial in my code before stepping back as the gates swing wide.

My father’s Maybach sits near the top of the curved driveway, but I stop when I notice the fountains are off. They’re only turned off if my parents leave town for an extended period of time.

Where are they going?

Walking into the foyer confirms my suspicions. Several trunks and suitcases line up near the twelve-foot door.

“Baby, what are you doing here?” My mom’s voice calls down to me from her position at the top of the curved stairs. It’s early in the morning, but she still looks off—her usually neat hair is pulled back in a messy low bun, and she’s not wearing any makeup. She always wears makeup.

“What’s going on?” I ask her when she flies down the stairs and flings herself into my arms. She trembles, which has me immediately wanting to burn shit to the ground.

“I don’t know,” she whispers, but when she pulls back, she says, “Your father is taking me on a surprise getaway! That silly man won’t tell me where we’re going, so I just packed for all climates.”

She gestures toward the luggage with a laugh that sounds not quite right.

“Mom,” I say, bending down to look her in the eye. “What’s going on?”

“I-I?—”