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She swallows audibly as she begins to shake violently. “W-we will—” She stops, gathers her wits, and forces out the rest of her sentence. The words are spoken so quickly, they nearly merge together. "We will be punished."

“Good,” she clips, and then she heads for the door, stepping out to grab something just outside of the entrance. My heart drops when she walks back in with a crossbow.

“I want you out of my house, Sydney, so you will participate, but if you try to escape one more time, I will personally kill you myself. You’re no longer worth the hassle.”

Sydney gasps, as if this is the first time that she's hearing this, but I have a feeling this has been a conversation for however long she's been in this house.

She crows, “I only run because I want to stay with you.”

“Well, you can’t,” she snaps back. “This isn’t a fucking Holiday Inn. Now that I have the diamond in my possession, I can no longer allow you to embarrass me. You will be sold.”

"What does she have to do with me?" Sydney argues.

"Because she is my most valued girl, and if it is noticed that I have a goddamn leech attached to me that is incapable of being sold, they could deem me unworthy and remove her from my household!"

Rage flashes across the unhinged girl’s eyes, and it looks like she’s rapidly descending into a pit of hysteria. When she catches my stare, she snarls at me, as if it’s my fault Francesca isn’t allowing her to stay.

Francesca gathers herself, her eyes tight with lingering anger.

“Tomorrow, we're going to practice,” she orders, pulling my attention away from the seething girl. Her eyes flicker to me accusingly. “And I don’t care how special you are, I won’t tolerate failure.”

How do volcano eruptions begin? Pressure. And it’s brewing inside of me. The fiery magma is rising, thickening with hatred, growing denser with bloodlust.

Eventually, I’m going to fucking explode, and I promise I will burn this entire goddamn house down with me.

Chapter 10

The Hunter

“I’ve got a location on the van,” Jay says, turning in his chair. I’ve only just stepped into his office, having just got back from Daya’s house.

A week has passed since I got her out of Luke’s clutches, and since then, she’s been helping out. I put her in charge of researching Rio and Rick while Jay has been focused on tracking down the van. We hit a dead end in Oregon. The vehicle disappeared from cams without a trace, and I've been losing my mind since.

She’s been gone for twelve days now, and I’ve felt every fucking second of it.

"How'd you find it?"

"Finally got a hit on a satellite image taken yesterday."

“Walk and talk,” I order, pivoting and walking right back out. “What’s the address?”

He rattles off the address while he scrambles from his chair, followed by a muttered curse, a loud thump, and another colorful word or two.

I glance back to see him struggling to put on a second shoe, hopping on one foot and nearly face-planting into the wall.

Shaking my head, I make my way down the stairs, leaving him to figure out how to be a functioning human again.

By the time I swing open the door to my Mustang, Jay is locking his front door behind him and hurrying to the car.

He lives in a modest home with his younger brother, Cameron, though I’d never know if it wasn’t for the occasional screeches when he yells at whatever game he’s playing. Or whoever he’s playing with.

Jay and Cameron’s parents were drug addicts and skipped out when Jay was sixteen and Cameron seven. Luckily, Jay is an actual genius and managed to keep it a well-kept secret from the state. He’s worked numerous jobs to keep the bills paid and his brother in good health.

Six years later, Jay has legal guardianship of Cameron, and they’re living lavishly. Cameron isn’t aware of what his brother does for work, and right now, he’s too young to care. I think he’s more concerned with not dying in Call of Duty to notice, and Jay is happy to keep it that way.

“I need to call Michael to babysit,” he says, dropping into the passenger seat with a huff. His phone is already out, his thumb flying across the keyboard.

“Dude, he’s thirteen.”