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Why didn’t we do something that day? Why did Wendy laugh in her face? I don’t even remember that. I must have been too drunk, which was rare for me at the time, but that night I tried a few shots of whiskey for the first time. I barely remember the little girl tugging on my shirt, or wondering what the hell a littlekid was doing at a high school bonfire party, but now it’s coming back to me in erratic, fragmented flashes.

By the time I was awake in the hospital room and barely coherent enough to form thoughts, I had completely forgotten about the little girl. I vaguely remember the nurses talking about the abduction, but I never made the connection. It never spurred a memory. As pieces of that night flash through my mind, I realize I must have assumed at the time the guy who pushed me was her father and she was one of those little kids who was constantly running off, like Tessie used to do. I force myself to think back as I roar through the winding roads on my bike, but I’m sure I never mentioned the little girl, or the man, to the police, the doctors, or my parents when they questioned me. I told them some drunk friend must have bumped into me. Holly was forgotten in the mess of my brain.

How the fuck do I tell her the twisted epilogue to her story?

Tonight, all I want is to forget about the little abducted girl who grew up to be a beautifully damaged woman looking for love in the worst of places. I’m going to forget about the love and happiness I felt, just an hour ago, before it all went up in a fiery inferno of twisted coincidence.

I need to forget everything.

My father. My future. My face. My family. Holly.

I’m going to forget that everything is my fault if it kills me.

Reaching behind me into my saddlebag, I pull out my mask and yank it over my face as I ride toward the warehouse. I need to fight. I need to hurt someone, and I need physical pain to take away the emotional agony I’m feeling. My opponent will hit me harder if he can’t see my already scarred-up face. They always do. Maybe he’ll fuck me up beyond recognition so no one will ever know who I am.Not even me.

I would welcome it.

CHAPTER 27

Holly

“I’m the only one you can rely on, little girl. I’m the only one who loves you enough to never leave.”

Perhaps he was right. He was right about a lot of things, now that I think about it.

I don’t want to go home and face Feather, but I have nowhere else to go. I certainly can’t go to my parents, and I don’t know how to get to Zac’s house. I send Feather a text, telling her I won’t be home. Now I understand the appeal of the text message to avoid having to talk to someone. Restless and confused, I drive around town listening to music.

So this is what it’s like to have a car. You can drive all night and not go anywhere.

I turn the station to rock music, and the angsty music gets into my head, every song seeming to hold a hidden meaning into my life.

Making a careful U-turn, I drive back to Tyler’s house. I don’t care if he’s not there and told me to go. He also told me I could come any time I want. He said it was my happy, safe place, and that’s what I need right now.

Using the hidden key, I let myself into his tiny house, and Poppy and Boomer immediately run to me, tails wagging.

“Okay, guys. You have to be good,” I whisper. “I’m going to hang out with you so we’re not all alone.”

I kick off my shoes and settle on the couch with the soft blanket over me. My heart hurts remembering how sweet Tyler was when he gave me the blankets and how he told me he loved me mere hours ago.

What happened? What went wrong?

The sound of his bike startles me awake, and I squint at the clock on the mantel: 2:00 a.m. Where could he have been this late at night? Did he go back and get an escort? Envy washes over me.

He wouldn’t do that.

He loves me.

The front door swings open and he stumbles in. I sit up quickly and watch him maneuver through the tiny space.

“The hell you doing here?” His voice sounds worse than I’ve ever heard it, hoarse and garbled.

“I… I didn’t want to go home. I wanted to be with Poppy. I was worried about you.”

He steps farther into the room, and as my eyes adjust to the dark, I see the mask on his face, crooked, with blood seeping from beneath it. My heart leaps into my throat, my stomach sinking as I scoot back against the arm of the couch.

“Wh-what’s going on?” I whisper.

“With?”