Page 100 of Atone

While my back was turned to the office door, my father must have seen her out of the corner of his eye. He said what he did on purpose, knowing the truth would force my hand. He laid my lies bare for the girl with the tear-stained, green eyes, and now she’s fracturing in front of me.

Manipulation and control are what Dad is good at. It’s something I’ve always respected about him because he taught me to wield them as a means of control. But as Mila takes another step back and the crevice widens between us, my loyalty to my father frays around the edges.

He has buried bodies for me.

Taught me how to reign in the darkness.

He gave me guidance where my mother failed. Protection where the House failed.

He taught me what it means to be Sigma Sin.

I trusted him.

But when Mila turns and walks away, something slips. It cracks. If I’m destined to become like my father, is letting her go for the best?

If only I could.

The tether between us is taut, and her next step pulls me out of my chair.

From the corner of my eye, I see my father wave toward the hallway. “Go deal with that before she causes more problems than she already has.”

Problems.

Problems we created.

Problems the House bred.

Problems that put Mila in my path long before she realized it. Long before her first visit to Montgomery.

Problems he made worse by not letting me be the one to confess my secrets.

Dad turns, not bothering to dismiss me or acknowledge the mess he’s made. He leaves the office first, heading in the opposite direction from the library.

While I follow her.

The girl with the heart I broke.

My angel of death, come to take me home.

The front door clicks behind Mila, but she can’t get far since she didn’t drive here, and I have the keys. I’m only a moment behind her, and when I step outside, I find her tugging at the car handle, trying to get in.

Her angry gaze meets mine as I approach, and she tugs the locked door again.

“Fuck you, Alex.” She slaps the roof of my car and immediately grabs her hand because it probably stung like hell.

I try to reach for her hand without thinking, but she pulls away.

The distance stretches even more.

“Don’t.” The tears that stream her cheeks are now a mix of pain and anger. “I don’t want anything from you.”

“Mila—”

“Tell me it isn’t true.” She cuts me off, pulling her shoulders back. “Tell me you weren’t at the carnival the night Remi died. Tell me that’s not what your father was talking about when he mentioned Oregon.”

“I can’t.”

Mila flinches at my answer, and I think she really wanted it to be different. I wish it were because that would have saved her from all of this.