Page 48 of Bound to a Killer

Her eyes narrow at me in a critical squint. “You don’t know anything.”

I can’t help it; I scoff at her.

“You know none of the people they target are innocent?” she snaps.

“Just like me, right?” I say, my voice flat.

Concern knits her brows, and they freeze for a moment. “You don’t know.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Know what?”

Wordlessly, her arms spring up to pat her distressed jean jacket, then she pulls a cellphone out of the tiny pocket near her chest. Seconds trickle by as I anxiously watch her swipe at the screen.

“Here. Look,” she says, taking a step closer and swooping down to show me what she’s pulled up.

My nails dig into my tightly clenched fists as I scan the article.

“Depravity behind the fall of the Shaw empire”it reads in bold, evenly spaced-out letters stretching across the screen. She scrolls down a little more, and I spot the family portrait before glancing up to read the tagline. The words start to jumble together when I come across a description that has my head reeling with confusion and disgust.

Leaked videos.

Child sex rings.

A good American family’s tragic downfall.

My eyes trace back to Kelsey, standing between both parents. She’s shorter in the picture, her cheeks more rounded, but the same dusting of freckles covers them. My stomach clamps hard.

She pulls her phone back and pockets it. “They had it coming.”

I force the fog out of my head, snapping myself out of thatmental image of Kelsey smiling next to her mom just before it makes my stomach reel even harder.

“I don’t get it.” My voice cracks. She watches me tentatively, giving me time to process. “It says in the article the death was self-inflicted.” I shake my head, my brows pulling together. “That’s not what happened. I-I was there.”

She nods carefully, her mouth opening, then closing again.

“I just don’t understand.” I shake my head harder. “How’d they get it so wrong? He was there. He had a knife. I saw it.”

What about me—What are they saying about me?

“It’s how they operate,” she says finally, as if that’s supposed to make it make sense.

“They?”

She exhales sharply, crossing an arm over her chest. “Yeah, The Ringer. They’re a secret underground group that seeks justice for the people the system failed to protect. I shouldn’t be telling you any of this, but you have to understand; you’re angry at the wrong people.”

“So that’s it, then?” I deadpan. “A system fails, so now any ole person can take vigilante justice into their own hands if they deem it appropriate? Sure, sometimes things slip through the cracks, I get that, but these things are left to the cops and courts to handle. Not you guys.”

She rocks on her feet, scoffing softly as her hands uncross only to cross again. “How are you so damn naïve?”

My wrists push against my ropes again as her patronizing voice sinks into me. “I’m not the one acting out against the law.”

She spins around to pace the cabin. My words pummel the self-righteousness she’s hiding behind. I grind my teeth together as she stands beside the dried bloodstains in the center of the room. “You know,” she says softly, slowly twisting back to face me again, “I don’t expect you to understand. Most people don’t, which is why you’re stuck where you are.”

I stare at her with my chin held high, resisting the urge togive in to her comment. “You’re wrong. Not all cops are the enemy.”

“Naïve,” she mutters like I’m helpless.