Page 21

Chapter 20

Juliet

On the ride, Trey holds my hand with his bandaged one, wrapped up with the dressing from a med kit he started keeping in his car after I stole it and made it my getaway vehicle.

He shifts uncomfortably behind the wheel, dreading the impending confrontation with his father. Rachel is still out there, and justice needs to be served. Trey deserves his closure too.

Heat blasts from the vents, a quiet, crooning tune from the radio that neither of us can hear breaking through the tense silence.

In the dark, the tires rattle over a long bridge suspended above inky water.

My stomach drops at the familiar sight. The familiar thud, thud, thud of the tires.

Every muscle in my body tenses as dread washes over me. No . There’s no way. It’s not possible.

“You live here?” I whisper the words, almost not daring to breathe them into existence. To acknowledge the reality.

Trey turns to me with a frown, his handsome face almost dreamlike as the memories come barreling back. “Yeah. On the island.”

The island .

When the tires stop rattling over the bridge and dig through dirt and gravel, a monstrous palace emerges amongst the perfectly manicured grass until it gives way to the woodline.

The huge house that’s more like a museum than a home. Inside are towering ceilings, golden decor, pristine furniture without a speck of dust.

My lungs shrink. I can’t breathe. Can’t speak. Can’t move.

This is where Brandon brought us that night. This is where Autumn died.

The man who killed her, the final monster still alive, is Trey’s father.

We come to a stop in the driveway, his headlights flicking off as he puts the car in park. Concern etched around his mouth and the corners of his beautiful, heartbreaking eyes.

He squeezes my hand with his bandaged one, despite the pain it must cause him. “Juliet. What’s wrong?”

Honeysuckle and fresh grass. Towering trees and a murmuring creek. My bare foot splashing, a hand over my mouth, running like phantoms over the yards between the woods and the car. Between danger and safety.

“You were fifteen, right? The night your mother died?”

He goes rigid beside me. “Yes. What’s going on, Juliet?”

“Tell me about it. The night she died. What do you remember?”

His gaze drifts from me, brows descending over troubled eyes as his memories carry him back to that night. “I was about to fall asleep. Then I heard a shout. A few people were outside searching with flashlights. Two people without flashlights hopped in a car and left.” His throat bobs. “I didn’t know who they were searching for until my father woke me up the next morning to tell me my mother was dead. He said she drowned, but I don’t believe him.”

Trey witnessed what happened that night. The men searching for me, my rescuer and me running through the dark, our escape from the crime scene.

Trey’s mother died when he was fifteen. The same age he would’ve been when I was trapped here.

The woman who saved me that night . . .

She was Trey’s mother.

Maybe Trey is right—maybe his mother didn’t drown at all. Maybe his father killed her when she returned home, when he discovered what she had done.

I’ve finally found the man who tried to kill me. The man who killed Autumn.

Charles Lamont.

And I’m in love with his son.