Page 60 of Pretty Pink Poison

“But that means—”

“It means people who need real help will get it.”

I saw it in his eyes: he’d heard my entry, reacted the only way he knew how. Taken over. Taken control. Maybe he’d done it because others couldn’t. Because that’s who Bane Black was.

“That’s a lot of burden to take on. It’s one of the fastest growing apps in the country.”

“Burdenandopportunity. And technically, I have access to everything a person confesses.”

“Well, that’s a huge breach of privacy, Bane.”

“Or it’s genius. Now I decide who gets a shrink and who gets something more sinister.”

I bit my lip. “That could be a ticking time bomb.”

“Indeed. But I saw what AI did to you. That thing was a time bomb either way. If I’m the only one capable of setting a better precedent, I’m going to do it.”

I groaned. “Who knew your stalker tendencies would amount to some good?”

“Don’t get excited. I’ll still be killing anyone who pisses me off with their entries.”

I rolled my eyes. Typical Bane.

The plane dipped, and a chime announced our descent. He slipped his phone into his jacket and opened the double doors for me when we disembarked.

I stepped out into the cool air and stared at the house rising before me—a twisted, beautiful ruin masquerading as a mansion. My childhood home.

“What do you want from this place? I asked.

Bane’s shadow fell long over the steps as he followed, his voice low and deliberate behind me. “Closure. Answers. Maybe both.”

Not much later,we walked through the double doors of my childhood home. The marble foyer spread out like a museum display, all white-and-black veining, the chandelier overheadflickering weak light over polished surfaces. It smelled the same—wax and cold stone. A place built to look like legacy but always feeling like a cage.

Bane opened the doors for me, his palm briefly at the small of my back as if to guide me, then stepped aside so I could take it in. “Truly, what could you possibly need back here,” I asked, voice shakier than I intended, “that you couldn’t get from him without me?”

He flicked a switch; the bulbs hissed and the chandelier trembled before holding its glow. His pale eyes tracked mine, a shadow cutting across his sharp features. “Show me,” he said.

“What?” My gaze darted up the curved staircase toward the second floor. My heart already knew.

“Show me the closet.”

Everything inside me went still. I took a step back, boots squeaking against the marble. I could see it—the door up twenty steps, second on the left. Lock on the outside, not the inside. The smell of cedar and steel and panic.

“What are you talking about?”

“I told you I listened to every Oracle entry, baby girl.” His voice wasn’t cruel. It was low, matter-of-fact. His arms crossed over his tailored suit.

“Bane…” My throat went dry. I shook my head and moved toward the double doors, but his hand closed around my elbow like iron.

“Trust me. Show me.”

“No.” I tried to pull free. “I’m not going near them.”

He didn’t budge. His eyes locked on me, colder now but steady. “Not near them, Pink.” He let the silence stretch. “You’re going in them.”

“You’re downright demented if you think—”

He moved before I could finish, scooping me up as easily as a child. My scream tore through the empty house, echoing offmarble and wood, but no one came. No one would. This was my hell. My father’s house. My nightmare. And now Bane was carrying me into it.