Page 33

CHAPTER

TWENTY-TWO

ERIN

“Where were you?” Dad snaps as soon as I return to the table. Obviously, my absence didn’t go unnoticed. “It’s been an hour.”

Servers put plates down in front of us, and my stomach heaves.

Food is the last thing I want. I try catching the eye of the girl serving our food.

She doesn’t look back, but her blank stare makes me wonder whether she’s been subjected to abuse at my father’s hands.

My entire reality has been turned upside down, making me question everything.

“I…” I murmur. “Upset stomach.”

Mom puts her hand against my forehead and frowns. “You don’t look so good, honey. You’re as white as a sheet.”

Dad scowls, as if I’ve purposefully become ill to inconvenience him. Little does he know that he’s the one responsible.

I shuffle in my seat, struggling to get comfortable due to the lingering pain.

I tried to clean myself up in the bathroom, but cum still soaks through the black fabric of my dress.

Worse, I see the mayor, laughing and joking while knowing what’s happening within these very walls.

Who else is complicit? Does everyone here know? I push my food away and swallow bile.

“Maybe we should call the driver to take Erin home,” Mom suggests, noticing we’re receiving a few quizzical looks from our guests opposite. “We don’t want to cause a scene.”

“That’s probably for the best,” I murmur in agreement, my voice hoarse.

“Fine,” Dad barks. He beckons a server to his side and hisses instructions in his ear.

Suddenly, clattering cutlery and a screeching chair make everyone’s heads swivel.

The sheriff jumps up from his seat abruptly, and a hushed silence descends.

“An accident?” he says into his phone. “What happened?”

He has the attention of the room.

“Uh-huh.” His expression turns grave, and the wrinkles on his forehead deepen. “I’ll be right there.”

He approaches our table, and my father rises to address him.

“I’m sorry to leave early, Magnus,” Sheriff Brady says. “There’s been an accident on the mountain. A car falling into a ravine. It’s a nasty scene, so I’ve been told. My men and I have to go.”

“Will the road be closed?” Dad asks.

Naturally, his first concern is whether this will affect his precious event.

“Temporarily, but I’ll have it open again by the end of the night,” he promises. “Officers are already out assessing the damage.”

“Oh no, but Erin’s unwell,” Mom pipes up. Dad glares at her, but she continues anyway. “She was about to leave.”

“I’ll have an officer drop her home on our way back down the mountain.” He winks. “Anything for the Acacia family.”

A trip in a squad car beats staying here.

“Is it anyone we know?” Mom asks, thriving on the drama as usual. “The driver?”

“It’s too soon to say,” he replies. “We’ll keep you updated, Magnus.”

My father nods solemnly as the sheriff instructs a begrudging Officer Blackwell to drive me home.

“Feel better soon,” Mom says as I trot away and mumble half-hearted goodbyes.

The cool night air nips my legs as we stroll across the courtyard to the waiting car. I clench my ass cheeks and waddle awkwardly to disguise my discomfort. If not for the evidence leaking out of me, I’d have questioned whether my debasement was a fever dream.

Sheriff Brady, ahead of us, speeds out of Sunnycrest’s gates. His tires roar on the concrete, the noise carrying over the wind to join the wailing sirens in the distance.

“Get in,” Officer Blackwell grunts.

“Sorry to be a pain,” I say, hopping into the passenger seat.

He mumbles something under his breath. I don’t fully catch what he says. Although, I can make out ‘babysitter’ and ‘not a ride-along’.

I wrap my arms around my middle and shiver. Every person in town is now under my suspicion. Does Officer Blackwell know about my father’s misdeeds? What about the sheriff? How far does his corrupt influence extend?

After a short drive, blue lights emerge from the tree line, slipping through the branches and illuminating the leaves. There’s a flurry of activity where a group of squad cars gather.

Blackwell slows as we pass, lowering his window to speak to a colleague who is cordoning off a section of road with yellow tape.

“How bad is it?” Blackwell asks.

“A total wreck,” the officer replies, shaking his head. “There’s no way anyone survived. The bonnet’s stretched around a tree. It’s gonna take hours to get out. We’ll be here all night.”

“They don’t call this the highway to hell for nothing,” Blackwell remarks. “How did it happen?”

“Hard to say. My money’s on them taking the corner too fast,” the officer says. “That’s the thing with sports cars. People don’t know how to ride them on roads like this, especially with the frost.”

“It’s not a racetrack,” Blackwell agrees.

The officer shines a torch past him to illuminate my face. “What’s with the girl?”

“A favor for the sheriff,” Blackwell replies, rolling his eyes. “I’ll be back soon.”

We drive away, and Blackwell cranks up the police radio to stay up-to-date with what’s happening. Sheriff Brady’s voice crackles, shooting orders left and right.

“We have the registration,” an officer, who must be near the wreckage, radios. “G01 DY3.”

A chill runs down my spine.

I know that plate.

“Run the plates,” Sheriff Brady orders.

“You don’t need to do that,” I say.

“What?” Blackwell lowers the volume in annoyance. “Did you say something?”

“I… um…” I shouldn’t have said anything, but it’s too late to hold back. “I know who the car belongs to.”

“Who?”

“Robert Gilsmear,” I reply.

Blackwell jumps into action, responding to his colleagues.

I bite my inner cheek to stop myself from smiling.

My men didn’t let Gilsmear go unpunished for touching me.

Some men bring women flowers, but mine deliver bodies.

I never thought I’d be a fan of the latter, but I’ll make an exception in Gilsmear’s case, especially after seeing him torture Lex in the video.

Crashing into a ravine seems almost too kind.

“It looks like there was only one person in the car,” a voice says over the radio. “We’ll have to wait for dental to get a true identification.”

Although Gilsmear’s wife was screwing their gardener, I’m pleased she wasn’t in the accident. Although, I’m sure the guys didn’t care about collateral damage.

“The plates match Gilsmear’s,” someone confirms.

Blackwell puffs out his chest proudly, and I fight the urge to say, ‘I told you so’.

“Thanks for the ride,” I say as we come to a stop.

“No problem, kid,” he says, more chipper than before.

He doesn’t waste any time in driving away, eager to return to the action.

Despite my aching, I have an added spring in my step as I let myself into the house. Although, that quickly disappears when I remember that hidden cameras are probably watching. There’s no point searching for them if they’ll only put them up again. Wherever I go, I’m watched.

The clock chimes, and I notice the door to my father’s office is ajar. Usually, he keeps it locked, but he must have forgotten in his haste to leave. After a quick dash upstairs to change into a clean pair of clothes, I return to check I didn’t imagine it.

Nope, the door is definitely open. I tiptoe down the hall, even though no one is around, and nudge it gingerly open the rest of the way. Gilsmear’s accident will delay my parents’ return, and I might not get another chance to look for evidence like this…

Driven by a new sense of purpose, I cross the threshold into my father’s secret realm.

Academic books fill the shelves on the walls, along with many framed certificates documenting his achievements.

Was there even a time when he really wanted to help people, or did he always have a twisted agenda?

I’d like to think positively, but I’m not so sure…

I scurry to his foreboding desk. It’s neatly organized. Pens are lined up in a row from smallest to largest, and unread mail sits next to his computer. Where does he keep his secrets? He won’t leave them out for anyone to stumble upon…

I sit in his chair and start with the desk drawers. They’re clutter-free, only containing stationery and envelopes. Nothing screams ‘I run experiments on people’ and, more importantly, there’s nothing related to Sarah.

I sigh. What am I supposed to be looking for?

Next, I search the filing cabinets. There are three of them, alongside a locked medicine cabinet. The files contain neatly divided sections, everything from bills to insurance, but nothing to do with Sunnycrest.

Come on, there has to be something.

I slump down at his desk. Most fathers have photographs of their family on display, but he only has one photograph of himself shaking hands with the mayor from when the asylum opened. In it, he’s being presented with a giant check.

I wiggle his computer mouse and the screen blinks to life, prompting me to type a password.

I try everything obvious, birthdays, names, anything I can think of, but nothing.

This is useless! What am I expecting to find?

In movies, people hide things behind paintings.

In a last desperate attempt, I check behind each framed certificate, searching for a hidden safe buried in the wall, but there’s only plasterboard.

I don’t know whether I’m more disappointed or relieved to find nothing.

Suddenly, a floorboard creaks down the hall. I quickly fumble to put the frame back onto a nail, but it slips from my fingers and lands with a crash. The glass shatters, sending shards flying.

Heavy footsteps grow closer. I expect Aiden, Lex, or Eli to join me. Instead, my father looms in the doorway, looking angrier than I’ve ever seen him.

“Dad—”

He doesn’t let me finish my sentence.

“What are you doing?” he explodes. Spit sprays from his mouth like a dragon shooting flames. “What are you looking for?”

“Nothing,” I stammer, fear striking me to the core, “I was just?—”