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He pauses. “I’m suggesting it’s not a good idea that she go missing.”
Because he knows about the story. I go missing a week before the story runs. Last place visited? The Mitchell house.
My folded hands squeeze together as I brace for what they decide, tears flowing freely now, but part of me feels a shred of relief…because he’s right. There’s no way they won’t be suspect. It’s better they let me go. He just has to convince them without telling them what he knows. If they knew he knew the whole time, that would be his ass too.
Magnolia sighs, pulling the gun into her lap and studying it as she thinks. I can’t tell if it’s an I-really-want-to-kill-her-but he-has-a-point kind of sigh, or a we’ll-just-kill-her-and-take-our-chances one. Before I can find out, something lands on the couch beside me. Bounces against the leather cushion with a jingle. A set of car keys. His car keys. “Get out of here,” he says. If I’m not mistaken, desperation laces his words, though he mostly sounds indifferent. Or is trying to sound indifferent.
I hear the smack of Ruby’s hand against the back of his head. “What are you, stupid?”
He growls back, “Are you? I want her to disappear too, but this isn’t the way.”
My stomach clenches at his words so hard that bile rolls up my throat. He’s such a traitor. He’s not the person I thought I was beginning to figure out. He’s just like the rest of them—cunning and unflinching at the thought of violence. The fact his mother is holding a gun and debating taking a life, my life, to silence a possible threat doesn’t even seem to be his concern. Only getting caught.
I should have known better than to come here. Than to think he was different than the ones who raised him. To even slightly entertain the idea last night that he might be on my side if things went south. Of course he wouldn’t be. Of course not.
“And why would we listen to you? You got us into this mess.”
“Like I knew she was a lying tramp.”
“No, your dick just did the thinking for you.”
Magnolia interrupts them by standing. “Quiet, you two,” she says, her blue eyes locking to mine. Her hand still clings to the gun, but at least she’s not pointing it in my direction. “He’s right. If she disappears, detectives will come snooping around. We don’t want that.”
For a second time. I’m sure after the Lincoln woman went missing, they traced her place of employment back here. I’m sure they asked questions and poked around.
It wouldn’t be a good look if it happened a second time.
“It’s your lucky day, then, isn’t?” she says. But she doesn’t wait for my response. “You should really thank your friends for saving you.”
I quickly pick up the keys and cling to them. But I don’t move until she says so. I just look at her, chin quivering. Awaiting that final pardon to leave this hell hole.
She steps closer. “Scarlett Reed from the Atlanta Journal Constitution. That lives at the Atlantic in Midtown, Unit 2058.” Another step, and she points a finger. The knuckles that are gripping the gun now glow white as she grips it harder. “If I see one little thing come out about us—just one—you’re finished. Do you understand?”
I’m frozen as I take in what she’s saying. As I absorb that she knows exactly how to find me if I don’t comply.
“Scarlett,” Jake says harshly behind me.
I flinch.
“Y-yes,” I say through the tears. I choke back a sob. “I understand.”
“Good girl,” she says, fingers easing from the around the stock. “Now get the hell out of my house.”
