Page 68 of Grace

“We’ll go home as soon as they’ve cleaned up.”

“But… my statement!” I jump on my feet. “I just witnessed a murder!”

I lower my voice and cross my arms protectively over my chest. “I’m not lying, Cyrus. I didn’t imagine it. These guys—they almost did it again…” I take a slow, deep breath as a hot tear streaks down my face. “But Chase saved me. I know this sounds impossible—and it is… Because he’s not a hero. But still, this is what happened. You must believe me!”

I bite the inside of my mouth.

“Grace…” Cyrus looks deep into my eyes, then brushes the tear from my face with his thumb. “We’re going home.”

I stare at the man standing before me, my mouth slightly open. This is not the answer I expected.

I believe you. That’s what I wanted to hear. Instead, I see pity burning in his dark irises.

I am exhausted and terrified to death, but I am telling the truth. I am not crazy.

I have seen that look of pity before—back when… when Jamie’s body was never found.

For two days, I slept in the hospital. When I woke up, I told Cyrus everything in detail. He and a few officers drove to the farmhouse later that day to see if my story checked out, but they didn’t find Jamie behind the house where I had dragged him.

They found no sign of wild animals feeding on him—no torn flesh, no gnawed bones… nothing at all. Not even a single drop of blood.

Jamie, Nikky, Bo, and his gang had seemingly disappeared into thin air that evening.

Chase

I watch the scene from behind a thick tree.

Grace runs into the arms of Cyrus whose badge swings wildly against his chest. She babbles and gesticulates like a lunatic, then they hug. My jaw clenches. My fingers curl around the cool hilt of my knife—they only relax when my phone starts ringing in my pocket.

“You have nothing to do with what just happened, right?” Lucas’s voice is stoic, calm. His arrogance makes me furious.

“It was them,” I reply.

“How did you find out?”

I don’t answer. I can feel his arrogant smile on the other end of the line. I’d very much like to wipe it off his face.

He let me rot in jail for years—while letting them avoid prison.

“Ortíz will pick you up. Stay where you are, and don’t do anything even more stupid.”

His patronizing words make my lips twist into a dark smile.

I slide my phone back into my pocket and keep watching the scene unfold in silence. I don’t move. I am one with the night. These idiots probably believe their perpetrator is on the run. But he’s here, hiding in the dark, watching those bastards get packed into body bags.

Ortíz parks his car behind my hiding spot.

When I get into the Chief of Police’s car, the smell hits me—worn leather, cheap, stale coffee, and the musty scent of his clothes, tinged with Cheetos.

The arrogant bastard pulls his thick lips into a lopsided, sly smile. I lock eyes with him through the rearview mirror, and a memory slowly crawls into my mind. For a moment, I feel the echoes of old pain—my arms twisted behind my back, a knee between my shoulder blades, cold handcuffs biting into my bones. I crack my neck and rub my wrists. That was still much better than what the prison guards put me through. The shitheads used to come at me in a pack, beat me with their batons, and shock me if I resisted. They thought they were doing Cyrus Phoenix a favor—back when he had no idea how much shit he’d just gotten himself into.

I throw up my hood and pull it down over my eyes. My lips curl into a menacing, dark smile, because it’s time to pay Cyrus back for what I owe him.

Ortíz drops the junker into first gear. For a few seconds, the engine fights for its life, then we start moving along West Main Street. We cruise through the districts until we merge onto Road 35, where he steps on the gas. The city’s lights blur together in the distance.

The night belongs to darkness—nothing moves, no other cars haunt the road. It’s only us, driving along this forsaken stretch toward Lucas’s luxurious mansion.

Lucas doesn’t allow darkness inside his home. In the middle of an estate turned into a park, his mansion glows like a lighthouse, spilling warm light into the night. It’s an impregnable fortress. He has more guards than a prison. Both the massive northern and southern gates are manned by armed men. Within the estate, more walls and gates separate the different parts and residences. The circular driveway is flanked by a gorgeous park, lined with forty palm trees, each forty feet tall. A fountain rises at its center.