Page 56 of Kylie

“Before I can let you have a shower,” Martin droned, “I need some information from you.”

I held his stare, waiting for him to continue. He didn’t. He just stood there in his suit, pretending he wasn’t sweating. He had to be. It was at least ninety-five degrees in the room.

Then it happened. He flinched first. “Fine. I’ll let you shower, but I need to know where your mother is.”

Was that frustration in his tone? I thought for sure he knew how to get in touch with her. After all, he’d been coming here insisting I call her. Did he think I had her number?

He still hadn’t found her.

Interesting.

Rather than speak those thoughts aloud, I frowned and managed to bite my tongue. I had no idea where my mother was. I hadn’t heard from her since Jessie graduated from high school. Not so much as a birthday card had come my way. Perhaps she was dead, and he would never find her.

“Word is Brantley and Reese brought Decker Bromwell back from New York earlier this month. Was he visiting your mother?”

I forced my stare to remain blank. I didn’t know the answer, so it wasn’t all that difficult, but the question did raise a ton of others. Had my mother been on the run all these years? Was she hiding from this crazy asshole?

“Your mother made me a promise, Kylie,” he said, his tone hard. “Meredith agreed to testify that she saw Max Adorite kill a man. Did you know that?”

I didn’t answer.

“That was her get-out-of-jail-free card. She would testify that she saw Max shoot a man in cold blood. I would get the credit for single-handedly taking down the Southern Boy Mafia, and she could go on her merry way to live her life molesting teenage boys.”

I would’ve been disturbed by his words if I weren’t so focused on breathing. It was getting more difficult as time went on.

“She’s not dead,” he declared. “I know she’s not.”

How did he know?

Had she been in hiding all this time?

I didn’t have answers to any of those questions, but I knew for certain my staged death had not drawn her out as he’d hoped. If it had, I would’ve been dead by now. Since it had been a year and a half since Juliet attempted to kill me, I doubted it was going to happen either.

Martin stood straight, his shoulders rigid. He no longer looked like he was here to chit-chat about the weather, and deep down, I found satisfaction in that. His goal was to break me, but I think he just realized he couldn’t do it.

“Where is she?” he demanded.

I watched him, but I didn’t speak. I had nothing to say.

“I will find her,” Martin seethed. “I will find her, and I will kill her. The bitch owes me that much.”

He was slipping, and I liked that he was.

With a rough exhale, he reached for the doorknob. “No shower. You can die here in this fucking room for all I care.”

That was his goal, no doubt.

Still, I managed to hold my tongue.

It worked because Martin turned back as he stood in the doorway. “If you decide you want to talk”—his gaze shifted toward the ceiling—“just let me know. Otherwise…”

Otherwise, I could die here. Yep. Got it.

Because he was apparently waiting for something, I cracked a smile and rasped, “Fuck you.”

His eyes flared and it was then that I knew the end was coming for me.

And it was going to be brutal.