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PROLOGUE

NORTH

Seventeen Years Old

Forty-two days.

That was how long she’d been gone. The most important person in my life and my best friend.

Forty-two days.

It was as if someone had hit the pause button on life the instant my big sister, Cora, had gone missing. I woke up each morning, went about the business of showering and getting the day started, but even though I was moving, it was as if everything around me had stopped. The earth no longer turned. I’d been walking around in such a fog for the past six weeks that I couldn’t tell you whether or not the sun sank in the evening and the moon made its appearance.

Cora was the only thing on my mind. She took up every bit of free space in my brain until every day was consumed with her. It was my fault. I knew that, and even though my parents hadn’t said it, I knew they believed it too. Guilt ate at me until it felt like there was nothing left. I didn’t understand how anyone could go about their days like everything was still normal.

It wasn’t. And I had a scary feeling it never would be again.

Each day since Cora vanished into thin air was the same as the one before it. The house might have been filled to the brim with people every day, but I’d never felt more alone. Because the only person I wanted to talk to, the only person I ever really talked to, was gone.

And no one knew where she was.

Volunteers flooded downstairs, our house being the central hub for all things related to the search and rescue of Cora Hastings. Thoughtful neighbors (and more than a few freaks who just wanted a peek at the grieving family) had been dropping off casseroles and different meals. Like me or my parents could possibly eat right now.

I hadn’t had an appetite since my father woke me up the morning that changed everything, asking if I had any clue where my sister went. Since I gave him the answer I knew he and my mom had been dreading.

See, Cora didn’t just disappear. We didn’t care what the cops said. We didn’t need evidence to prove otherwise. We knew what happened. And we knew who was responsible.

Not that it mattered.

Because fucking asshole’s like my sister’s sadistic ex didn’t suffer consequences. They got away with all the demented shit they did. They got away with hurting women. With taking their fists to someone smaller just to make themselves feel big. Their money and connections, the mommy and daddy who spoiled them rotten, all that privilege to get them out of whatever jam they got themselves into just bred more and more entitlement. Because that was the way this shitty-ass world worked. Those entitled pricks hurt innocent people and never had to pay.

I’d skipped more school in the past two months than I had in all the previous years combined. I couldn’t sit in that classroom and act like everything was fine. The few times I tried, I ended up resenting all those other kids who hadn’t lost their whole world, and I was ashamed to admit I didn’t handle those feelings well.

Seventeen years of perfect grades and attendance, and I managed to get my ass suspended by punching out an asshole in Calc who I caught talking shit about Cora, saying things like she’d probably done something to deserve it. I didn’t hesitate to get in his face, but I really lost my shit when he spit out that she was probably dressed like a slut and asking for whatever had happened to her. All I saw after that was red. All I felt was rage. And all I wanted was vengeance.

It had been three days since I broke that shithead’s nose and fractured his orbital socket, and I still couldn’t bring myself to feel guilty for what I’d done to him. The only regret I had was that I hadn’t gotten in more punches before I was pulled off him.

The overly-pleasant jingle of the doorbell went off, pulling me from my musings. A quick glance at the clock on my nightstand showed I’d been lying in the same position, stretched out on my back in the middle of my bed, counting the turns of my ceiling fan until I lapsed into some kind of meditative daze, for most of the day.

I heard the shuffle and people moving downstairs and heaved myself up to sitting, throwing my legs over the side of the bed and shoving to my feet. My muscles were stiff from disuse as I padded to the door.

The sound that raced up the stairs and assaulted my ears when I pulled open my bedroom door froze the blood pumping in my veins and turned my heart into a block of ice. It wasn’t the kind of sound I’d ever heard in my life. It was like a wounded animal dying. Or a heart breaking in a way that it would never be mended.

I rushed out onto the landing and gripped the banister as I looked down at the chaos below. The two detectives that had been assigned to my sister’s case were standing just inside the door, their faces leeched of color. The sound happened again, and when I followed the detectives’ line of sight, I saw my mother had fallen to her knees, my father crouched behind and holding on to her for dear life as she wailed. Her agony seeped into the air and tainted it, draining everything around us of color and bathing the entire world in smudged shadows.

I knew what that sound meant.

It meant the color was never coming back.

Because my sister was gone forever.

ONE

IRIS

Now

I stood in the middle of the expansive, open-concept living and dining area right off the newly renovated chef’s kitchen, trying desperately not to let my annoyance show. With all the upgrades and features this house came with, it should have sold in no time. It was the very definition of a dream home. Unfortunately, I was starting to think the client I had invested so much time on, who I thought for sure would land me a decent commission, turned out to be a lookie-loo.