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All of the hairs on the back of my next stand to attention. My eyes dart to the door.Is Lorcan listening? Did he hear that?
“The police are looking for me?!”
Sam says acidly, “No. A week later they called us back in. Wanted to interview us separately. They told me you’d skipped town, but you were perfectly safe. Wouldn’t tell me why, or where the hell you’d gone. But theyreassured me,you were fine. They hadevidence,apparently, that you left on your own accord. Evidence they couldn’t share with me, of course.”
“So, Nellie thought I was fine too?”
“No. They told her something different.”
“What?”
His voice is cold. “God knows. But when she came out, she wouldn’t even look me in the eye. When I pushed her, she eventually screamed at me to drop it.”
I’m so confused, I don’t even know where to begin. “But what did they tell her?” I press. “And why?”
“I don’t know but she hasn’t spoken a word to me since. Throws me dirty looks across the lecture hall and that’s about it.”
I sit for a moment, numb. So much to take in. So early in the morning. It doesn’t take me long to figure out why Stanford police would lie to Sam. Money makes the world go round, and Lorcan has enough of it to silence anyone he wants. Sam’s next words confirm this.
“So, then I wentbackto the restaurant. Offered cash. Lots of it. Turns out he—” he jabs his thumb towards the door “—offered a hell of a lot more. I dipped into my trust fund to come up with enough to bribe one of the servers. She said she served you that night.”
I think back to the petrified blonde that brought out the birthday cake. It feels like a million years ago.
“She gave me a name,” he continues. “Quinn. Said she overheard you call him that during your conversation. And my father…” he rolls his wrist dismissively, in the way rich people do when they are about to play down their wealth. “He knows aguy.Ex-FBI, all that jazz. Asked him if he knew of any ‘Quinns’ that might have a tendency to be a crazy-psycho-stalker type. Father said his face went as white as a sheet the second he uttered the name.” Sam leans towards closer, eyes wide. Why do I get the feeling that he’s enjoying telling this story? He’s regaling it like an anecdote he’d tell at the country club in twenty years after a few rounds of golf with his ex-banker chums. “He also said it’d be best to just…leave it.”His hands are clammy when they wrap around mine. Vice-like. “But Pops, I couldn’t leave you here.” Then, he lowers his voice. “What does he want with you?”
Watching his bottom lip quiver and his eyes dart towards the door, a sinking feeling settles in my stomach like a layer of dust.
There are two types of men in this world. Anchors and storms.
Sam’s an anchor. The type of guy that gets their hair cut every six weeks without fail. The ones that pay their taxes on time and have quirky hobbies like rollerblading and painting model battleships in their basement.
Then… there are storms. Lorcans of the world.
It seems like I’m the type of girl that enjoys being swept away.
I realize I haven’t replied when Sam squeezes my knuckles in his palms. “I’ll get you out of here,” he says in breathless whispers. “My father knows people. Not only that FBI guy but like,badpeople. And he’s got money. Tons of it. I promise, Poppy, I’ll get you out of here baby—”
I can’t bear to hear his insufferable whispers anymore, the pathetic tone is making my skin crawl. I stand up and cross the room, putting some much-needed distance between us. Nibbling on the cuff of my sweater, my mind races with a plan. I want him gone. He’s no use to me. He’s not part of my escape plan and I know if he outstays his welcome Lorcan won’t think twice about killing him.
What the hell is happening to me?
I’ve been corrupted, ruined by evil. Irreparably so.
“I haven’t been kidnapped, Sam.”
He snorts. “Yeah, because you’re living with a friggin’ mafia kingpin for the fun of it.”
“Actually, I am.”
I challenge his uncertain glare. “Are you…”
“Yes,” I finish what I know he never will. “I’m so sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean for all of this to happen. I was going to tell you eventually, when the time was right. But Lorcan and I… we’re together. Happily so. I haven’t been kidnapped. I haven’t been tortured or anything of the sort. I’m happy here.”
My words are like a stun gun, pinning Sam to the sofa. Eventually, he says, “Not possible.” He mutters it more to himself than to me. “It’s not possible. How would you know a crime lord all the way in Boston—”
“I’ve known him for years,” I interject. God, I hate how easily the lies slip off my tongue now. “I’m from Boston, remember? He—Lorcan—is a friend of the family.”
“The only family you have is your father and you hate him.”
