racing round and double checking every little space, but after ten minutes, I hear Cruz calling out from upstairs. “Babe, you can come out. There’s no one up here,” he tells me, making a heavy sigh of relief pour out of me, my knees instantly going weak. “Ember left her fucking bedroom window open again and the storm blew a frame off the wall.”
I nod to myself, gripping the pantry shelf as I give myself a second to relax. Far too much has gone down over the past twenty-four hours; I’m so much jumpier than normal. Though, speaking of Ember, I should probably check in with her today. She was certainly rattled last night, and I need to make sure I haven’t scared her away for good.
I push through the pantry door and step out into the kitchen, aiming straight for the two pancakes Carver managed to cook before the power went out, and as I reach for them, a soft laugh bounces through the room. “Don’t fucking move,” a familiar voice says just as a feminine body presses into my back and a sharp sting hits the base of my neck.
I suck in a gasp, my body freezing as my eyes snap up to the mirrored backsplash and find a familiar face staring back at me, my face staring back at me.
It’s the woman who stood outside of Carver’s home, the one who worked side-by-side with Preston Scardoni and planned for an innocent eighteen-year-old girl to be drowned in her family’s pool.
She’s a fucking monster.
My whole world stops as I stare back at the woman who stands beside my father in all the pictures, only now eighteen years older.
London Fucking Ravenwood.
My mother.
“No,” I breathe, unable to believe what I’m seeing as I meet my mother’s cold and calculating stare. “You’re supposed to be dead.”
A grin pulls up the corner of her mouth. “Surprise, daughter,” she spits, pressing harder against the knife as a twisted, sick laughter sounds in her tone. “Now, move.”
I swallow hard and the movement only makes me feel the sharp sting of the knife more. A trickle of blood seeps down my throat and she pushes me through the kitchen. I keep my feet moving, knowing better than to piss off the woman who’s been trying to kill me for God knows how long.
We get through the foyer and she leads me toward the internal door of the garage. She silently opens it as my mind reels with questions, the main ones being how the fuck is she still alive and where the hell has she been hiding for all these years?
My mother pushes me down the steps leading into the garage, and I follow her lead as I’m pushed toward the side of the room. Keeping her knife on me, she leans across to the table and pulls out a secret drawer and my brows raise as I find every key for all of my father’s cars lining this impressive garage. I didn’t know they were there, but I guess it doesn’t matter now because it looks like I won’t be living long enough to drive any of them. Not that I ever had a chance to learn to drive anyway.
“Move,” she orders, shoving me in the back.
I do as I’m told, silently wishing the boys would hurry the fuck up. I could speed up the process by calling out for them, but that’s just asking for a slit throat.
“Why?” I ask as she presses a button on the key fob and the trunk of the car glides open.
London just laughs. “Why else?” she tells me, indicating for me to get in. “It’s the same reason every other bastard in this godforsaken town wants you dead. Money, power, and Dynasty. They were all supposed to be mine until you came along and ruined it.”
I let out a breath, filled with disbelief. How could she be so shallow? All this time I’ve been mourning and grieving for my mother who I never got a real chance to meet, and then this is what I get? Who the fuck did I piss off in the underworld?
Though, one question still bugs me—why the hell do I find her voice so familiar? There’s no way I would remember it from being a newborn baby.
“Don’t. Fucking. Move,” Carver’s smooth, deep tone echoes through the massive garage as I hear the soft movements of the guys stepping in around him.
My mother laughs, turning and bringing me with her to find all