Chapter 1: : Chapter 1

FLAMES REACHED high into the night, consuming the room on the second floor of our house with a roar. The room that had until moments ago been mine. I blinked, trying to dislodge my tears, and shivered.

an officer screamed as he raced toward our home and others followed.

But mom didn’t answer. She just stared blankly at what remained of our life as it went up in flames. I coughed and spluttered as I stumbled toward him as he ran to the open front door. I wanted to tell him it was useless…wanted to tell him there was nothing inside to save…

Our things were already gone. Our cars, the TV’s, even my laptop with all my assignments for school. All taken, even before the first lick of flames had started.

Taken by the feds for . Evidence of what, I didn’t know.

I looked at the few clothes in my hands, clothes that were all I had left. I hadn’t even grabbed my cell phone that was lying on my dresser charging. They were all I’d had time to grab as I stumbled from the shower, threw on some jeans and a t-shirt, grabbed a handful of clothes off the bed, and raced from the house. Two shirts and a pair of ripped jeans were clutched in my hands, along with one change of panties, but no bra. Tears welled in my eyes.

Movement drew my gaze to the street behind me. A black sedan with heavily tinted windows rolled past. The red and blue flashing lights from the official vehicles splashed against the gleaming paint. I’d seen cars like that, knew who drove them ‘Mom?’ I stared as the black car cruised past, red brake lights flaring as it drove down our street.

Her wide eyes shone with panic. She hadn’t spoken to me, not said a goddamn word, even when the cops had slapped cuffs on dad and taken him away.

“What the hell happened?”

She flinched when I stepped closer and touched her arm. “Did…

Her breath caught and her eyes closed. That was all the answer I needed.

. I wrapped my arms around my body. First they’d come for him, now they’d taken out our home, leaving us with nothing.

‘Elle,’ a woman’s voice came behind us.

Red and blue lights flashed in the dark, illuminating Stacey Cromwell’s face as she stumbled over the hedge dividing our properties and came closer. She was dressed in her nightie, a satin wrap covering her modesty. A display for the emergency services, no doubt, as she headed toward us with a black plastic bag in her hand, one she held out to my mom. ‘For your clothes, honey.’

‘Go away.’ Mom just stared at our home without turning as it burned to the ground.

But Mrs. Cromwell didn’t move, she just stared at my mom until she jerked her gaze toward our neighbor and screamed She flinched and stumbled backwards, throwing the garbage bag to the ground before fleeing as fast as she could.

‘You didn’t need to do that,’ I said as her cell lit up with a message.

The same first responder who’d run into our house now coughed and spluttered as he stumbled from the door. The piercing wail of sirens filled the air as two more fire trucks pulled up to our house. But the officer just pulled his mask free and shook his head, meeting my mom’s gaze. ‘

…nothing we can do. It’s all gone. All—”

Something inside the house exploded. I flung myself backwards, dropping my clothes and grabbing mom, dragging her with me as the second floor of our house collapsed. But mom didn’t even flinch, just looked at her cell as it lit up with a message.

‘What is it?’ I picked up the plastic bag and shoved our clothes inside.

‘We have to leave,’ she announced.

‘Leave to where?’ I straightened and motioned to our burning house as it spewed thick smoke. “We have nowhere to go.”

Headlights splashed against the living room window as it shattered. I glanced behind us to a taxi as it pulled up in our drive and stared as my mom walked toward it.

‘Mom, what the hell’s going on?’ I followed her, thick tears sliding down my cheeks.

‘Just get in the taxi, Ryth.’ Mom yanked open the back door and climbed in.

I caught the reflection in the back window of the taxi, my still-damp hair, my t-shirt sticking to my skin. I reached up, touching the mark on my cheek as I shivered. I’d been in the middle of a shower after straightening up the destruction the feds had left behind when mom tore into the bathroom screaming the place was on fire.

she’d screamed as I lunged from the shower and yanked on some clothes before stumbling down the stairs after her.

Something in our house collapsed, flinging embers into the sky. I stared at the reflection of the inferno in the taxi window before climbing in. It was gone…

Tears filled my eyes, blurring the inside of the vehicle as I yanked the door closed behind me. We carried the stench with us, staining the already foul air. The driver rolled down his window before he shoved the car into gear and pulled out of our driveway.

‘Where are we going?’ I glanced toward her.

‘Somewhere safe,’ she muttered, staring out the window.

‘Safe?’ The Rossis’ dark sedan filled my head. ‘Where’s safe?’

We had nowhere to go, all our friends were dad’s friends, and right now they were…

.

The word resounded as we left our world behind and headed toward the city.

‘Are they going to hurt him?’

‘No,’ she answered quietly. ‘They need him.’

They might need him, but that didn’t mean they needed us. “But that won’t stop them from coming after , will it?’

Silence.

That was the answer I was afraid of.

I leaned back against the seat.

The last two days were a blur. First the argument and the sound of one of my parents’ all too frequent shouting matches, before chaos…and then, the feds.

The ache in the back of my throat felt like a fist. I swallowed, watching the city lights brighten in the distance before we took the exit ramp and headed east toward the place where million-dollar homes lined the streets and where rich kids raced expensive cars for slips…and we didn’t know anyone there.

Ten-foot wrought iron fences and CCTV cameras were all I saw before the driver pulled into a driveway where the black gates were open.

‘Thank you.’ Mom reached out and handed him a fifty-dollar bill, pulled from a purse I hadn’t noticed until now.

‘Mom?” I murmured as she pulled back to the seat. “Where are we?”

But she didn’t answer, just shoved open the door and climbed out.

I followed, finding a three-story house partially hidden from the street. A midnight Shelby Mustang sat outside, a dark blue Lamborghini beside it, leaving one other parking space empty. What kind of people had cars like that?

I stopped walking.

‘It’s just for a few days, honey.’ Mom never once looked my way. ‘Just until I figure this out.’

A man stepped out of the door. Tall and intense, his gaze was fixed on my mom.

‘Elle.’ He strode toward her and pulled her into a hug. ‘

, I was so damn worried.’ He glanced my way and forced a smile. ‘Thank God you’re both okay.’

‘I’m sorry, Creed.” Mom looked away, discreetly brushing her tears away. ‘I had no one else to call.’

“Sorry?’ He seemed confused. ‘You don’t need to be sorry, Elle. That’s what friends are for. Come on, let’s get you both inside, you’re shaking like a damn leaf.”

He slid his arm around mom’s waist, pulling her toward the front door. But it was that empty car space that nagged me, enough to make me glance over my shoulder before I followed.

Footsteps thudded upstairs before a door closed with a bang. I flinched and jerked my gaze upwards.

‘Don’t worry.’ Creed said as he met my gaze. “You won’t hear a damn thing inside. Double glazed windows.”

Like everyone else, his gaze drifted to the mark on my cheek. The ugly, disgusting strawberry disfiguration I hated. Heat flared as I tugged my hair across to hide it.

‘It’s just for the night,’ Mom assured. “So I can think.’

‘For as long as you need a place, this is yours,” he replied. “Come on, I bet you’re exhausted.’

I carried the plastic bag of clothes inside, acutely aware as I stepped into a stranger’s house in nothing more than a damp t-shirt and dirty jeans.

‘Let me get you settled,’ he called to me, and headed for the stairs. “Then your mom and I can have a drink and try to figure out a way out of this.’

‘How did you know my dad?’ I asked as I followed.

His steps faltered for a second as he glanced over his shoulder. “Your dad? I don’t, not really.” He glanced toward mom. “Your mom and I knew each other in college.’

I looked back as I climbed the stairs. She looked so lost in that moment, so utterly lost. I followed him up to the third floor and stepped forward, listening to the drone of a TV coming from a room further along the hall. ‘You have a son?’

‘Sons…’ he answered with a smile. ‘Three of the pains in the ass, unfortunately. But don’t worry, two will be gone before long.’ He said as he moved ahead of me. “God knows, my damn wallet could use a break. They eat like horses.”

He opened a bedroom door and flicked on the light. “The room’s a bit cluttered, I’m sorry. We mostly use it as a storage room, but there’s clean sheets on the bed.”

At first glance, he’d looked younger in the outside lights, but standing here in the brighter glare, I caught flecks of gray amongst the black. He held my gaze, and in the connection, goosebumps raced along my arms.

‘I hope you’ll like it here,’ he murmured as I stepped into the room, automatically whispered ‘thank you,’ and closed the door behind me.

The heavy thud of his steps echoed as he left.

I scowled. “For the night, sure.”

By morning, we’d have a plan. Mom, me, and our lawyers to figure out a way to get my dad free.

The faint sound of an engine drew my focus to the window. I rounded the bed, squeezed between some kind of machine covered with a sheet, and looked out the window as a black Jeep Cherokee drove through the open gate and pulled into the empty parking spot.

…the word resounded.

..

I leaned closer to the glass, trying to get a glimpse as he climbed out of the four-wheel drive and closed the door. But he was hidden, leaving me to stare at his shadow before even that disappeared.

Downstairs, the front door closed with a I glanced toward the doorway, then moved around the machine, stubbing my damn toe as I went.

I cried, shoving against the damn thing.

The sheet slipped, revealing stainless steel…a machine…a breathing machine.

I’d seen these things…

. That’s right. “High five to my constant reruns of Grey’s Anatomy,” I muttered.

But why was it here?

I tugged at the covering, revealing more and more of the room crammed with medical equipment. New equipment, at that. There was an ID sticker on the side of one machine. Unable to help myself, I peered closer.

“Naomi Banks.” I glanced at the doorway and moved around the bed, finding a pile of bereavement cards stacked in a pile and shoved underneath a stack of paperwork.

A flare of sadness moved through me as I bent and pulled them free. I knew I shouldn’t be looking at something so personal. I wasn’t that kind of person, not one who invaded. But I was unable to help myself as I opened the first one and started reading…

“Aulla Goldsmith?” I whispered. “I know that name.”

Then it hit me. Senator Aulla Goldsmith had been all over the news and social media, pimping his new campaign for the next electoral term, triggering a whole new wave of name mocking as he stood outside Popeye’s and scarfed down a piece of chicken, like he was just one of the community.

The chants filled my head. It was a name no one’d forget in a hurry.

“A senator?’ I opened the next card and kept reading. There was one from Sting…yeah, “Holy shit,” I mumbled, and glanced at the doorway again. “This guy’s kind of a big deal.”

But they were all the same, all cards from very influential people…dated a month ago and all saying the same things about how his wife was loved, and how much she’d be missed.

Here I was being bitchy to the guy for helping us. “Nice one, Ry,” I muttered, and leaned back against the end of the bed.

The heavy thud of footsteps stopped at the landing.

My pulse pounded harder, sending a pang across my chest, until those resounding steps started once more, only this time they came closer. I shoved the cards back together, gathered them into a pile, and pushed them back where they’d been hidden.

I didn’t need to be a genius to put two and two together.

This wasn’t just a bedroom, or a storeroom, for that matter, no matter how much Creed Banks wanted it to be. This room was a purgatory of grief. The last memories of a wife—I glanced at the doorway, and a mother.