Tempest's Fatal Claim

Prologue

LILAH

Drayton Creek, Connecticut

Three Years Ago

"You've checked your phone four times since we left the restaurant," I say softly.

Lucy drops it into her bag as her cheeks flush with heat. "I haven't."

I raise a brow as I glance at her and then back to the road. "Lucy."

I hear her heavy sigh, and I hate it. "He just wanted to know I got home safe. That's not a crime."

I keep my eyes on the road. We’ve had this argument enough times that I know where every turn leads, and none of them go anywhere good. I've never pushed too hard against it, but sometimes I wish I would.

"He texted you twelve times in the past forty minutes," I say. "We were at dinner."

I glance at her and see that she’s biting her bottom lip. "He worries."

I grip the steering wheel tighter. "I know he does." What I really want to say is he’s too controlling, always wanting to know where she is and what she’s doing.

He’s gotten worse the longer they’ve been together.

I’ve never been a fan of Evan’s; there’s just something off about him that I’ve not been able to put my finger on, and he’s extremely controlling, which he masks as worry.

With our mom dying two years ago and our dad leaving when we were too young to remember, it’s only our aunt that we have left and she’s not really interested in anything we do, I feel as though Evan targeted Lucy because she only has me, and I hate that he thinks that she’s vulnerable.

She shifts in her seat, turning toward the window. "Don't," she says quietly.

I grit my teeth. She’s my twin, and I hate upsetting her, but this has gone on for so long already, and I can see the toll it’s taking on her. "I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to."

We drive in silence for a while, both of us using the quiet to calm down, we do this a lot. We hate arguing with one another, and we never set out to hurt each other, so when we’re on the brink of doing so, we pull it back and recenter.

We leave the town limits and hit the stretch of road that cuts through the woods between Drayton Creek and her apartment. We used to walk this road as kids, back when we thought the dark was the scariest thing out here.

"He's been better," Lucy says. "The last few weeks, he's actually been trying. We broke up, and he’s trying."

"Okay," I say quietly, unsure how to respond.

I hear her twist in her seat. "I mean it, Lilah."

I nod. "I know you mean it."

She makes a frustrated sound in the back of her throat. "Can you just say what you want to say? Stop doing the thing where you agree with me when you clearly don't."

"I don't trust him." The words I’ve wanted to say for a while now tumble out, only holding back so as not to hurt Lucy. "I've never trusted him and that hasn't changed."

"Because you've never given him a chance."

"Lucy—"

"I'm not doing this tonight." Her voice goes hard. "It's our birthday. Can we just not?"

I exhale hard. This is what always happens. The conversation gets too much for her, and she shuts down. "Yeah, sorry."

Another silence, but it’s easier this time. That's the thing about twins. We can be furious at each other and still be fine. No matter what, we will always find our way back.

"The tiramisu was good," she offers.

I smile, despite the lingering anger about Evan. "It was incredible."

"I'm getting it every year from now on; we’re setting a new tradition."

My smile widens. That sounds like the perfect tradition. "Deal."

She relaxes back into her seat, and I feel myself relax too. I hate fighting with her. She’s not only my twin, she’s my best friend.

Bright headlights flash in my rearview mirror. I frown and adjust it slightly. They've been behind us since we turned off the main road, but I don't say anything yet. I take the next left, earlier than I need to, and the car behind makes the exact same turn.

Lucy notices my hands tighten on the wheel as I take another turn. "What?"

"Probably nothing," I say but the headlights stay with us.

She twists around in her seat. "Are they following us?"

"Maybe. Call Evan and see where he is."

She's already dialing; I hear it ring out. She tries again and again. "He's not answering."

My gut drops, but then the lights behind us flash blue.

"Oh thank God." Lucy exhales. "It's a cop."

I pull over. I shouldn't feel relieved, but I do. An unmarked car is better than the alternative I was building in my head.

The car stops behind us, one door opens, and I hear footsteps on the gravel shoulder.

I reach for my window button. But hesitate; something is wrong. I don’t know what, but something is wrong. I feel it in my gut.

The footsteps stop at Lucy's window, not mine, hers.

She looks out, and I watch her whole-body go rigid.

"Hi, sweetheart." Evan, voice gentle as anything. "Open the door."

Another man, one I don't know, stands at my door while Evan handles Lucy, pulling her out of her seat and presses a gun to her ribs while she tries to pull away from him.

"Keys," the other man says to me. His hand is already on the door handle. "Now." He’s broad-shouldered, tattooed, and looks like he could snap me in half, but it’s his eyes that have me obeying. They’re empty, like whatever happens next won’t cost him a second of sleep.

I give them the keys. I know better than trying to fight; it could be the last thing we do.

They put us in the back of the unmarked car, our wrists zip-tied in front of us, and Lucy's arm presses against mine. Evan drives while the other man sits in the passenger seat and he keeps turning to look back at us every few minutes but doesn’t speak again.

Lucy pulls in a shaky breath through her nose. I know that breathing; it’s what she does when she's trying not to cry. I press my arm harder against hers, letting her know that I’m right here. She leans heavier against me, a little squeak spilling from her lips.

We were deep enough into the woods that I lost any sense of direction about twenty minutes into the drive when Evan had dropped the other man off along a side road where another vehicle was parked. I haven’t seen him since, thank God.

It could have been another hour after that before the car comes to a stop beside a cabin. Evan parks, comes around, and opens our door like we're guests he's welcoming to his home.

Inside, a single lamp sits on a table, two wooden chairs face each other, and there’s rope on the floor. God, how long has he been planning this?

He pushes the gun deeper into Lucy’s side as he motions us to take the chairs. Once seated, he ties us to them, checking the knots twice—calm and methodical—and then he drags a third chair toward us and sits down.

My heart is racing. I hate this; I hate how vulnerable and weak I feel. There’s absolutely nothing I can do while he’s got the gun pointed at my sister. I know he’ll hurt her if I don’t comply with what he wants.

"I'm sorry about the car," he says. "I needed you to stop."

Neither of us say anything, we’re terrified, and I’ve no idea what’s going to happen or what he wants.

"This isn't what it looks like." He leans forward, elbows on his knees, talking like we're having a regular conversation, instead of him kidnapping us and holding us here against our will.

"I just need you both to listen. That's all.

I've been trying to talk to you for months, Lucy, and you won't listen at home. "

"Evan." Lucy's voice is shaking, the fear in it tangible. "This isn't the way to—"

"You left me," he hisses. "You left me, and I know she put that in your head."

He looks at me, eyes filled with disgust and anger. I don't look away, don’t back down either. I need to look at him, to see what’s coming.

"She's always hated me," he says to Lucy. "You know that. You've always known that."

"That's not true," Lucy says.

"She watches me like I'm a problem, and every time you start to trust me, she's there." He tilts his head at me. "What did I ever do to you?"

I don't answer.

"Lilah." His voice drops, like a warning. "I asked you a question."

"You try to control her," I say.

"I made mistakes," he acknowledges, nodding. "I've owned that. I've been working on it. But you won't let her forget it, will you? You need her to need you."

"Evan, stop." Lucy shifts forward in her chair. "This isn't her fault. I made my own choices. I left because of things you did, not because of anything she said."

He looks at her for a long moment. "We'll talk about that later," he says. "Tonight, I want to talk about her."

He barely pauses for breath as he goes off on a tangent. According to Evan, I've been manipulating Lucy from the beginning. That every warning I ever gave her was me trying to turn her against him. That every time she questioned him was because I'd planted the thought in her head first.

Every dinner we'd shared and at every family gathering I’ve been trying to manipulate her away from him. He’s twisting everything, trying to turn me into a villain.

Then he looks at Lucy. "Tell me she didn't tell you to leave me."

"Evan—"

"Say it." His voice rises as his eyes grow wilder. "Say she never looked at you like you were making a mistake every time you defended me."

Lucy's jaw tightens.

"That's what I thought." He pauses. "Every time she interferes, you pay for it. You understand that, right? I don't want to be like this. She makes me like this." He looks back to me.

I understand what he's doing. He's telling me the rules of whatever this fucked-up thing is. If I speak, Lucy suffers for it; if Lucy defends herself, I do. He'll use us against each other until one of us breaks and gives him something he can call a win.

I keep my mouth shut, and it looks as though he's satisfied.

I watch him get to his feet, reach into his pocket, and pull out a packet of cigarettes before shaking one free and slipping it between his lips. The lighter clicks once and a flame catches. He inhales slowly, the end glowing bright orange.

My stomach knots. I know what he’s going to do, but the question is, to who?

"Evan..." Lucy's voice cracks. "Please."