Chapter 70
NOW
Paloma
I’m almost back into Boston when I spot the car tailing us.
My brow furrows, but I don’t say a word, just let Sadie play ABBA and scream-sing along to it. My enthusiasm dwindles the closer the car gets, until I see who the driver is through my rearview.
Oh my god.
Heart in my throat, I speed up just a bit, anxiety shoving my foot farther down on the gas.
Red and blue lights shine bright across the darkened pavement.
I speed up again.
“Jesus, Paloma,” Sadie curses, her hand grabbing for the handle above her head. I check my review mirror and my stomach drops.
It’s him. I know it’s him. And I’ve done nothing illegal—not for a detective to pull me over. He’s trying to scare me.
“Paloma?” Sadie says, her voice steady, calm. “Maybe you should pull over.”
I can’t. I try to explain, but my mouth won’t open, jaw clenched tightly.
“Paloma, please.” Sadie is more frantic this time. “You’re scaring me. I can’t get in trouble. My brothers—”
I slow down, because the truth is he’ll follow me all the way home and I won’t let him near Lily. Or my one safe place. It opens too many old wounds.
Pulling to the side of the road, I park and roll my window down.
He pulls up behind us, the isolated street cold and damp from the previous rain. I look over at Sadie’s wide, terrified gray eyes. I’ve never seen her like this before.
My fingers are shaking, gripping the wheel, eyes glued to my rearview and side mirrors.
“Sadie, I need you to listen to me.” I keep my voice steady and firm. “I need you to get my phone out of my bag and call Alessia.”
Her eyes bug out as she looks at the man heading our way—out of an unmarked car, wearing dress pants and a button down, gun holstered, hair slicked back. “Is that—”
“Yes. Listen to me. I need you to call or text Alessia. Tell her Ethan Marks just pulled us over and I need her, okay? She’ll know what to do.”
“Paloma—wait. What is going on?” Sadie asks, taking the phone from my hand. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You weren’t drinking or speeding—”
“I know,” I whisper, trying to calm my racing heart. I spare a glance at her, my hand reaching to grasp hers for just a minute. “I’m so sorry, Sadie.”
“Good evening, ladies,” Ethan says, ducking his head into the space of my car. “Do you know why I pulled you over?”
Because you’re a fucking creep.
“No,” I say, keeping a tight leash on my fury. I’m not scared of him anymore—I’m just angry.
“You were swerving all over the road.”
“She was not—”
“Sadie,” I snap, cutting her off. “Everything is fine. Let me just—”
“License and registration?”
I grab the documents and shove them into his hands roughly, huffing out, “Just let us go. I’m not trying to cause a problem.”
He smirks, handing me back both my ID card and the papers for registration. “Right. Step out of the vehicle, Paloma.”
Fury ignites like a match. “Fuck you,” I snap. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
As if it was what he wanted all along, he yanks on the door handle.
“Do you want to do this the hard way?”
I look toward the rearview mirror again, seeing another figure under the streetlight move toward Sadie’s side of the car. She looks terrified—enough that my stomach twists and I unclip my seatbelt. I push on the now unlocked door, sliding off the seat and into the den of a lion.
“Leave her alone,” I say—not a plea, but a command.
Ethan grasps my arm and spins me toward the vehicle like he’s going to pat me down, eyes blazing, intense.
I press my own hands against the side of the car to steady myself.
His hands run up my calves in quick succession, then over my thighs, across my ass—lingering slightly, but not fully—before touching my stomach.
He presses his fingers up, up, up—before his body comes closer, his chest nearly flush with my back.
“Easy, Polly,” he says quietly. Like a haunting lullaby I remember.
I can feel his breath against my neck, making my stomach churn with renewed nausea and rage like I’ve never known. For a moment, I see flashes of a girl—at fourteen, fifteen, sixteen—terrified of him and yet desperate for someone to care about her.
And maybe it’s their rage, or maybe it’s mine, that has my grip on my control unraveling as I spin to hit him as hard as I can.
· · ·
The sterile, cold lights make me feel more exposed, but it’s Sadie I’m the most worried about. She’s next to me, one hand in mine, her other arm wrapped around her torso as Max Koteskiy stands behind her trying to calm her down.
“But—” she blubbers. “The boys?” Her voice is watery, like she might be crying. My stomach clenches and I stare down at my shoes. “Am I gonna be in trouble? What if—”
“You’re okay, Sadie,” Max whispers, kneeling and tucking her into his arms, which pulls her grip from mine. It might be the first time I’ve ever seen Sadie hug anyone that wasn’t Rhys, Ro, or her brothers. “It’s fine. Just calm down for me, dochen’ka.”
“Water, Paloma?” Adam asks, stepping up with a cup in each hand. I take one gladly, nibbling on my lip as I obsessively watch the door Ethan entered when we arrived. “Do you need something for your hand?”
The question makes my eyes dart away, looking down at the split skin over my knuckles. Is it strange that it makes me smile?
“I’m okay.”
Adam nods. “Everything is gonna be fine. I’ll take care of it—”
“Oh my god,” a voice shouts, followed by the sound of clicking heels.
It’s Alessia, running toward me at breakneck speed. Her arms fling around my shoulders. She’s in black boots, a red coat, and black gloves, with perfectly styled hair, like she was in the middle of a high fashion shoot and not out to dinner with friends. I melt into her, breaths sawing out of me.
“Are you okay? God, Paloma—tell me you’re okay.”
“I’m okay,” I manage, before slinking out of her embrace and back against the wall. “Alessia—”
“Who the hell are you?” she snaps, deciding that Adam Reiner is too close, towering over us both. Her eyes run over his messy brown curls, graying at the temple, and across his slightly rumpled suit and tie getup, brow furrowing.
“This is Bennett’s dad. He’s here to help.” I shake my head, eyes dropping. “I’m fine. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry—”
“Don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong.” Her eyes go cold and she turns to look around the room before she sneers. “Where the fuck is he?”
She’s the only one that knows everything—though I’m sure Sadie’s figured much of it out by now—so when her eyes connect with Ethan as he steps out of the office, she takes off again.
Heart in my throat, I can’t even manage to shout for her. But Adam seems to figure it out fine, his legs moving swiftly behind her—
“Hey,” Alessia shouts, grabbing Ethan’s biceps to spin him toward her.
But before she can hit him, Adam swoops an arm around her waist and scoops her backward against his chest. She wrestles against him, but he says something in her ear that has her eyes shooting up toward him, fight leaving her body.
He lets her go after a moment, both ignoring whatever Ethan is shouting as well as the cops surrounding him.
Adam takes over, speaking swiftly and calmly—low enough that I can’t hear.
“What the fuck?” Ethan spits. His face is red and I wonder if it’s from me. My arms were swinging wildly. I know my elbow caught his jaw, and he’s got a patched-up cut on his eyebrow, so maybe that’s where my hit landed.
“Fuck you,” Alessia shouts.
I take another sip of water, hands shaking, eyes never straying from the scene.
There’s another burst of noise and all our eyes are drawn to the entrance, where Bennett and Rhys are shoving their way through.
“Gray!” It’s almost a frantic shout as Rhys makes it to us first, reaching down and grabbing Sadie out of his father’s arms. He scans his eyes over her, making sure she’s all right, before picking her up and tucking her head into the crook of his neck for a long moment.
Her legs wrap around his waist and I see relief pour over him before he turns his face away, kissing her hair and whispering quietly as her shoulders shake.
Bennett stops right in front of me, head ducking to look into my eyes. My stomach somersaults.
A long moment passes, both of us just looking at each other—searching for something. And I let my walls fully down, pouring everything I have into the string that seems to bind us.
He nods, like he understands some great truth.
Bennett closes his eyes only for a moment, breathing slowly, before tucking his hand under my chin. “Are you okay?”
I nod. His brows dip as he glances over me again, his hands moving my body like a doll, inspecting every inch before—
“What the fuck?” he snaps, voice louder. His nostrils are flaring like an angry bull, shoulders hiking with tension. “Who did this to you?”
My gaze flutters past his body anxiously, toward where Ethan, Alessia, and Adam are still standing off. Bennett tracks my gaze, a punch of breath leaving him as his eyes close tightly and then open over me. They drop back to my bruised hand again.
“Was it him?” His voice sounds like gravel in a blender.
My eyes dart away, only for a second, before Bennett’s hands bracket my face. Gentle, but firm.
“P,” he breathes.
“Yes,” I say, my voice quiet.
“You hit him?” he asks, his voice still steady, but overwrought. I can feel the intensity he’s holding back like a wave. “Because he . . . Paloma.” He swallows, his throat working against strain. “Is that who—”
My eyes squeeze shut. I know what he’s asking and I don’t want to say it.
“Tell me, P. Please.” He swallows hard. “Was it my fucking stepfather? Was it Ethan?”
I nod, biting down on my lip and taking in a shaky breath.
Bennett’s face cracks—just for a moment, pure anguish and grief, guilt, flash across it clear as day. I have a front row seat to the confession that I always worried would break him.