My eyes go wide and I gasp. Saint freezes, his lips hovering just above mine.
“What is it?” he growls.
“Your dad,” I whisper.
“What the fuck?” He looks back over his shoulder just in time to see his dad make his way up the stairs to the second floor. “What in the hell is he doing here?”
Panics shoots through me. What could he possibly want here? I gave him Nora’s phone number. What more could he demand of me?
“Stay here,” Saint orders. “I’m going to see what’s going on.”
Some strange instinct wants me to tell him not to go, but I shake it away. It’s his dad, for Christ’s sake. Jameson Angelle is a lot of things, but even I don’t think he’d go so far as to gravely hurt his only child.
At least on that front, he’s not as bad as Nora.
I watch him climb the stairs and disappear into the hallway on the second floor. I can’t shake a sudden feeling of dread weaving its way through my bloodstream. Maybe I should’ve told him not to go after all? Maybe this is something horrible? I force those thoughts from my head, though. Angelle probably just needed something from the house that he forgot when he and his wife moved out.
Ripping my focus from the stairs, I make my way off the dance floor and to a table filled with refreshments. Nothing seems overly appetizing, however. I can’t think about food when I have this sinking feeling about Saint.
Ten minutes pass, then fifteen. When we come up to twenty minutes, my anxiety is off the charts and I decide enough is enough. I push my way through the crowd then hurry up the stairs. It’s instantly so much quieter up here, it’s eerie. Turning down the hall Saint disappeared into, I slowly wander past one door after another, listening carefully for voices.
As I near what had been Mr. Angelle’s office, Saint’s voice floats toward me. I can’t make out his words, but he sounds furious. Hurrying forward, I reach the door and open it without hesitation.
The scene I stumble upon takes my breath away, but not in the good way.
Saint is standing near his father’s desk, glaring at Jameson, who’s not even looking at him. Jameson is holding a gun, which is startling enough, but when I see who he’s pointing it towards, I almost piss myself in shock.
Nora’s here.
What the fuck is going on?
Saint notices me enter the room and his eyes widen in alarm. “Go.”
“I don’t think so,” Angelle snaps, sparring me the briefest of glimpses. “Get in here and shut the door, or I’ll blow your mother’s fucking brains out.”
I hurry to obey, not keen on having yet another death on my conscience, even if Nora does win the Razzie for Mother of the Year.
“What’s going on in here?” I demand, my voice sounding much braver than what I’m actually feeling.
“We’re just having a little chat,” Nora calmly explains as though she doesn’t have a gun pointed at her head. There’s a lit cigarette dangling from her lips, a gleaming silver Zippo in the other, and she appears so casual, it makes me think she’s got some sort of plan.
One that I know I want nothing to do with.
“This isn’t a fucking chat, Nora,” Mr. Angelle snarls. “You wanted to ruin me, and I’m just beating you to the punch. You think you can sneak into my house, demand a meeting with me? And then threaten me?”
How long has she been here? Was she here when we arrived?
Hundreds of thoughts pummel my brain as I press my back against the wall next to the door, hoping to God to stay out of the way of a speeding bullet if that gun goes off. Something strange tickles my nose. Something painfully familiar, but my mind is too preoccupied to try and figure out what it is.
“I just want what’s rightfully mine, Jameson,” Nora snaps, giving her lighter another flick. “And for you to go fuck yourself. Preferably in the grave, but prison works, too. I’m not all that picky.”
“You want to send me to prison?” He smirks. “Stupid bitch, with all the shit I’ve got on you, you’d be right there with me.”
“You can’t prove anything you’d claim,” she taunts. “There’s no evidence.”
“I bet that drug-addict sister of yours would sing for the right price.”
Nora goes completely still, but then she inclines her head, giving Mr. Angelle a bold, challenging stare. “Sorry, fucker, she OD’d this morning. You’re not getting shit out of her.”
Jenn.
Jenn OD’d.
Jenn is gone.
My knees fail me, and I splay my hands against the wall, desperate for anything to keep myself upright.
“There are other ways I can make sure you get what you deserve,” Mr. Angelle hisses.
“Me?” She laughs. She actually fucking laughs. “As soon as I tell the police you kept me prisoner all those years, no one will believe you about anything. You’ll lose all credibility. They’ll find out about the other women you kept in that house. And then when I convince Dylan to testify against your corruption with the school—”
“Look at us.” Angelle sneers. “Planning ahead and getting rid of all our liabilities.”
I nearly vomit right there and then. I knew something wasn’t right about Dylan’ s sudden departure. Guilt assails me. I should’ve done something. Questioned Angelle harder. Dug into Dylan’s disappearance deeper.
But it’s too late now.
He’s gone.
How much more tragedy will his family be forced to take?
“Give me what’s mine, Jameson,” Nora hisses. “And then we can end this and all go home.”
“This isn’t over,” he snarls. “You’ve tormented me long enough, Nora. If I just shoot you, everything bad just goes away.”
“Dad, don’t,” Saint says, stepping closer to him, and my breath hitches. “You don’t want to do this.”
“Get away from me,” Angelle spits. “I’m going to teach this whore a lesson, and you can’t stop me, boy.”
Saint’s jaw tightens, but he tries once more to reason with his father.
“Dad, just give me the gun, okay? You don’t want to go out like this, do you? If you kill her when there are hundreds of witnesses downstairs, you’ll go to jail and she wins. Do you want that? I’ll help you fix this. We can fix this and we’ll be fine.”
My heart sinks to my stomach just as Mr. Angelle lowers his arm.
He mumbles something incoherent, handing the gun over to Saint.
“It’s good you think that,” Saint says as he accepts the gun and then, to my shock, he turns it on his father and pulls the trigger.
My ears ring, and when some of the blaring stops, I realize that Nora’s laughing.
“Have to admit, I did not see that coming,” she says as she watches Jameson Angelle thrash and twitch on the floor. “There’s only one real way to get rid of the body, though.”
“And what’s that?” I murmur, still unable to move.
She meets my gaze, her lips curving. “You burn it.”
Taking the cigarette from her mouth, she flicks it toward a pair of drapes behind her.
Too late, I realize what that smell from earlier was.
Gasoline.