I wadded my worn Rainbow Brite T-shirt up in my fist. She’s mean.
“Eric!” I yelled as loud as I could as I ran from the kitchen. “Eric! Where are you?”
“Shut up, you stupid little girl.”
My legs moved but I didn’t. “Owwww!” My scalp burned. “That hurts!”
She yanked harder on my ponytail. “If you’d have just done what I told you, it wouldn’t.”
“Stopppp!” I screamed as she dragged me down the hall.
“You want that retard of a brother, you’re gonna get him.”
“He’s not a retard!” I hated her. Hated. Hated. Hated.
My big brother was the best. I hope he hadn’t heard her.
She threw open the closet at the end of the hall. Eric was crouched in the back. He peered up at me, eyes blinking in the dim light.
“Get in there.”
I fell to my knees. The carpet stung as it scraped my knees raw.
Slam.
“If I hear one peep out of either of you, I’m never letting you out.”
I held my breath so the whimper of pain wouldn’t come out.
“It’s not so bad in here, sis,” Eric whispered. “Come sit by me.”
I crawled toward him as silent tears flooded my cheeks. In the dark, I felt his foot. We’re okay. We’re okay.
He scooted over, and I settled next to him. Eric put his arm around my shoulders, which shook as I tried not to make a sound.
“Don’t cry. We’re together. That makes it better.”
It had made it better. But we weren’t okay. She left us in there for two days. I’d been seven and Eric was nine. We’d soiled our pants, been starving, and thirsty, and terrified.
I’d hated the dark and any kind of confinement ever since.
But that wasn’t the last time we were locked in that closet. Not even close.
I hugged myself, the fringes of the memory threatening to take me under. I need out. Out. Out.
My breath came in short spurts. I tried to catch it. The more I tried to take in a deep inhale of air, the harder my heart pounded. Spots blurred my vision.
Air. I need air.
Let. Me. Out.
No one was coming. I was stuck.
Help. Me.
Please.
Don’t.
Leave.
Me.
My legs gave way. Pain radiated from my head. And then there was blissful nothingness.
Chapter Seven
Lincoln
“I don’t like you being seen at the police station.”
My father pulled me aside, completely ignoring Teague and barely acknowledging Daniel.
You don’t like anything except screwing with people.
How could he pretend as if his own son weren’t mere feet away? Teague was the son he should be most proud of. He was a hero. A good man. And our father treated him like filth.
I lifted my chin at my brother, whose face was hard. Reluctantly, he left, but there was a promise in his eyes that we would discuss this later. Not if I could put it off.
And he had to understand.
If Samuel Hollingsworth had been the only one who could help Pepper, Teague wouldn’t have hesitated to ask.
He would’ve been smart enough to know that our father didn’t help anyone but himself.
“Can you get Lexie out?” I asked, trying to contain my temper and pretend to have some semblance of respect.
The makings of a cocky sneer shaped his lips. Damn it. This was going to cost us. I refused to allow her to pay.
“You’ve failed to inspire me to do so.”
A desperate phone call wasn’t enough? I never asked him for anything. And by the triumph on his face, he’d been waiting for this day.
“She shouldn’t be here.”
“Neither should you. I understand slumming is a temptation, but it isn’t a long-term strategy.”
Everything in me wound up so tightly, I reached the explosion point at lightning speed. How dare he speak of her that way. Lexie was perfect.
I struggled to contain the rage just under my surface. But I couldn’t stop myself from stepping closer, right into his space.
“Do not disrespect her.”
“Or what?” He was enjoying this far too much. “Lest you forget, I can free her or keep her exactly where she is.”
My stomach pitched. He’d do it. Just to spite me.
The police commissioner, the mayor, any ranking official in government . . . my father had power over them. How I didn’t know. But that didn’t make it less true.
“I wouldn’t dare.” I managed to refrain from allowing the sarcasm I wished to let loose emerge.
“I didn’t think you would.”
“What needs to be done?” It was a lethal question. One I wasn’t sure I truly desired to have answered. But he was here, which was a feat within itself. I had to take advantage of that, especially if it meant Lexie’s freedom.
“Are you going to rectify your situation?”
“I’m working on it,” I said through my teeth.
“It appears you’re more concerned with Miss Logan. She’s taking too much of your time.”
I wasn’t surprised he knew that, but I was stunned it only now occurred to me that I never told him which police station she was being held at.
“And she’s been detained too long.”
Daniel stood a few feet behind my father with his phone pressed to his ear. From what I could gather, he was attempting to find Lexie’s father and the man who gave the statement in his defense. Daniel wielded a lot of clout and influence, and always seemed to know someone who could make things happen. If anyone could find them, it was him. Maybe he could work a miracle, and I could forget I’d ever asked the bastard, my godawful father, to help me.
“Are you pressuring me?” Father’s tone threatened, one I recognized far too well.
And it occurred to me, I wouldn’t personally pay for this favor. Beau or Teague or Lexie would because he knew that would affect me the most deeply.
“I’d prefer—”
“We need an ambulance. Prisoner down!”
At the shout, I rushed toward the reception window. A frenzy of movement ensued behind the partition.
“Who is it? What happened?”
The receptionist cradled a phone between her shoulder and ear. “I don’t know, sir.”
“Find out.”
She pulled the phone away from her mouth. “I can’t release information on prisoners.”
I pointed to a painting across the lobby. “That man funded most of the police stations in New York City. He’s my grandfather and I’m due answers.”
I rarely used my last name so brazenly, but if something had happened to Lexie, I needed to know.
She’d tell me my grandfather was the one who forked out the money, not me, and if anyone was due answers, it was him. She’d probably point out he’d been dead for thirty years too.
I’d bristle and inwardly stomp around, but eventually relent and agree she was right.
“I’ll see what I can find out.” The woman scurried off.
“You’ve finally learned how to wield your name.”
I cringed at the sound of my father’s voice. “If she’s hurt—”