Page 127 of Tormented

“Told my mother he’d get her out of her fuckin’ screwed-up marriage. Gave her false hope when she needed it most, and then left her to fuckin’ die after he betrayed her and told the old man, just to try and get in his good books.”

“Jesus Christ . . . .”

“He was already dead for that, Abbey, but what I need you to understand is that ain’t what brought me here today.”

“What did then?” I look over at the mobile home, wondering if our guest is even in.

“You.”

I frown, my heart already believing what my head refuses to acknowledge.

“It’s a small world, Abbey-girl.”

I’ve got nothing. I simply stare at pretty boy like a dumb mute, my mouth twitching in my effort to form words, any words. A small world. Is he saying—

“His name is Evan, baby.”

“It couldn’t be, right? I mean, the same one?” I whisper.

Thank God I didn’t eat anything before we came out; I swear I’m going to be sick if he says—

“Yeah, I think it is.”

My head wobbles side to side, and I place a foot out wide to steady myself. “Why?” I squeak. “Why bring me here?”

Sawyer reaches out, tugging me to his side to hold me up while I swallow over and over, willing my nauseous stomach to ease. “Say the word, and I’ll take you back to the clubhouse, finish him myself.”

I should. One little word and he’ll whisk me away from here, but I can’t do it. I can’t even force myself to open my mouth.

He gives me a squeeze and lets go, leaving one hand on my shoulder. “This is your show, baby. Okay? You lead, I follow.”

I nod shakily, understanding why he didn’t tell me what we were doing until we got here. If he’d said he found Evan back at the clubhouse, I would have shut myself in my room and refused to even entertain the idea of coming along. But now that I have no choice, now that I’m here, I’m slowly coming around to the idea.

My pretty boy, my sweet broken man, is showing me love the only way he knows how.

By slaying the monster under my bed.

“Come on.” He nods toward the place and starts walking.

I stay on the spot, watching him go, eyeing every outside wall, window, and blade of fucking grass as though each is as dangerous as the next. Does he know we’re coming? Has the grapevine that gave Sawyer the information, worked in reverse? Are we walking into a trap?

“Chop-chop, Abbey,” Sawyer calls over his shoulder as he reaches the single step at the entrance.

Only one way to know.

He raps his knuckles on the door as I catch up, and then stands back with his thumbs hooked in his belt loops while he waits on Evan to answer. Footfalls echo over the raised timber floor as I reach Sawyer’s side.

“What have you got planned?” I whisper.

He smirks, looking down at me. “Nothin’. I told you, this is your show, Abbey-girl.”

I don’t get a chance to answer before the door swings open and I’m confronted with the sum of all my fears.

“Can I help you?” He leers at the two of us, one arm holding the door as though he’s ready to slam it in our face.

The past ten-plus years have aged him harshly. Yet underneath every line on his face, and every scar, is the same sick, twisted, and fucking soulless asshole I ran away from as a child.

“I had hoped you were dead.”