Madison was used to being stared at, but this was entirely different. She’d just gotten everyone seated in the den, and now they were looking at her, waiting for the show to begin.
It was the most nerve-racking performance she could ever imagine. Her entire future rested on her ability to sway them into believing everything she said. Judging by the skeptical looks on their faces, it wouldn’t be easy.
They were searching for the sort of truth no one had yet been able to uncover. Madison was prepared to tell them a story based on some semblance of facts, though every word would need to be chosen with care. One false move and Aster would call Larsen before Madison could stop her. Still, she had no intention of sharing her real life story with anyone, ever.
She settled onto one of the club chairs, pulled a gray crocheted throw over her lap, and propped her ankle onto the coffee table. Partly because keeping it elevated really did help lessen the swelling, but mostly because the visual reminder of the physical toll she’d paid might veer them toward kindness.
It’d been so long since she’d last seen them in person, and though they looked more or less the same, clearly the summer had changed them.
With her long, glossy dark hair, smooth olive complexion, vibrant brown eyes, and the uncanny way she had of elevating a simple pair of jeans and a T-shirt into a runway-ready look, Aster was as stunning as ever. Though strangely, she also seemed happy.
Happy wasn’t a word that easily applied to a girl like Aster. Snooty, privileged, self-satisfied—those were the words that fit. Happy was a yellow smiley face, a red Mylar balloon floating high in the sky. Happy was a triple-scoop waffle cone dipped in chocolate and covered with sprinkles. And tonight, Aster seemed like the happiest girl alive.
It wasn’t just the relief of having the evidence needed to prove her innocence—it was also because of Ryan and the way he stayed glued to her side. The two of them moved in unspoken tandem, an intimate choreography known only to them.
Unlike Aster, Layla was the opposite of happy. Which wasn’t surprising considering Madison’s experience of their previous run-ins. Still, a good chunk of the drive that had once been Layla’s most defining characteristic had since been replaced with a palpable uncertainty that left her looking haunted and lost.
And Tommy, well, Madison had spent the day observing him. But now, after having been falsely accused by his friends, who obviously didn’t trust him, he was clearly the most uncomfortable person in the room.
Breaking the silence, she pulled at the fringed edge of the throw and said, “I don’t know who took me, though I have my suspicions.” She paused, noting the way they all edged a bit forward. Good. She had their full attention. “I left Tommy after receiving a text I thought was from Paul. I went to Night for Night expecting to see him, but Paul was late, or so I thought. I went up to the terrace, and I guess I got distracted, because the next thing I knew, a hand was clasped over my mouth, and then . . .” She shrugged. “I don’t remember anything until I woke up hours later in an entirely different location.”
“Do you remember anything leading up to that?” Aster pressed. “Any sort of sign, no matter how small?”
Madison stared into the distance. “I heard footsteps. And I caught a whiff of a scent I recognized.” She looked at Ryan. “Same one you always wear.” Ryan started, and Madison lifted a hand. “Relax. I know it wasn’t you.”
“Okay, so, the footsteps—heavy, light, anything in particular that stood out?”
Madison closed her eyes, letting them think she was summoning the memory, when really she was just trying to cement her own strategy. She shook her head. “All I know is I woke up alone in a strange room. I don’t know where. I never saw anyone else the whole time I was there. The lights were programmed to go on and off, and they fed me three times a day through a slot in the door. The walls were covered with an image of me as a kid, along with multiple strips of mirror.”
“So, clearly they’d been planning it for a while. But how did they know when to act? Who besides you two”—Aster gestured between Madison and Ryan—“knew you were going to break up and set the whole thing in motion?”
“Paul.” Madison studied her nails. “But he didn’t do it.”
“I thought you suspected him.” Tommy turned on her.
“I do suspect him—of withholding evidence and lying to me. But he didn’t abduct me.”
“Were you ever in Joshua Tree?” Aster asked.
“There were two locations. I have no idea where the first one was. The second was Death Valley. That’s where I escaped and Paul found me.”
“Paul found you.” Aster stared. “In the middle of Death Valley. Doesn’t that seem a little too coincidental?”
Madison withdrew into silence. She needed to show them this sort of questioning would get them nowhere.
“What are you hiding?” Layla asked.
Of course Layla was the one to force the conversation to a more substantive place. If Madison wasn’t so wary of Layla, she might be impressed. As it was, she said, “I’m not hiding anything.”
“Sure you are.” Layla crossed her legs and settled in. “Save your sad story for your memoirs or a very special edition of In-Depth with Trena Moretti. Right now, you need to cut the crap and give us a reason to trust you. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re outnumbered. You don’t decide how this ends, we do. The sooner you understand that, the better for everyone.”
Madison inhaled a steadying breath. She couldn’t afford to let Layla bait her. “What exactly is it you want to know?”
Layla was quick to reply. “Did you kill your parents?”
Someone gasped. Madison guessed it was Aster, and though she felt equally jolted by the question, she was too self-possessed to show it. Funny how in the ten years since her parents had died, no one had ever bothered to ask. Then again, Paul had been right there when it happened, and he’d set up an airtight alibi that cleared her of suspicion. And yet, just like that, Layla’s question had transported Madison right back to that horrible night.
The sound of gunshots roared in her head.
Her vision blurred at the sight of blood-spattered walls.
Paul had stood by and watched as Madison’s parents, Henry and WillaJean Slocum, tried to sell her to their drug supplier in exchange for forgiving their debt. Even at eight years old, Madison knew they were serious.
Her father pushed her toward their supplier as though she was something other than human—a commodity to be bartered or sold.
At first, the man laughed and nearly pushed her right back.
But once he’d caught a glimpse of her deep violet eyes, he reconsidered. His mouth twisted cruelly, his gaze hardened on hers, and life as she knew it was forever altered.
One moment she was a helpless, terrified eight-year-old girl, and the next she’d made a dive for the gun on the coffee table, aimed it straight at her parents, and shot them both dead.
Her small hands shook as she spun on her heel and pulled the trigger again, effectively wiping that sick grin off the supplier’s face as a bullet tore into his gut and he crumpled to the ground.
Paul was the only one left, and as Madison leveled the barrel on him, he raised both hands and in a soft voice said, “Don’t shoot. I’m a cop.”
Madison wavered. He was nothing like the others who used to hang around. Sure he was big, hardened, and scary in his own way, but in those dull, milky eyes she’d caught a flash of something she’d never seen in her parents.
This strange, beige, nondescript man actually cared about what happened to her.
“I know you’re in pain,” he told her. “I know how scared you must be. But I need you to give me the gun.” He extended a hand, but Madison knew better than to fall for that trap. “It’s okay,” he’d said, somehow managing to stay calm. “I understand. Just hold tight and don’t do anything rash. I’m just going to reach into my pocket and show you . . .”
A moment later he’d flashed her his badge, and Madison found herself howling and shaking in the shelter of his arms.
Paul was undercover and just days away from arresting her parents and their supplier and sending them all to jail for a very long time. But now he was faced with an entirely new dilemma. He explained how easy it would be to tell the truth, since Madison was too young to be held accountable for her actions. But Paul had also been around long enough to know how a crime like that could manage to stick.
He’d seen something special in her—the kind of spark most people lacked. In a bid to give her the sort of life she deserved, he staged the scene to appear as though the supplier had shot her parents and Paul had then shot the supplier.
She’d never forget the feel of her father’s fingers digging into her arm just before he gave her away. The bruises he left marked the spot where she eventually pressed a piece of burning wood to her flesh. The resulting wound lent authenticity to the alibi, while serving as a visual reminder of why she’d chosen her path.
The memory faded as Madison met Layla’s gaze. She’d stayed silent too long, and now anything she said would be met with skepticism. Still, in the end, it would always be Madison’s word against the truth, and she would do whatever it took to ensure that the truth never leaked.
“I didn’t kill my parents,” she said. The energy in the room was so charged it seemed to crackle between them. “Though I also won’t lie and pretend that I miss them. I’m glad they’re gone.” She allowed the words some space to settle before she continued. “They were negligent, careless, reckless, and completely unfit. They sold drugs in order to pay for the drugs they took. Only they had a bad habit of not paying their debts, which is what got them into the sort of trouble that ultimately ended their lives. They also had a bad habit of forgetting to buy things like soap, and toothpaste, and food. Some of my earliest memories are of me digging through our neighbors’ trash for scraps to eat. Stories like that aren’t known for ending happily, and yet mine did. The day my parents died, I got a second chance at a much better life, and I’ll always be grateful for that.” It was more than she’d ever revealed to anyone, and after living with it in her head for so long but never daring to put a voice to it, the words felt strange and foreign on her tongue.
Everyone fell into a sort of stunned silence—everyone but her harshest critic: Layla, of course.
“I feel like you’ve mistaken this for a game of two truths and a lie.” She wasn’t the least bit affected by Madison’s story. “Question is, which is which?”
Tommy shot her a sharp look, and the look Layla flashed in return assured Madison that whatever they’d once shared was now doomed.
“Think what you will.” Madison inspected her nails. “But why would I tell you all that when I’ve worked so hard to sell a very different, much more wholesome version of myself?”
“Who set the fire?” Layla was relentless.
Paul. Paul set the fire. He risked his job, his reputation, and his life in order to protect me.
It would be so easy to finally confess and unburden herself. But so many years of her and Paul jealously guarding each other’s secrets precluded her from spilling them now. She couldn’t imagine ever stating those words out loud. She hoped she’d never have to.
“Was it you?”
Madison shook free of her thoughts and focused on Layla.
“Was it Paul?”
Madison may or may not have blinked, but otherwise she remained very still.
“Or perhaps it was Gerald Rawlins?”
Madison froze. Layla had just spoken the name of the man she and Paul had framed for killing her parents.
Layla folded her arms across her chest and smirked. “Maybe you should start over, from the beginning. And this time, tell us the real story.”