“Fine. I’m done. I’m going to spend the night at a hotel. You decide what you want to do about this mess. And before you think about spreading my secret around, just know you were there too behind the wheel, babe. I’m not the only one who knows where the bodies are buried, Mackenzie. You’ll go down with me, and Aria will lose any chance at a decent life.”

He left before I could get another word in, although I was tapped out anyway. He was right. I could never tell anyone about what we had done all those years ago. Because while Owen may have pulled the trigger, I was the one who gave the order.

Chapter 18

Robin

TUESDAY NIGHT

The skeletons in my closet didn’t just rattle, they danced, bones clanging like a symphony so everyone could hear. And now they were loose, twirling in sinister pirouettes around my bedroom.

“Dad isn’t . . . he isn’t my dad?” Ryan grimaced like the words tasted sour on his tongue. He pushed away from me on the bed and his body shook as he wept. I cradled him in my arms. He was still my little boy, would always be my little boy, no matter how much taller than me he grew.

His world had just been rocked sideways, and I had no idea how to stabilize it.

“I wanted to tell you for so long, but it’s a difficult part of my past, honey. I didn’t know how to tell you. Your father doesn’t even really know the details.”

“I don’t understand. Did you cheat on him?”

“No! No, of course not. I met your dad when you were two years old. He was so amazing with you and fell in love with you instantly, so when we started to get serious, I asked if he’d be willing to be your father. In every sense of the word. I wanted him to embrace you as his own. Of course he was thrilled with that—he’d always wanted a son, and that was that. He adopted you the first chance he got. But technically, he isn’t your biological father. Your biological father was a piece of shit who I never wanted to tell you about. The only good thing about that man was that he gave me you.”

I stopped, unwilling to let the memory torment me again. I was done wrestling with demons today. There was a long pause, and Ryan finally looked up at me. The sharp iron in his eyes had been pounded smooth, replaced with forgiveness.

“Why do you say he was a bad person? What did he do?”

I would never tell him. It wasn’t something he should ever know—that his mother was raped, that he was the product of violence. What possible benefit could anyone get from that?