“Also,” Lucas continues, “the kid we’ve got strung up in that warehouse is their seventeen-year-old cousin, Sullivan’s nephew. His name is Jimmy. Apparently, he and the two brothers are close. Or were close, I should say.”

My eyes narrow in sudden suspicion. “Do they have any idea who we are? Could they have singled out Rosa to get at me?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Lucas’s face tightens. “The Sullivan brothers have a nasty history with women. Date-rape drugs, sexual assault, gang bangs of sorority girls—the list goes on and on. If it weren’t for their father, they’d be rotting in prison right now.”

“I see.” My mouth twists. “Well, by the time we’re done with them, they’ll wish they were.”

Lucas nods grimly. “Should I organize a strike team?”

“No,” I say. “Not yet.” I turn and walk over to stand by the window, gazing out into the dark, tree-lined yard. It’s four in the morning, and the only light visible through the trees comes from the half-moon hanging in the sky.

This community is a quiet, peaceful place, but it won’t stay that way for long. Once Sullivan figures out who killed his sons and nephew, these neat, landscaped streets will run red with blood.

“I want Nora and her parents taken to the estate before we do anything,” I say, turning back to face Lucas. “Sean Sullivan will have to wait. For now, we’ll focus on the nephew.”

“All right.” Lucas inclines his head. “I’ll begin making the arrangements.”

He walks out of the room, and I turn to look out the window again.

Despite the half-moon, all I see out there is the darkness.

29

Nora

“Nora, honey…” A familiar gentle touch pulls me out of my restless slumber. Forcing my heavy eyelids open, I stare uncomprehendingly at my mom, who’s sitting on the edge of the bed and stroking my hair. My head aches so much that it takes me a few moments to process her presence in our bedroom—and notice her red-rimmed, swollen eyes.

“Mom?” Holding the blanket, I sit up, suppressing a groan at the pain caused by the movement. My back feels stiff and sore, and my lower abdomen is cramping dully. “What are you doing here?”

“Julian called us this morning,” she says, her voice shaking. “He said you and Rosa were attacked at a club last night.”

“Oh.” A flash of anger wakes me fully. How dare Julian worry my parents like this? I would’ve come up with something less frightening to tell them, some gentler way to explain the loss of the baby.

The loss of the baby.

The agony is so sharp and sudden that I can’t hold it in. A raw, jagged sob bursts out of my throat, bringing with it a flood of burning tears. Shaking, I clamp my hand over my mouth, but it’s too late. The pain wells up and spills out, the tears like acid on my skin. I can feel my mom’s arms around me, hear her crying, and I know I have to stop, but I can’t. It’s too much, the grief, the knowledge that I did this.