Page 79 of Pretty Little Threats

“What are you looking for, Rose?”

Again. No point in lying. “Proof that you’re as terrible as they all say.”

Dare hums, eyes hardening. “And what is it thattheysay?”

“You already know.”

He shrugs. “No, Rose. Tell me what it is you think I’ve done.”

My eyebrows slam together. “You killed your parents. Your company has destroyed countless lives. And you’ve killed others because you’re?—”

“You don’t know anything about me,” he says, voice low and dangerous, the words cutting through the air as harsh as any shout. His features harden. “I keep waiting for you to stop being his puppet.”

My hackles rise. “My dad has nothing to do with this.” I hate being seen as nothing more than a pet my dad brings out to do fancy party tricks. Although I’ve had every advantage in the world, that doesn’t mean I haven’t worked. I’ve spent years studying, learning the company. I’m as useful as any man on the board. But...I have done everything my dad has asked, haven’t I?

Dare barks out a laugh. “Really, Rose? Why are you lying to yourself?”

As always, Dare sees too much. And I hate him for it. I hate that pretentious look on his pretty face. I hate that hehas something on me. I hate that he thinks he knows who I am. He doesn’t know a damn thing.

“I know you’re hiding something, and I’m going to figure it out, Dare,” I say, narrowing my gaze.

Frustration lines his face. “And then what?”

I’m ready to tell him exactly what will happen, but he arches an eyebrow, imploring me to think. The murder weapon. He has it. Even if I find something, what can I do with the information? It’s all pointless until I find that knife. Irritation rolls through me. I hate that he’s cut me at the knees.

Time is running out. There are three months left before my dad disinherits me, and I’m not prepared to lose the only family I have left.

twenty-five

DARE

Rose looks lost.She’s trapped and she knows it. My eyes narrow on her bobbing throat. She’s scared. Acid fills my veins. Rose was so young when her mom died that she probably has no idea our mothers used to be good friends. She’s been brainwashed by her dad, trained since she was little to believe everything he says, including all the vicious lies about me.

I still haven’t figured out why Joseph wanted to pin my parents’ murder on me, though, logically, there’s only one reason he would accuse me—he killed them. I don’t know what he gained from their deaths. The majority of the Vista Holdings shares were in a trust. Once I was old enough, my shares were transferred to me, but the trust held my sisters’ until they also came of age.

Maybe it was never ownership he wanted. Maybe Joseph wanted their silence. But for what? There’s no evidence that they knew about the white-collar crimes, and even if they did, that doesn’t seem like enough to warranttheir deaths. I’m missing something. There has to be more. Something violent. Maybe my mom didn’t know Rose’s mom as well as she thought. Plenty of people hide their darkness, Joseph included.

Somehow, he’s manipulated everyone around him, and they all believe his lies, especially Rose.

She can’t simply be told everything she knows is a lie. She has to uncover the truth for herself. As stupid as it may be, the easiest way to disprove one of his lies is to give Rose access to Vista Holdings. Let her dig and dig and dig for proof.

Let her question everything.

One thing she said was true, though. I have killed and I’d do it again.

That night, I don’t carry Rose to my bed once she’s fallen asleep. I sit in my office, the scent of polished mahogany and paperwork surrounding me, and pour over police records. Pictures of my parents’ bloody bodies. Their deaths were quick and efficient. More proof that whoever came for them did it with purpose. After the prosecution failed to find enough evidence against me, the case was dismissed before it could go before a jury, suggesting it was simply a random act of violence.

The execution-style bullet holes beg to differ.

There were no signs of a break-in. There were hardly any signs of struggling. My sisters and I were with our grandparents when our parents were murdered. I don’t doubt we’d all be dead had we been home. Did my parents know what was coming for them?

Over the last few years, I’ve wondered that many times.I would ask my grandma why they sent us to her house, but she passed years ago, following my grandpa to the grave. Leaving me with nothing but pieces that don’t fit together.

A scream tears through the house.

My chest constricts, and I bolt upright, the papers in my hands scattering across the office floor. I grab the gun from the desk drawer. The cool metal in my palm gives me a sense of control. Another agonized cry carries through the house. Rose.

Heart in my throat, I rush toward the guest bedroom, sweeping my gaze around.

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