Page 58 of Liars and Liaisons

Instead, I’ve stuck myself in this place of limbo, where I’m unable to doanythingwithout feeling like the weight of the world is shoving me down beneath it.

Maybe I’d be better off letting the Mafia get to me. At least then, I wouldn’t have to think anymore. Wouldn’t have to worry about anyone else’s feelings or how my actions might affect them.

That’s the thing when you parent yourself, growing up. There is no reprieve from consequence. Even in your own mind.

The sun sets quickly, and only my shirt has had enough time in the light to dry. I wriggle into my clothes, my jeans still soaked through, and stifle a frustrated scream.

A stick snaps, the sound closer than before. I glance in the direction it came from, about fifteen feet up the shore. My eyes scan the surrounding foliage, seeking even a sliver of movement to put my mind at ease. Nothing happens, and my throat tightens, discomfort weaving a dark tapestry in my chest.

Planting my palm on the ground, I search for my phone, keeping my gaze on the distance. Bird chirps carry over the water, and crickets grow louder the quieter everything else gets. There’s a stillness, an essence, that I’ve only felt before in the estate itself.

The sensation of being watched—and not in a physical way. It’s as if the other side, whatever that might be, has its eyes on me. Pressure skates across my shoulders, and I tense against it, as if I might be able to weather the sort of ghosts bound to this property.

Another branch snaps, and this time, it comes from right behind me.

I whirl, keeping one hand on the ground to steady myself. The other curls into a fist, though I’m not exactly sure what I’ll do if I’m in actual danger. I’ve never been in a fight or anything close to it.

There’s a first time for everything.

Across the lake, at one of the edges before it disappears into the mountains, I see shadows. With the backs of my fists, I rub my eyes, trying to figure out if they’re real or not.

When I open again, the shadows remain. Dark, faceless figures that send waves of alarm skirting through my veins, screaming at my legs to get up and run.

But I don’t. I find myself unable to move, afraid that doing so might call attention to my presence. As if they can’t see me otherwise.

Fear clouds within me like thick dust, piling up in my stomach. I try to sink into the bushes, try to make myself as small as possible.

My heart thunders so harshly behind my ribs that they must hear it. It’s all I can hear, and as they drift closer, my skin becomes icy.

“Which way should we go in?” one of the shadows says in a muffled voice. “He’s short-staffed right now, so the south entrance is wide open.”

“We don’t do anything until the security cameras are disabled,” the other one—a female—replies. Her voice equally muffled, like they’re speaking from behind masks. “And preferably when the guests are sleeping. I don’t want any witnesses.”

“Where do you think he put her?” the first figure asks, and my body goes ice cold.

I can’t breathe, can’tthink, paralyzed entirely by my terror.

The debt collectors.

Vomit teases the base of my throat, and I pinch the back of my ankle to ground myself. Puking will draw attention, and the only advantage I have right now is that they haven’t seemed to notice me yet.

“Who cares?” the female says. “We’ll turn the whole place over if we need to. I’m not leaving without what’s owed.”

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

I knew I should’ve replied to my father’s messages, but I thought I had time. I always think there’s time, and then the rug is ripped out from under me, and all I can do is brace for impact.

Amid the panic, I can almost hear a voice in my head, telling me to be smart. The element of surprise might be my one ticket out of here since it doesn’t appear my monstrous host is returning soon.

I close my eyes for a moment and let out a shaky breath, wondering what my brother would do in my position. If his reputation is to be believed, he wouldn’t let fear rule.

He’d take matters into his own hands.

My life has been a series of happenings. Financial insecurity, familiar infidelity—even my winding up in Aplana Island wasn’t my doing. The events I’ve had little control over, and so I have spent my time grasping at whatever semblances of it I could get.

But not right now. Not here and not with them.

My fingers brush over a smooth, solid stone surface, and I look down long enough to see a gray rock beneath my hand. Dirt embeds under my fingernails as I scoop it into my palm, getting used to the heavy weight.

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