Page 70 of After Our Kiss

- Epilogue -

Conway

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The ropes cut into my hands. Sweat blurred my eyes. Digging deep, I contorted my body and tossed the empty pallet onto the pile in the truck. It clattered there among the rest, wood particles flitting through the golden beams of sunset.

This was hard work-the kind that drained your body and made the day fly by.

It was perfect for me.

“Good work today,” Vick said, waving as I passed.

My nod was sharp. “Thanks.” Vick was the master foreman, and he'd taken a liking to me once he'd seen how dedicated I was to the job. I never explained to him that I did the physical labor with such gusto because it kept my mind from wandering.

I was lucky I'd gotten the position at all. I had a sparse work history; almost everything had been under the table. When I'd shown up to apply, Vick had crossed his arms, looked me over, and said I was a big ass man. I'd laughed and agreed. Clasping my shoulder, he'd given me a single shift to prove myself.

After watching me for three hours, he'd hired me on the spot, saying I was worth the cost of two men.

In the corner of the parking lot was a jungle green Charger. It was nicer than I needed—a gift from Georgia for my birthday. She'd refused to return it. And after I'd taken it out on the road, I'd admitted I adored it.

Climbing into my car, I tossed my bag on the passenger seat. The sun was at the right position on the horizon to blind me. Setting my shades in place, I cranked the radio and drove down the street. I didn't listen to music. I always listened to the news.

While Georgia was sick of hearing about Horror Island—as everyone called our debacle—I was compelled to listen. Two months had gone by since the day I'd saved Georgia and my sister from Lonnie. No one brought up the event much. It'd been replaced by fresher tragedies.

But one of the kidnapped girls was going to write a book about her ordeal. That meant people were chatting again. I'd heard clips from a morning talk show segment about it multiple days in a row. Now, I tuned in right in the middle of one.

“...Was only nineteen when she was yanked from her bed by Lonnie Adams, the youngest son of the late, but just as terrifying, Facile Adams.”

It wasn't healthy how obsessed I was with this story. I knew that. I just didn't know how to turn off the part of my brain that needed to understandhow.How had my brother done all of this and kept it hidden from me? He'd been a puppet master. I'd never seen the damn strings.

“We have with us Felicia Quail,” a voice on the radio said.

The one writing the book,I thought, turning the volume up.

“Felicia, could you tell us a little about what you went through on the island?”

“Sure,” she said, the right amount of confidence gained from multiple interviews. “I was kept in a room I barely saw. I was gagged and blindfolded. But I could hear other people, other women. I didn't know how many at the time.”

“That's awful,” the hostess gushed, sounding way too delighted.

“It was. It definitely was.”

“Did you think you'd make it out alive?”

There was a long pause. I gripped the steering wheel, darting my eyes from the radio to the road. Felecia said, “No. Not until Georgia arrived.”

Hearing someone else say her name made all of my muscles knot up.

“Georgia Mary King,” the hostess said. “The woman who'd been kidnapped once before.”

“Yes. So, sometimes, Lonnie would come into the room. He'd take us somewhere else in the house, he'd—do things to us. I'd try to shout every time, but it was hard. Anyway, one night when he tied me back to the bed, the gag wasn't on right. I was able to scream for help. I thought it was pointless but I hoped and hoped and... it happened. Someone heard me.”

Each breath I took was forced. My heart was slamming in my chest, experiencing all the adrenaline Felecia must have been the night Georgia had found her.

“Do you think, if Georgia hadn't been kidnapped that second time, that you would have ever been found?”

“I don't,” she said bluntly.

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