Page 157 of Risky Passion

“Yes, Beatrice,” Tory said, her voice soft but steady. Her hands were still raised, palms open. “Please. We want to know what you and Alice went through. We want to understand. We want to know everything.”

I tilted my head toward the open door. “Then I want to sit out there.” My voice was calm, belying the fury churning inside me. “I need fresh air.”

I want to see the view Alice loved. I want to see Alice.

Jaxson stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. “You’re not going anywhere until you put the gun down.”

Tory crouched slightly.

“Beatrice, please.” Her voice was soft like she was speaking to acornered animal. “You don’t have to do this. It’s time to tell what happened. We want to know everything. About Alice. About the orphanage. About you. And who hurt you so we can make them pay.”

Her kindness cut through me like glass. No one had ever spoken to me like that before, except Alice. Something cracked inside me, something that I’d been holding tight for years.

But I clenched my teeth, locking the emotion down. I wouldn’t break. Not here. Not now.

I glared at Tory. “Fine. I’ll tell you my story. But only here. Right now. Once I leave this place, I won’t say another fucking word.”

The room was silent, save for the low growl of the dog. My hand trembled as I lowered the gun. The metal felt heavy, almost burning against my palm. With a quick motion, I shoved it across the floor.

Jaxson moved like lightning, snatching it up.

“Back the fuck up!” I snapped, my voice cracking from a torrent of emotions crashing through me.

Jaxson’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t move back. The dog growled like rumbling thunder. Drool slipped off its fangs and splattered on the wooden floor.

Tory gave Jaxson a sharp look, her calm stillness somehow more commanding than his aggression. “Jaxson.” She indicated for him to back up.

He hesitated, then took a step back, pulling the dog with him. But his gun stayed trained on me, unwavering.

Tory turned back to me with her hands still raised in a gesture of peace. She stepped closer, just slightly, her movements slow and deliberate.

“Let me help you up,” she said gently.

“No!” The word exploded out of me, and I flinched that my tone was so raw and desperate, and hated myself for it.

She stepped back, giving me space.

I swallowed hard, hating the lump in my throat. Hating the way her kindness made me feel.

I rolled onto my hands and knees on the hard wooden floor and my body screamed in protest, and as I shifted my weight, my back and joints burned like fire.

My gazesnagged on the tiny packet on the floor containing the white pill. My insurance policy.

I froze, my breath hitching. Groaning loudly, I made a show of struggling to get my balance and pressed my hand over the packet, slotting it between two fingers.

Gradually dragging my body upright, with my back to them, I slipped the pill packet into the edge of my bra, hiding it beneath the fabric.

I turned with my hands at my side. The guns were still trained on me.

Jaxson’s finger hovered near the trigger. “Move slow,” he bellowed.

I glared at him but didn’t say a word. My stiff body ached with every step as I shuffled toward the open door with sharp darts of pain scraping through my back and knees.

Outside, the air was fresh and cool, carrying the scent of salt from the water. My gaze flicked to Alice’s body, my chest tightened, and my knees wobbled, but I forced myself to shuffle toward the chair. I collapsed onto the seat with a groan. The wood creaked beneath me as I leaned back, scanning Alice’s body one more time.

“How did you find me?” I asked, my voice hoarse. “Was it the courier van?”

“No,” Whitney said, with a smug little smirk. “I put a tracker on the tarp you wrapped Alice in.”

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