Page 6 of Sadistic

Inside, Everly makes tea—her solution for everything—and waits.

The story spills out in a rush: Dad calling and wanting us back at the clubhouse, Doran's been watching us, how he showed us the photos, how he told me about the window.

"He's already started the possession game," she says when I finish.

"This is different from Dylan," I protest. "This is?—"

"More honest, maybe. But the same principle." She touches her belly absently. "The difference is, you know what he is from the start. That's power you have in your arsenal."

"How is knowing I'm trapped supposed to be power?"

"Because you're not trapped. You're negotiating." She leans forward. "He's been waiting five years, Rev. That's not just an obligation. That's obsession. And obsession can be leveraged."

Regnor joins us after putting Eira down for her nap. "The Culebra situation is worse than they're telling you. Two prospects got jumped last week. One's still in the hospital."

"Why didn't Dad?—"

"Because he's trying to handle it without admitting he needs the Irish." His expression is grim. "But Doran's right about one thing—you and Dalla are vulnerable."

My phone buzzes.

Doran:

Dinner's still at 8. I'll send a car.

Me:

I'm not in Jacksonville

Doran:

I know. The car will pick you up at Everly's at 7:30

The blood drains from my face. Dalla reads over my shoulder and gasps.

"How does he?—"

"Man's got resources," Regnor says. "This is what you're dealing with."

"You don't have to go," Everly says.

"Yes, I do. But not on his terms." I stand, decision made. "I'm driving myself. Meeting him at a restaurant, not his penthouse. I need to start to figure this out."

"I'm coming with you," Dalla says immediately.

I end up shooting him a text, requesting the address, letting him know I’m driving myself. "No. This is between him and me. He chose me, Dalla."

Everly disappears and returns with a red sweater. "If you're doing this, do it right."

The drive back to Jacksonville feels like driving toward a storm.

I end up calling Mom on the way.

"Baby, you don't have to?—"

"Yes, Mom. I do. I'm handling it, and honestly, we all know there’s no choice. I have to go through with this, for the good of the club. But I’m not going to make it easy for him."

"Good. Don’t." Mom and I talk for a little while longer until she has to get off the phone, and eventually I pull up to the restaurant.

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