Page 64 of Worse Than Wicked
And yet, despite the staggering damage the Dolces did to our family, they haven’t paid any tangible price. Preston hasn’t taken any of their eyes. Colt hasn’t chopped off their fingers and tortured them with a blowtorch until they passed out from pain. Everyone seems ready to move on, leaving only a single casualty on their side. Tony Dolce is gone, but his sons are all still here, beautiful and flawless, untouched by the Darlings they so thoroughly destroyed.
It doesn’t seem fair.
Preston buzzes us in a few minutes later, and we pull up the drive and around the back of the garage to park. I left my Prius here, but of course Grandpa didn’t keep it. He only keeps expensive, rare collectibles. Not a car that his favorite granddaughter dumped here after her stay at Cedar Crest, where I went directly from the hospital when they discharged me. After a month in the mental wing, they told me I was well enough to go home, but I never did. Not even to get my things. I dropped my car here, took Grandpa’s McLaren, and drove to the bus station.
Preston’s the one who met me there, who took the keys and handed me Seeley Boots in his carrier, my diploma from the graduation I missed, and an envelope full of cash.
He said, “I hope I never see you again,” and I knew he meant it in the best way, that they never found me.
I said, “Me, too.”
But I always knew they would.
Even when I bought a bus ticket with cash, when I went to Chicago and New York and Philadelphia and Boston; when I went to Milwaukee and Minneapolis and Montana; and to Seattle, San Francisco, Phoenix and Amarillo and Memphis. Finally, I was satisfied that no one could have followed that track, all paid in cash, on different bus lines and taxis and even a plane or two. Finally, I settled in and became Dahlia, and like Preston, I was ready.
“Ready?” Baron asks, and I realize he thinks I’m stalling because I don’t want to face my grandfather.
“Yes,” I say, unbuckling my seatbelt. I climb out of the car and smooth my daisy sundress down.
Preston meets us at the door. “Do you have any weapons?”
He’s wearing a holster on his hip with a black pistol in it and a plain white mask that covers the side of his face that Baron ruined.
“No,” I say, then turn to my companion.
He shakes his head no, then pulls up his shirt and does a full turn so Preston can see his waistband. When he’s satisfied, my cousin steps back and lets us enter.
“My family is out,” he says. “So there’s no one to take hostage if you turn feral.”
“We’re here to see her grandfather,” Baron says coolly. “That’s all. I have no interest in your family.”
But I’m glad Dolly isn’t home. I don’t like that she slept with Baron, even if it was before he ever spoke to me.
Preston leads us up the staircase to the left and unlocks the door to the west wing of the old brick mansion that sits creaking under its own weight in the midday sun. Then he looks at me.
“Do you want me to go in with you?”
“No,” I say. “I want to talk to him alone.”
He glances at Baron.
“He’s coming with me,” I say.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Preston asks.
“You think I can’t protect my girl?” Baron growls, wrapping an arm around my waist.
I flinch, and Preston notices. His good eye locks on my face, but his expression never changes. “I think you’re capable,”he says to Baron. “I think you’re equally capable of holding her down and letting our grandfather do what he wants to her.”
“Anyone’s capable of that,” Baron says. “That doesn’t mean I’d do it.”
Preston’s eye moves to me. “You trust him?”
I swallow hard and nod, giving both men the answer they want.
“I’ll be standing outside,” Preston says, leading the way down the hall. “If I hear anything that tells me I need to interrupt, I will. And I won’t hesitate to repay the favor you did last time you were here.”
He stares Baron down with his mismatched eyes, one real and one prosthetic, as he unlocks one of the bedroom doors. Then he steps back and lets us in.
