Page 40 of Betray Me
“Unless someone who was there that night is starting to remember,” Dominic suggests with silky menace. “Memory is such a fragile thing. Sometimes the drugs we use to protect people from traumatic experiences… wear off.”
The words hit like physical blows. Someone who was there that night. Someone whose memories might be returning. They’re talking about me, about Luna, about the gaps in our recollections that might be the only things keeping us alive.
“The Queen girl has been remarkably restrained in her public statements,” Victor observes, studying a file that makes my stomach lurch. “But our intelligence suggests she’s been asking questions. Meeting with investigators. Going to therapy. If she recovers the wrong memories…”
“Then we handle it,” Father says flatly. “The same way we’ve handled other security risks over the years.”
Handle it. Handle Luna. The implication is unmistakable, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from gasping. They’re discussing murdering Luna Queen with the same casual tone they’d use to plan a dinner party.
“What about the other loose ends?” Dominic asks, his gaze drifting toward me with predatory assessment. “Your girl has been surprisingly cooperative with the investigation. Too cooperative, perhaps.”
My blood turns to arctic water as I realize they suspect me. Not just of remembering, but of actively working against them. Father’s hands tighten on my shoulders, and I feel like prey caught in a trap.
“Belle did what was asked of her. She understands her loyalties,” Father says carefully, his voice carrying subtle warning. “Don’t you, darling?”
“Of course,” I breathe, injecting just the right amount of wounded confusion into my tone. “Family is everything. I would never do anything to hurt our family.”
The lie tastes like poison on my tongue, but it’s the only thing standing between me and a shallow grave beside Janet Wilson’s remains. Victor’s pale eyes study me with the intensity of ascientist examining a specimen, and I force myself to meet his gaze with perfect innocence.
“Nevertheless,” he says slowly, “it might be wise to ensure the girl’s continued discretion. A reminder of what’s at stake if she becomes… talkative.”
“What kind of reminder?” I ask, letting my voice shake slightly. Playing the role of the frightened daughter who’s just now understanding the true nature of her family’s business.
“Nothing dramatic,” Dominic assures me with a smile that makes my skin crawl. “Just a conversation. Perhaps over dinner. A chance to… reconnect with family values.”
I know exactly what kind of dinner he means. The kind where drinks are specially prepared and memories go missing afterward. The kind where young women learn to be grateful for chemical amnesia rather than full awareness of what’s been done to them.
“I should get back to school,” I say quickly, stepping away from Father’s grip. “Exams are coming up, and I can’t afford to fall behind.”
“Actually,” Father says, his tone brooking no argument, “I think you should stay for dinner tonight. Your mother’s prepared your favorite meal, and it’s been too long since we’ve had proper family time.”
The trap snaps shut with audible finality. They have no intention of letting me leave with the information I’ve gathered. Either I’ll be drugged into compliance or eliminated entirely, but I won’t be walking out of this mansion as Belle Gallagher, federal witness.
“That sounds wonderful,” I lie, mind racing through escape scenarios. “Should I freshen up first? The drive was so long.”
“Of course, darling.” Father’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Take all the time you need. We’ll be here when you’re ready.”
I nod and back toward the door, every instinct screaming at me to run. But as I reach for the handle, Dominic’s voice stops me cold.
“Oh, Belle? Perhaps you could ask the cook to prepare something special for dessert. You know how much your father enjoys those little pills with his evening coffee. The ones that help him… forget his troubles.”
The words are a threat disguised as small talk, a reminder that they control every aspect of life in this house, including what goes into the food and drinks. My hand trembles on the door handle as the implications sink in.
They know. They know about the wire, about my cooperation with David Stone, about everything. They know I didn’t ‘take care’ of Jessica. This entire meeting has been a performance designed to gather evidence of my betrayal before they eliminate the threat I represent.
“Of course,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll make sure the cook knows.”
I flee the study on unsteady legs, the wire feeling like it’s burning a hole through my chest. The hallway stretches endlessly before me, every shadow potentially hiding another threat, every sound potentially heralding my doom.
But as I climb the stairs toward my childhood bedroom, a new resolve hardens in my chest. They think they’ve cornered me, think they can drug me into submission one more time. They’re wrong.
I’ve spent too many years being their victim, their weapon, their perfectly controlled daughter. Not anymore.
If they want to play games with my memory, with my life, then I’ll show them exactly what Belle Gallagher is capable of when she stops playing by their rules.
The wire against my skin pulses with each heartbeat, a technological lifeline connecting me to David Stone and the possibility of justice. Whatever happens at dinner tonight, whatever they try to make me forget, this recording will survive.
And with it, the truth about Janet Wilson, about the network’s crimes, about the monsters who wear human faces and call themselves family.
