Page 89 of Penalty Kiss
A chill runs through me.
My dad, with his suffocating love and need to possess. control needs. Who wants me home, under his thumb, forever.
Lucien, my cousin, cold, calculating, violent when cornered. Who wants me erased, the problem solved permanently.
"What do I do?" slips out before I can stop it, and I hate how young I sound. How scared.
"You run," Max says immediately. "Disappear deeper this time. Legal name change, not just practical. Somewhere they'll never think to look."
"I can't." The words emerge before I fully realize I'm saying them. "I can't run anymore, Max."
"Lyn—"
"I have a life here. People I care about who care about me." I look through the Cedar Grounds glass again, watching Cam gesture animatedly while telling some story that has his family hanging on every word. "I'm done running."
“This isn't just about you. Anyone close becomes potential target or leverage. Be very, very careful. "
My heart stops. Cam. Sweet, protective, concussed Cam who'd absolutely throw himself between me and danger without considering his own safety twice.
" Lyn? Promise me something."
"What?"
"Don't try handling this alone. Whatever plan's forming in that perfect brain—don't do it alone."
I hang up before making promises I might not keep.
For a moment I just sit, staring at my phone, trying to process Max's warning. The late morning sun feels too bright, Cedar Falls' cheerful sounds too normal for the magnitude of what's approaching.
Two forces converging on my carefully constructed life: my father's misguided love and Lucien's calculating hatred. Caught in the middle—everyone I've come to cherish. Cam, and the entire town that's embraced me as family.
I could run. Max is right about that. Disappear tonight, leave Cedar Falls in my rearview, reinvent myself elsewhere. Lucien may eventually lose interest. My father would eventually surrender hope.
But the thought of leaving—abandoning Cam while he's still healing, breaking promises to Mrs. Whitmore and Lily and all the people who've made me part of their community—makes mephysically ill.
I'm done running. Which means I need to implement Cam’s strategy quickly. But how exactly?
I'm still sitting there, trying to figure out how to fight a war I never wanted, when shadow falls across my table.
A waiter bends down with a small tray. I frown, then draw a steadying breath and reach for my wallet to pay.
"Excuse me, miss? Your meal's been paid for. The gentleman left you a note."
My blood curdles. "What gentleman?"
"Tall, dark-haired, expensive suit.” The waiter shifts uncomfortably. "Tipped bigger than most people's entire meals. Would you like the change?"
I shake my head absent-mindedly. I hold the envelope with numb fingers, my hands surprisingly steady despite the earthquake in my chest.
Inside the envelope sits a photograph.
Me at six, wearing a ridiculous pink princess dress, plastic tiara sliding sideways.
My sixth birthday party. The one where my father invited half of New York society to celebrate his daughter's special day. I remember that dress, remember hating every second, remember hiding in the bathroom until my nanny dragged me back to smile for cameras.
Across the bottom, someone's scrawled in black ink:
Enjoy meeting the new family. Do they know who you really are, cousin?
