It was daunting to learn that Claire’s influence runs much deeper than we’d ever imagined. She has her hands in everything. Charities, hundreds of thousands of organizations and businesses, banks, big pharmas and the medical industry, the judicial system, and of course, the entire fucking government. It will take years to undo all the damage she’s done and erase her influence.
“I’ll help you kill her,” Daya says, sitting next to me and crossing her legs. “But first, Francesca. So after she and the waitress collided, Francesca threw a huge fit and slapped the woman. Authorities were called, but Rocco strong-armed their way out of the diner and into their rusty brown Chevy Impala. They took off, and I was able to track them all the way back to the motel they’re staying in.”
“Holy shit,” I breathe, eyes wide. “You fucking found them.”
She grins. “Showtime, baby.”
I’m jittery as fuck.
I wipe my clammy hands on my jeans, taking deep breaths to calm my nerves.
You can do this, I tell myself, then immediately turn my attention to the She-Devil above.
Right, God? Tell me I’m right.
Zade and I hopped on his private jet within twenty-four hours of finding out where Francesca and Rocco had been hiding. Since he has mercenaries in every state, he had one of them get a car ready for us at the airport, and an hour later, I'm standing outside their door.
And slightly panicking.
The motel I’m standing in front of looks like it comes straight out of Bates Motel. Run-down and owned by a serial killer.
The siblings have been staying here for the past three nights, and the vindictive part of me is overjoyed by it. My former groomer has always lived in filth but would walk around like she was dripping in money and class. She wanted nothing more than to live lavishly but was forced to stay in a shitty house with her brother by Claire’s demand.
The house’s location was perfect for hiding girls and hosting the Culling, so Claire wouldn’t allow her to relocate somewhere nicer—something Francesca would complain about often. So instead, she sank all her money into her wardrobe to give off the illusion that she was thriving.
And this… this is the bottom of the barrel when it comes to filth.
Just as the bitch deserves.
“Room service!” I call out, rapping my knuckles on the red door.
Shouting can be heard from inside, but they’re not any louder than the domestic violence case two doors down.
Nor is it any louder than the other strung-out couple three doors ahead, loud moaning and grunting coming from their room.
“Go away!” Francesca calls from the other side, followed by a fleshy slap.
“You stupid bitch, that right there is why we’re in this situation! You can’t keep your fucking hands to yourself!”
“Oh, that’s rich coming from you,” she hisses back. “What about all my girls, huh? You think they’d tell you that you kept your hands to yourself?”
“You shut the fuck up right now, or I’ll kill you.”
“Do it!” she screams. “We lost everything anyway, Rocco. We haven’t heard from Claire for damn near a month now, except to be told we can’t leave the goddamn country. We’re running out of money because we can’t fucking access our cards, I’m tired of this stupid-ass wig, and this motel has cockroaches!”
My hand is suspended in the air, ready to knock again, but I must admit, that little pity party entertained me.
“Room service!” I call again, smiling when Francesca screeches loudly in response.
Sibby would be proud.
That telltale sign of her heels stomping towards the door wipes the smile off my face. For a moment, I forget to breathe as I’m transported back into that house, dreading every step that pounded through the wooden floors.
The door is swinging open, snapping me out of my nightmares, only for them to materialize before me.
She’s seething, breathing heavily like a bull with her wide eyes locked on me.
“Hey, Francesca. Miss me?” I ask, forcing a broad smile on my face. Seeing her is affecting me far more than I anticipated, but it doesn’t minimize the murderous rage I feel toward her.
If anything, it heightens it more.
Rocco comes up behind her, his jowls wiggling as he walks. Francesca is frozen in the doorway, a stricken look on her face, while I stand equally paralyzed.
Breathe, Addie. They can’t hurt you anymore.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Rocco says, snapping Francesca and I both out of the stare down we found ourselves in.