Francesca snarls but quickly cowers when Sibby raises the pink knife to her eye and threatens, “I’ll cut it out and make you chew it.”
Gross.
“We were making money under the table. People would pay us for a night with one of the girls. We were making good money, too, but then Sydney found out and used it against me.”
My brows shoot up, surprised by their gall to profit off of the girls behind Claire’s back, yet not at all because—well, it's fucking Francesca and Rocco.
Even Xavier whistles and looks at them with a lopsided grin. He's just as exhausted as the other two.
“Brave thing to do. Claire would've murdered you slowly if she found out.”
Rocco scoffs. “Should've just saved us all the fucking headache and let her tell,” he spits. “She was already crazy from that fucking cult. Did you think Claire was going to actually believe her?” He ends his question with a patronizing laugh. Xavier shrugs in a you got me there way while Francesca just gapes at him.
None of them notice the frozen girl standing before them, her spine ramrod straight and shock painted on her face.
“What cult?” Sibby finally cuts in.
Francesca’s mouth opens, then closes. “I don’t know,” she sneers. “All I know is some girl killed the leader, and the entire cult disbanded after that. Wandered aimlessly ‘cause they knew fuck all of what to do with themselves.”
My eyes widen gradually as she speaks.
There’s no way.
“How did Sydney get to Washington?” I ask.
“How else? She was homeless and picked up off the streets from a trafficker and shipped to me to be groomed,” she answers, her tone dipped in venom. “I’m one of the best in the world, and she was a tough case. I was working on her.” She spits the last part to Rocco, flickering a scornful glare his way.
“Sibby, did you know her?”
She turns to me, a frown tugging down her lips.
“What did she look like?”
“Blonde hair, brown eyes. Two front teeth were crooked. She had a beauty mark on the corner of her mouth, too.”
She works to swallow, but eventually nods her head. “Yeah, I knew her. She was my sister. I mean, all the children were my siblings. Daddy was the only one allowed to get anyone pregnant…” she trails off, seemingly dumbfounded.
That… actually makes a lot of sense—Sibby and Sydney coming from the same cult. Now that I think about it, their mannerisms are very similar. Bizarre, creepy, and their maturity stunted. They’re both murderous psychos, but at least Sibby has a heart of fucking gold, whereas Sydney’s was ashen.
Her expression drops, and she looks at me with all the seriousness in the world. “She tried to kill you? She was the one that kept hurting you?”
Thinning my lips, I nod.
“I’m sorry, Addie. It’s my fault she ever ended up there.”
Frowning, I say, “Sibby, it wasn’t your fault.”
“It was,” she insists. “She had nowhere to go because I killed Daddy. All of them were left alone. She would’ve never—”
I grab her hand, squeezing it tightly. “Sibby, you couldn’t have known any of that would happen. You did everyone a favor by killing that man. He was a demon, remember?”
Her lip trembles, but she nods. “Sydney was, too, and she probably smelled like a rotten egg. I’m glad you killed her.”
I peck her cheek, hoping to rid her of any lingering guilt. “Go on upstairs. You did great, and we got everything we needed. I just have one more question to ask.”
She smiles and skips up the stairs, sadness forgotten.
I train my gaze on Francesca. “What happened to Molly?”
Her brows pinch with confusion, so I clarify, “She was a captive back in 2008. She wrote in the journal, and I found it inside the floorboards in my room. I started writing in it, too. It’s actually why Sydney was going to kill me. I was planning to escape, and she found out by reading that journal.”
Her expression sours, and I can almost see the memories flicking across her gaze.
“She escaped. The first and last girl to get away… until you,” she says, muttering the last part with indigence.
A smile curls my lips, and pride fills my veins.
For Molly and for myself.
“Thank you.” Clapping my hands, causing the three of them to startle, I offer them a huge smile. “It’s time.”
Francesca’s golden-brown eyes round with confusion and fear. Not so long ago, we stood in opposite shoes. Drowning in helplessness and sorrow, wondering how this could be happening to me. There she stood, staring down at me with the same expression that I now wear.