“You got anyone else on that hit list of yours? I'll kill as many people as you want if you keep telling me you love me.”
My vision is blurring, and my chest feels too full.
“You're an idiot,” I croak, blinking away the tears. Cage grabs a hold of me and tugs me into his embrace, holding me tight.
“I’m going to fuck you for so long later tonight,” he whispers sinfully.
I choke out a laugh, and he grabs my chin, bringing my focus to him. He stares at me softly, though there’s a hint of that obsession still lingering in his eyes.
“I love you, too. Now, let's get to work chopping him up. Chili’s giving me an evil eye, and Garlic and Paprika seem like they're conspiring against us as we speak.”
The loud chirp of my phone ringing nearly causes my bones to climb right out of my flesh in fright.
I’ve had the sound up at full volume ever since I handed Margot my phone number; I've just been waiting for her to call.
It’s been a little over a month, and I’ve all but convinced myself their silence is my answer.
Either Layla doesn’t want to get to know me, or Margot and Colin won’t allow her to. Regardless, it’s not my place to interfere with either decision. Even if it feels like my heart is in tatters.
“You gonna get that?”
Cage and I are in the process of extracting teeth and buzzing hair off Kenny and the other three dead bodies.
I glance at the number, noting that it’s one I don’t recognize. Pulling my gloves off, I press the answer button and hold it to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Molly?”
My heart pauses for a beat. “Yeah?”
The woman clears her throat. “This is Margot. Emma’s mom.”
I nearly stumble over air as I whip around and begin to pace.
“It’s so nice to hear from you,” I choke out.
“How long have you been going to Emma’s games?”
I frown, a little taken aback by the question.
God, what if she’s calling just to tell me Layla said she doesn’t want to know me? What if she tells me to never contact them again or show my face at any of her games?
I’ll always go to her games but respect their wishes enough to not let them see me. I’ll keep my distance for as long as Layla demands. If it’s forever, I would be okay with watching her grow old from afar—as long as she’s safe.
“I moved back to Montana over four years ago. As soon as I discovered that she was playing, I went to all her games. Every single one.”
Margot is silent for a moment, and then I hear a soft sigh.
“Emma is… she’s interested in talking to you,” she begins, her voice taut with discomfort. “She admitted that she had been feeling a little lost about her early childhood and would like to know about her biological parents. And you, of course. We agreed only because we feel it would help Emma heal from… from her abandonment issues.”
I close my eyes, feeling as if Margot is standing before me and tearing her claws into my flesh until my heart is exposed, then ripping it out of its useless cavity. No bones could ever protect it from Layla’s hurt.
“I understand,” I whisper. “I will tell her anything she wants to know.”
“And I know who you are. Who she is,” she rushes out, almost as if, if she didn’t get it out she’d combust.
“I see. Then I hope you know that I didn’t give Layla to you because I didn’t want her, but because I had to.”
There’s silence, and it’s only now that I notice Cage has shut off his own hair clippers. It’s quiet—too quiet.
“Emma,” she corrects. “Her name is Emma.”
I bite my lip, not realizing I slipped up.
“I know it is,” I concede softly. “I gave that name to her so no one would find out who she was.”
“Right,” Margot says, her tone curt but not lacking heat. I know this is hard for her as well.
“I appreciate you allowing me to speak to her. At least this once. I… I can’t even begin to express how much she means to me.”
Margot sighs again. “I believe you, Molly. I can’t imagine the things you’ve been through. The things Emma has been through. If I’m being honest, I wasn’t going to allow this when you first approached. But… once I googled you and found out about your story—your kidnapping—I realized there may be a lot more to both of your stories than I was giving credit for. In my head, I built you up as some drug-addict mother who left her kid on some random stranger’s doorstep. I used to thank God every night that she was left with us and not someone who would’ve hurt her. I remember you said that you chose us. Is that true?”