Page 76 of Madness & Mayhem

I bare my teeth at him. “You act like I’m getting anything less than a life sentence. No amount of bargaining is going to lower that term.”

He has nothing to say to that, just as I figured.

We fall into an awkward silence, and I shift my back against the seat, staring out the window.

Get somewhere safe, baby Lake. For me.

“We’re headed to the jail for some questioning, and I’m guessing they’ll be transferring you to the prison tomorrow morning. Get ready for a long day.”

I grind my jaw together, keeping my eyes averted.

“You don’t have to give up your friend, but we’ll find her. Just like we found you, Reign Whitmore. Her time is limited.”

I take a deep breath, my eyes shuttering closed.

Fuck.

My body is slammed into a small metal chair, my spine already in pain from the police car seat. I adjust myself, glaring at the officers who decided to treat me like a fucking bag of garbage. One of them squats down in front of me, wrapping shackles around my ankles. He tightens them up, and the chains between my feet slap against the cement floors. He locks the shackles to a bolt in the floor, as if I’d ever be able to get out of here anyway.

Fucking idiot.

My jaw clenches, and I stare at the wall in front of me, ignoring the way their eyes scream hate and rage.

They would kill me. If they had the guts, they would, but they don’t. They’re all pussies.

“So, Mr. Whitmore, you’ve created quite a stir in Hellcrest Heights,” a detective says as he enters the room. One of the officers leaves, while the other one—the one who shackled my ankles—stays near the door.

I say nothing, watching as he adjusts his suit jacket and sits down. He pulls out a small notepad and pen, putting it on the table in front of him. He opens the top fold, going to a clean page. He clicks the end of his pen and presses it to the top of the paper before glancing up at me.

“Where should we begin?” he asks.

I stare at him.

“How about we start with the basics. Okay?”

Not a word.

“Name?”

I roll my tongue along my teeth.

He sighs, dropping his pen to the table. “We can sit here all night. My wife is at her sister’s for the evening, so I’ve got nothing at home. Only when I get my answers will you leave here. And let me tell you, if you decide to not cooperate, your punishment, and the punishment of Lakyn Ashford, will be much worse. Is that what you want?”

“Don’t touch her,” I growl.

He smirks at me. “Name?”

My nostrils flare, my teeth grinding to dust as I clench my jaw. “Reign Whitmore.”

He nods, jotting down my name. “Age?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Parents’ names?”

“Spencer and Lydia Whitmore.”

“Are you the slasher of Hellcrest Heights?” he asks, his pen poised to writeyes.