Page 83 of Betrothed

I opened my mouth to answer yes, but I couldn’t because it wasn’t the truth. Even if Kenzie had brought this to me before, and we’d gone to the police… even if we did all the right things… it still would’ve taken time to get Jake out of Stan’s clutches. To the world, he was the upstanding citizen, and she was the one with a drug habit. And if this afternoon proved anything, it was that all Stan needed was a few minutes and a drugged water bottle to inflict damage.

Minutes.

“She was afraid he’d do this, Zeke… afraid he’d target her son if she told anyone the truth about him.”

And that was why she’d kept it from me.

It could’ve been the effects of the almost drug overdose or the Narcan or everything about the whole fucked up afternoon… but in my gut, I knew the burn in my blood and the vibration of my limbs had nothing to do with drugs and everything to do with savage rage ignited inside me.

“He probably thought if Jake almost overdosed, it would be blamed on Kenzie—or he could blame it on Kenzie. On her past habits. Use it as proof that she wasn’t fit.”

“He had to have taken her from the beach. Threatened her to go back with him when his plan didn’t go according to plan,” Addy said.

Ace swore. “Give me two minutes. Dex will get you the address and then get on the evidence.”

I ended the call, a strained silence falling over the car.

“He doesn’t just want her back, does he?” Addy asked quietly.

“No.” My jaw threatened to break as I shook my head. “She’s proved she’s not willing to go down without a fight, and that’s too much of a risk.”

Stan was going to take her back and kill her; every other option left him vulnerable. Weak. And that was the last thing that piece of shit could stomach.

My sister reached for my arm. “We’ll get there in time.”

CHAPTER20

KENZIE

“Jake, go play outside.”

My son tensed in my arms.

We’d gotten back to the house, the colonial standing like a bright white tombstone behind a picket fence. It presented the perfect image for Stan. The perfect house. The perfect family.The perfect crime.

My heart clamored in my throat as my eyes flicked around the place I’d lived for almost eight years.

It was messier. Unkempt. Dishes in the sink. A trash bag of Jake’s toys sitting by the front door. My chest constricted. Stan always threatened to bag up any toys that Jake didn’t pick up, but he was just a kid, so I always gathered them all before Stan got home. But without me here, it looked like Stan had made good on that threat.

“Dad, is Zeke okay?” he asked, making no move to leave.

“He’ll be fine. He just drank something that made him sick,” Stan snapped.

Jake’s brows pinched together. “He drank my water that you brought.”

Stan tensed.“No, he didn’t.”

“Yeah, he did. I remember because you wrote my name on the label so I wouldn’t lose it, and I saw Zeke drink it before we went—”

“Goddammit, Jake!” Stan roared, striding toward him like he had no qualms about striking a little boy.

Jake’s eyes went wide, and he let out a cry. But before there was fear in his eyes, I’d seen realization. He might only be eight, but he was smart enough to understand that Zeke got sick from drinking the water that was meant for him.

“Jake!” I reached for his arm and pulled him to me, sheltering him to my chest.

I held my breath, feeling like there was a bomb strapped to Stan’s chest, and I’d just cut one of the wires, hoping to diffuse him before he blew. I listened to his loud breaths. He always did this when he got frustrated—fumed and enjoyed the power that just his heavy breathing could wield.

“Go outside right now so I can deal with your mother,” Stan ordered a few moments later.