They were empty words, and it was a command Donny couldn’t obey.

He continued to cry.

During the next few months, he cried a lot. We were left with so little water, I often wondered how he was still able to produce tears.

We shed our dirty garments and got clean as best we could under the lukewarm water.

It was our last shower until Dad rescued us.

A few minutes later, we were hustled out of the shower, given ragged towels to dry ourselves, and then each given a large gray T-shirt. It was a man’s size, and Donny’s hung well below his knees. Mine did not. It barely covered my ass, but I had nothing else.

Donny gripped my hand tightly. “What’s happening, Dale? Where’s Mommy?”

I had no answer for my brother.

It seemed Mommy had forsaken us.

We were led to a door, where one of the kids with us was thrown into a room.

Then another door, and another of the masked minions grabbed me. “In you go,” he said, his voice eerie.

“No, Dale!” Donny cried.

“Shut the fuck up,” the minion said sharply.

“Please,” I said. “Don’t. Let him come with me.”

The masked man smiled through his ski mask. Creepy, how I could see only his lips but no cheeks and nose. It was a smile of deception, a smile like a snake hissing in a whisper, “Be careful what you wish for…”

“Fine.” He threw Donny into the room with me, my brother crying out as he landed on his knees.

Donny didn’t know at the time, but I soon figured out the reason behind the sly smile of the masked man.

This wasn’t the minion helping us.

This was the minion starting to break us.

Horror would descend, and more horrific than anything done to me would be watching it happen to my little brother.

“You going to shoot, or what?”

Brock’s voice shocks me out of my trip back in time.

I quickly scan the pool table. I’m solids this time, and only two balls remain. Brock missed his last shot, but only one striped ball is left on the table for him to sink.

It’s a close game, and Brock is admittedly a better pool player than I am. I beat him about half the time, though, due to my focus. Brock tends to lose focus…especially when pretty girls are around.

I can do it this time. Two easy shots await me, and then, if I plan the second shot just right, I’ll have a straight line to the eight ball.

Ashley’s eyes are on me.

I don’t look toward her, but I know. I feel her gaze, and I can’t allow it to trip up my focus.

I make the first shot with ease.

Then the second.

Ashley still watches me, and my groin tightens. Fuck. I love her. I want to sink this shot for her. Show her I’m as good as Brock.

I steady my hand and put the cue stick in position. I aim, sliding the slick stick through my fingers once, twice, three times, and then—

Lust whirls through me. Lust I can’t control. Except it’s not lust. It’s love. It takes me over, swirls through my head and gives birth to the rage I’ve tried so hard to suppress.

My cue stick digs into the table and I miss the shot.

Brock wrinkles his forehead, makes his shots, and in the end, sinks the eight ball.

He wins.

I hope it’s a shallow victory for him, as shallow as mine over Ashley.

I played a good game, and I should have won. Indeed, I could have won.

But no longer.

The monster inside will never let me rest.

It’s eating away at my focus, and soon it will destroy what I’ve worked so hard to build.

Those walls around me are crumbling.

Crumbling.

And I’m no longer safe from the chaos.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Ashley

A lump forms in my throat as Brock wins the game against Dale. Dale was so close. That eight ball was an easy shot, but he blew it.

“He’s going to be pissed,” I murmur to Talon.

“Dale? Nah. He doesn’t care much about pool.”

“He’s good at it.”

“Dale’s good at a lot of things. He’s a virtuoso pianist, for example.”

Right. He told me he played. He neglected to say he was a virtuoso. “Oh?” I say.

“Yeah. He’s a creative type, like Ryan and Marj. Joe and I didn’t get that gene.”

“Where do you suppose Dale got it?” Then I clasp my hand to my mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“It’s okay. Dale’s adopted. We all know that.” He takes a sip of his drink. “Honestly, we don’t know. We never met his real parents, and Dale and Donny didn’t know a lot about their mother. They knew nothing about their father.”

“I guess one of them must have had creative gifts,” I say. “Or maybe it’s nurture, not nature.”

Talon laughs. “If that were the case, Jade and I would be creative, and neither of us really is. Diana is, in an analytical way. That’s why she’s drawn to architecture, I guess. Donny and Bree are more logical than creative.”

“I suppose that makes Donny a good lawyer,” I say absently.

Talon nods. “And it makes Bree very handy in the orchards as well.”

I turn and look toward Dale once more.

And I hold back a gasp.

He’s gone.

I quickly scan the bar. Maybe he went to the men’s room.

Back at the pool table, Brock is racking the balls once more, and Henry is chalking his stick. The two of them are setting up for another game.

“He’s probably outside,” Talon says to me.

“Who?”

He chuckles. “I know you’re looking for Dale. He needs to leave enclosed spaces sometimes. Especially after losing a game he should have won.”

“Why does he like the outdoors so much?” I ask.

Talon sighs. “That’s something you’d have to ask him.”

I nod. “I doubt he’d be forthcoming if I asked him anything personal like that.”

“Probably not.” Talon swirls the bourbon in his lowball glass. “But you never know. The right woman can work miracles. I should know.”

I meet Talon’s gaze. His words are enigmatic. Is he talking about Dale? Is he talking about me? Is he talking about himself? Jade? All of us?