Chapter 2

Holly Stevenson's POV:

"It was my mother's," I choked out, tears streaming down my face, mixing with the dirt. "It's a family heirloom. It's for my... for my future sister-in-law."

The words were meant to appease her, to show her she was meant to have it, but they had the opposite effect. Her mind, already warped by delusion, twisted them into something monstrous.

"His mother's?" she shrieked, her voice cracking with fury. "He gave you his mother's locket? He promised that to me!"

Her grip on my hair tightened until I thought my scalp would rip off. With her other hand, she snatched the locket and tore it from my neck. The delicate chain snapped, biting into my skin.

"He lied to me!" she screamed, more to herself than to me. "That lying, cheating bastard! He promised me!" She stared at the locket in her palm as if it were a venomous snake. Then she looked from the locket to Joel's still form, and a horrifying new idea took root in her eyes.

"This is your fault," she whispered, her voice dangerously calm. "All of it. If you and your little bastard weren't here, none of this would have happened."

She pulled out her phone and dialed a number. "Freddie? It's me. I need you at Northwood Park. Yes, now. There's a problem that needs to be taken care of."

My heart stopped. Fred. Her brother. A small-time criminal Graham had once paid to stay away from Janna.

"Please," I begged, my voice raw. "Please, Janna, I'm begging you. Just look at him. He's a child. He's only ten years old. He's going to die."

Her partner, the man who had stood by silently, took a hesitant step forward. "Janna, maybe we should just... the kid's crashing. We need to transport."

"Stay out of this, Mark," she snapped without looking at him. "Or I'll make sure you're emptying bedpans in a nursing home for the rest of your career."

He flinched as if struck and immediately backed away, his face pale. My last flicker of hope died.

I crawled on my hands and knees towards Joel, my body aching. "Janna, please. For the love of God, he will die. His brain is being starved of oxygen."

She looked down at me, her face a mask of cold satisfaction. "Good."

"What?" The word was a strangled gasp.

"I said good," she repeated, savoring the word. "I want him to die. I'm not raising some other woman's brat. I will not be a stepmother. Graham and I are going to have our own children. Perfect children."

"He's not my son!" I screamed, the denial tearing from my throat. "He's my brother! My brother!"

She just laughed, a sound completely devoid of warmth. "A likely story."

A dusty pickup truck screeched to a halt beside the ambulance, and a mountain of a man got out. He was big, with a shaved head, crude tattoos snaking up his neck, and the same pale, cruel eyes as his sister. Fred Warner.

He surveyed the scene, his gaze lingering on me with open disgust. "This the bitch?"

"This is her," Janna said, her confidence swelling with his arrival. "She's been trying to steal Graham from me. Even had a kid with him to trap him."

Fred grunted, looking me up and down. "She ain't much to look at." He smirked. "But I bet she cleans up alright."

"Thank you for coming, Freddie," Janna said, preening under his brutish approval. She walked over to me, grabbing my chin and forcing my head up. "Now, where were we?"

"Please," I sobbed, looking past her to the monster she called a brother. "Please, just save my son... my brother... just save the boy!"

Janna's eyes glittered with a malicious idea. "You want me to save him?" she purred. "Alright. I'll save him. But it's going to cost you."

She leaned in close, her breath hot and sour against my cheek. "Get on your knees. And you're going to tell me, and my brother, and his friends, exactly what a worthless, husband-stealing whore you are."