CHAPTER 9
ISABELLE
“How the f**k?” Mack says to the windshield. But, like Mack, I can no longer take the silence. It’s eating me from the inside out, clawing at the tender spots in my guts. My chest hurts as if someone scooped out my heart with a spoon.
We’ve been driving for an hour—the motel is less than ten minutes from here, but we’ve been utterly silent since we left the gravesite, steeping in the realization that Dominick’s father faked his death.
“So that asshole is still alive,” Ryder says, craning his neck to see me from the front passenger seat. I’m in the middle of the first row of seats in the back, Cue on one side, Blade and Rooster dropping mud onto the floorboard from the third row. “Is your dad?”
I glance over my shoulder at Blade—he’s been especially quiet and sullen
