The Complication (The Program #6)(86)

“After your sister died,” she says, “you retreated down here. I guess we all retreated into our own places of misery. But the Wes I knew died in that river too. You weren’t the same without Cheyenne. And then you met Tatum, and together, you began to slip away—just like your sister did. I knew it was only a matter of time. Both of my kids would be gone. I had to stop it, but you wouldn’t listen.

“And don’t you see now?” she continues, looking from him to me. “I was right. Tatum broke your heart just like I thought she would, and then she came here to ruin your new relationship. I got to her first. I only wish it could’ve been permanent.”

Holy shit.

I know that Wes wasn’t the only one destroyed by Cheyenne’s suicide—his entire family had been devastated. As a parent, Dorothy’s loss is immeasurable, and all this time, she’s been slowly spiraling. Digging into her pain. Trying to protect her last child. But that grief has brought her to the brink of insanity.

She wished she had killed me. I think she might still wish it.

“You’re not well,” I say, wiping my cheeks. “Dorothy, you need serious help.”

I’m braver now because I realize this wasn’t about me. This was always about her holding on to her only living child. And although that’s sad, it’s also completely fucked.

Dorothy smiles ruefully. “No, honey,” she says coldly. “I need you out of our lives.”

The door suddenly opens, and with a gasp of wind, two men rush inside. Wes quickly drops his arms to spin to face them, but it’s clear they have a mission. Without hesitation one of them comes for me. Dorothy steps aside.

They’re handlers, I realize, and I dart into the living room, bounding up the stairs. I don’t make it. One of the men grabs my foot, and I slip, banging my knee painfully on the stairs. I reach to hold on to the stair above me, but he drags me down the steps, my elbows getting carpet burn, my body bumping jarringly at each stair.

“No!” I scream, trying to turn over, but he’s got my feet, and pulls me to the basement floor. He flips me over, and I’m able to look up, stunned when I recognize him.

The handler has a scar across his cheek, thick and white with little lines running through it. He’s the same man who took me from my house and brought me to The Program.

I kick him hard in the thigh, and he loses his grip. I get up, trying to rush past him, running for the bedroom and the door to the outside. Wes is pinned against the wall, his arm behind his back at an impossible angle as he tries to fight. Dorothy, concerned, watches it unfold.

She widens her eyes when she sees me run into the room, but then I’m tackled from behind and fall onto the bed. I scream, scream as loud as I can, and Dorothy flinches against the sound. Wes goes wild, and just as he breaks free from the handler, there is a pop and he howls out in pain, his arm dangling at his side. The handler takes a step back and looks at Dorothy.

“Get her out of here!” she yells, pointing to me.

But I’m still kicking, not letting the handler get close enough to grab me. I don’t understand how this happened, how we got here. Wes, injured, sees the second handler start toward me. He grabs the lamp with his left arm, ripping it from the wall, and bashes it over the guy’s back. The handler stumbles, falling into Wes and knocking him against the desk, both of them hitting the floor.

Undeterred, the handler with the scar punches my shin to get my leg down, making me cry out, and then scrambles on top of me, holding me on the bed. I thrash, ready to bite his fucking ear off.

“What are you doing?” I beg Dorothy. “Stop this!”

“You’re a threat to my family,” Dorothy says authoritatively. “And Dr. Warren contacted me and told me all about how you slept here the other night. How you did exactly what I told you not to. She said you’d bring Wes down, and I told her I already knew that. Dr. Warren promised to collect you earlier, so imagine my surprise to see your Jeep in my driveway. I called her. You left me no choice, Tatum.”

She is completely unhinged. The handler tries to lock my legs with his, but the intimate touch makes me go berserk. I free myself enough to bring my knee between his, nailing him in the balls as hard as I can. He coughs and falls to the side, gripping them.

I push him off the bed and dash for the door.

“If you don’t cooperate, she will take Wes!” Dorothy screams.

“You fucking idiot!” I scream back. “They’re going to take him anyway!” I stop to help Wes up from the floor. He’s gone ghostly pale, holding his arm to his side. He looks like he’s about to throw up.

We don’t wait for her to consider my words. I grab Wes’s wallet off the dresser, along with my keys. Both handlers are on the floor, trying to get back to their feet.

Wes looks at his mom one last time, and I think she suddenly realizes how badly he’s been injured.

“Weston,” she says softly, and I swear, I think Wes is about to break down. The look of betrayal on his face is absolutely devastating.

I put my hand on the back of his neck, letting him know we have to go. And then Wes and I escape outside into the storm. We get in my Jeep and flee the scene.





CHAPTER EIGHT


I’M SHAKING, COLD FROM THE rain on my skin and terrified by the fact that they almost got me again. Grabbed me. Hurt me.