“How are you doing today, sweetheart?” Justin asks, settling into his seat like a man very accustomed to grotesque wealth. Raúl prepares him a glass of champagne, offering me up a glass as well. I just stare at it. But what’s a little underage drinking compared to everything else I’ve fucking done?

I take it, and Justin seems pleased, his smile widening in an almost disturbing sort of way.

Raúl retreats, closing the door and joining the driver in the front seat.

The dark glass between us and them keeps our conversation private; I’m sure that’s not by accident.

I down the entire glass of champagne in one go, switching it out for the bottle. I yank it from the ice bucket by the neck, remembering that fateful day in the white limo with Parrish, when I dry heaved and nearly threw up into an empty bucket very similar to this.

That was lifetimes ago, wasn’t it?

I’ve done so many things I never thought I’d do.

That, and I’ve fallen in love. More than once? I have no idea. Actually, I do, but it’s sort of a heavy subject and I don’t have the headspace for it, not when I’m sitting kitty-corner to a guy who kills people.

“How about you tell me how Parrish is doing and then I’ll answer your question?” I retort, downing some of the champagne and letting it fizz across my tongue. Justin’s still smiling at me, his legs crossed, revealing black socks above his dark brown shoes. He’s got on a blue suit, the jacket unbuttoned, the top few buttons on his dress shirt also undone. There’s an expensive watch on one wrist, but really, it’s his bright blue eyes that command my attention.

“I’m a man of my word, princess. If you begin to question my integrity, I might start to get angry.” He slides his phone from his pocket with the hand that isn’t holding the champagne. After tapping the screen a few times, he passes it over to me.

I look down to see what appears to be a live feed of Parrish pacing the floor. His bed is messy, the covers half on the floor. His fingers are locked together behind his head, his chocolate hair falling onto his forehead. The sun-bleached bits seem a little darker, but maybe that’s just the lighting?

His chest and belly are sliced up, and he winces slightly as he drops his arms to his sides. But at the very least, he seems clean, and the wounds are still shiny, still slathered with some sort of salve or ointment. My heart contracts painfully, and I forget to breathe for so long that I let out a choking breath, like I’m suffocating.

Justin seems to find that funny, chuckling as he collects the phone from my hand, taps the screen again, and puts it back in the pocket of his jacket.

“You want to know how I’m doing today?” I inquire politely. “Well, since you seem to be so big on honesty, I’ll tell you. Shitty, that’s how I’m doing.”

He chuckles at me again and sips his champagne, watching me over the rim of the glass like I’m the most curious and most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. The expression echoes Tess’ warning from earlier, and I shiver.

“Why is that, darling?” he asks, and I grit my teeth. The constant pet names are grating.

“Um, you threatened me into fucking my sister’s boyfriend last night,” I snap, too frustrated to even be embarrassed. Well, okay, so my cheeks flame and my tits burn, but at least he can’t see the latter part of my flush. “That’s sick. You’re sick. This whole thing is sick.”

Justin doesn’t appear bothered by my outburst, cocking his head slightly to one side as he studies me some more. Taking me in. Absorbing me. I’ll admit, I get a small sort of thrill at seeing the split at the edge of his lip and the purpling of a bruise just beneath a fine layer of foundation. He tried to hide it, but since I know what I’m looking for, it seems obvious.

“To be fair, Maxine broke up with Maxim prior to last night. He was a free man. Try not to be so hard on yourself.” Justin finishes his champagne and then delicately places the glass in a cup holder opposite him. “Besides, you’re attracted to Maxx, are you not?”

“I’m your daughter,” I reply blandly, my hand tightening around the neck of the champagne bottle. “Why would you even ask me that?”

He sighs, but in a patronizing sort of way, like I’m just a heathen who hasn’t learned how to behave properly just yet. His eyes flick to the tennis bracelet on my wrist, and the edge of his mouth quirks up in amusement. Bingo.

“Attraction, sex, romance, they’re all just games we play with ourselves. Reward yourself with your wants. Don’t be ashamed of them.”

“Oh, you mean the way you do?” I retort, wondering how sassy I can get before this all backfires on me—and Parrish. I should probably watch my tongue, but then, Justin never told me I had to. He hasn’t made it a command—yet. “You murder people.”

“Every murderer is probably somebody’s old friend. You cannot mix up sentiment and reason, ” he says, as if quoting something from memory. Justin gives me a sharp smile in response to my questioning look. “The Mysterious Affair at Styles .” When I give no indication of understanding, Justin throws his head back in a manic yet somehow also genteel laugh. I shiver again. I’m going to be doing a lot of shivering around this man, apparently. Just like I had a billion forced smiles with Tess.

Fuck. My. Life.

“An Agatha Christie novel, darling.” He leans in toward me, and I get that whiff of his spicy scent again, the one that makes me feel as if there are memories dancing at the edges of my consciousness. But when was the last time I saw this man? When I was one? One and a half, at best? You can’t have real memories from those ages, just fragments of thought. Still, his scent lingers. Just like Tess’. My parents. Tess Vanguard, the crime writer, and Justin Prior, the app developer/serial killer. Hmm. Should I be proud or, like, suicidal? “I see that Tess hasn’t enlightened you much on her past. You know, her grandmother was obsessed with Agatha Christie.” He sits back and nods his head once, as if he’s recalling a fond memory. “She’s the world’s bestselling author, Tess’ hero .” Justin snorts and crosses his arms. “Has she told you nothing about her past?”

“She mentioned Agatha Christie in passing,” I admit, studying Justin the same way that he’s studying me. Are there clues here to finding Parrish? Clues in his appearance? In this limo? In our destination? “What does it matter?”

Justin heaves a sigh and shakes his head again.

“History is important, Mia. Lest we repeat the same mistakes over and over again.” He smiles at me again. “As I’ve said before, this town is cursed. Cursed in blood and diamonds.” Justin chuckles at himself. He seems to enjoy laughing, but every sound he makes is tinged with shadows. “I certainly won’t be repeating my mistakes from fourteen years ago.”

“How old are you?” I ask. Tess mentioned they went to Whitehall together, but for how long?

“Thirty-six. Is that important?” He cocks his head to the side, still smiling. Always smiling.

“Just putting together clues,” I reply, leaning back in my seat and trying to affect a calm demeanor. I’ve grown up light-years in the last few weeks thanks to this prick. Might as well put those skills to good use.

“Is that so? Do you know where to find Parrish?” This time, he isn’t just smiling, he’s grinning maniacally. “I’m guessing not or else you would’ve freed him. No mind. I truly didn’t expect you to solve this mystery just yet. Even my intelligent, perceptive little daughter needs to learn to walk before she can run.”

I glare at him, gritting my teeth so hard that they actually hurt.

“So, can I ask you questions? Will you answer them?” I take another swig of the champagne.

“Depends on the questions. Ask away. I won’t be mad. If I don’t want to answer, I simply won’t.”

Hmm. Okay. It’s like, bizarre as fuck that Justin Prior is more open than Tess Vanguard. She doesn’t really invite conversation or questions. At least, not until recently. Justin seems excited by the idea.

I decide to start small and work my way up.

“What’s up with the black stag mask?” I ask, raising a brow. “It’s a little odd, don’t you think?”

Justin snorts and leans toward me, arms still crossed. He looks so young. I was expecting someone much older; I don’t know why. Tess was eighteen when she had me; Justin was twenty. I should’ve figured they’d be close in age.

“Oh, there are so many reasons for that.” He grins again, his teeth a brilliant, blinding white. “The black stag represents mystery and rebellion. It’s a warning to avoid flashy things and search for substance.” My eyes flick to the watch on Justin’s wrist before returning to his face, and he freaking winks at me. Total creeper. “Anyway, we used to watch the movie Bambi together when you were a baby. I’m sure you don’t remember, but it always struck me, that scene where the young fawn finally meets his father.” He holds up a hand, like he’s reliving the memory.

Typical Millennial. Loves Disney. A lot. Also likes killing people. Not sure if that’s a Millennial trait specifically though. I’m guessing not.

“Stags represent fatherhood in certain cultures.” He waves that same hand in a dismissive fashion. “Anyway, it’s just pageantry. Just for fun. You have to have fun in life where you can. It’s the little things, Mia.” Justin chuckles at himself yet again, and I stare wide-eyed in return.

Good lord.

He’s nuts.

He is absolutely nuts.

“This is as exciting as I always imagined it would be.” He sits back in his seat, recrossing his arms. “Next question.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” I manage to whisper, past the sudden surge of fear and anxiety that I’m feeling. Every second that I spend with this man confirms what I need to do. I need to offer myself to him completely in order to save Parrish. In order to save everyone I love, actually. He has all the resources: the money, the connections, the power, that horrible app.

That app. Milk Carton. I don’t know much about it, but I got a horrible, horrible feeling when I heard the pitch during the press conference.

The Milk Carton app puts powerful facial recognition software in the hands of the public with a simple, user-friendly interface. More advanced than any of its predecessors, it can even search the dark web, comb social media, use side profiles, blurred faces, and link to traffic cams, store surveillance cameras, airport security and more. Milk Carton even utilizes its own cutting-edge aging software to help find missing children years after their image was last captured.

Milk Carton, the only application a parent will ever need to install on their phone.

Keeping children safe is not only our mission—it’s our passion.

And it can be yours, too—for fourteen dollars on your favorite app store.

Track anyone, anytime, anywhere. All in the palm of your hand.

Keeping children safe, right? Unless, you know, the CEO kills them first.

Anyway, how creepy is all that?

I suck in a deep breath. The scope of this app is terrifying. I’m not even sure how it’s legal.

“Doing this to you?” Justin parrots back. “I’m not doing anything to you, Mia. I’m parenting you.”

“My name is Dakota,” I snap back, and he cocks a perfectly manicured eyebrow.

“You want to be called by the name of your kidnapper’s dead baby?” I cringe at that, but it’s the truth, whether I like it or not. “Okay. I’ll play along, Dakota. ” He continues to smile at me. “I’m not doing this to hurt you; I’m teaching you. The world is sick and sad and cruel. You need to learn to master it, or it will master you. ”

Oh my god. Oh my god. He really is freaking insane.

“You see, I’ve ascended to a higher level of being. All these years of being alone, of missing you, of missing your mother, of living in exile, I’ve learned so much. All of these hard-won truths, I’m passing onto you in a much simpler, much easier to digest way. You should be grateful you have such an adoring father.” He gives me a faux little frown. “You’re not upset with me, are you?”

Wow. Um. Wow.

“Take me,” I blurt out, setting the bottle aside and not caring if it spills on the expensive leather seat. Justin grabs it right away and places it back into the bucket of ice. “Just take me right now and let Parrish go. I’ll do whatever you want, participate in any lesson. I’ll crash cars and throw things and insult whoever you need me to insult.”

Justin stares at me for a moment, and then he starts to laugh again, this deeply mirthful, rolling sound that echoes around the back of the limo.

“Oh, Dakota, princess, you’re adorable.” He reaches out and cups the side of my face in gentle fingers, stroking my hair back. I don’t dare push his hand away. What was it he said to me on the note that came with the heart pin? I’m not sure either of us would survive that. Yep. That’s the vibe I’m getting. “Oh no, you’ll still have to find him. I appreciate your enthusiasm, but these lessons cannot be rushed. There are hard consequences for everything we do in life; this is yours. You want Parrish back? Find him. He belongs to you. You can do whatever you want with him; I won’t interfere.”

I’m shaking now, and I feel like I might very well puke, same way I did in Tess’ limo way back when. Um. I mean, three and a half months ago. Sure feels like a century has passed.

“What if … what if when I find him, I come to you and give myself up then? Will you leave everyone I love alone? Could we work that out?”

Justin appears to consider this for a minute and then shrugs, a casual, easy roll of his shoulders.

“Mm, not likely, but I’ll give it some consideration. Some.” He points at me. “But don’t count on it.”

I’m just staring at him now, wondering how the fuck this will ever end. Where does he stop? When does he let me go? Never?

I’m going to have to kill him.

That thought hits me like a ton of bricks, and my head spins. I feel dizzy.

I don’t want to do that, kill my own biological father. But what if it’s the only way out of this?

The only way out is … to give up a vital part of myself? To commit murder?

I’m stricken. I’m devastated. I can barely breathe.

“Oh, look, we’re here!” Justin cheers, grinning at me as the limo rolls to a stop and Raúl opens the door for us. “Go on now, I think you’ll like the place I picked.”

Even though I want nothing more than to drop to the ground in despair, I make myself climb out of the limo only to find myself outside of a tiny little hole-in-the-wall restaurant. It’s barely big enough for three adults to stand with their arms outstretched from one wall to the other. The building itself is crammed in between two others, the exterior brick painted a dingy yellow.

Uh. This looks nothing like the country club where Tess took me to lunch.

This is … “A Mexican restaurant?” I guess as I read the name. Un Padre, Dos Hijas. I don’t really speak Spanish, but I think it means … one father, two daughters? I’m assuming that means the place is owned by a guy and his daughters. How poignant. As far as I know, I’m this idiot’s only kid.

Lucky me.

“Try the fajitas. You’ll be blown away. If you’re like me—a vegetarian,” Justin says this with all due seriousness as I gape up at him. He’s about as tall as Maxx. Like … six foot something? I’m not good with heights. “They have a veggie option for the fajitas. Delightful.”

“You’re a vegetarian?” I quip back, trying not to scream hypocrite aloud.

“Animals are individuals with souls,” he tells me, and I just … well, I gawp. “Not just food. Come, princess. I won’t judge you if you want the steak or chicken. I’m a reasonable man.”

Erm.

Fuck.

Just … fuck.

I am so far out of my league, I might as well be in space.

So what’s a gamer girl to do with a rich, powerful, serial killer for a father?

She has to play smart. And careful. Oh so very careful.

I need a new plan—and quick.

Time is running out. Not just for Parrish. But for me.

For all of us. Everyone I love is in danger so long as this man lives and breathes.

But am I really willing to give up my humanity to kill him? Maybe. I just need to figure out a way to do it.

Lunch with the Seattle Slayer is oddly more pleasant than it was when I went to the country club with Tess. He’s attentive, and he seems genuinely interested in literally everything about me. He treats the waitstaff—yep, it’s a dad and two daughters who own and run the place—with respect. Tips well. Writes a five-star review on his phone for the restaurant while laughing with the owner.

The food there is like, heaps above the stuff at the country club. That, and the atmosphere is relaxed and friendly and inviting.

Also, every second I’m with Justin, I become more afraid of him.

Nobody is this nice for real. Nobody.

On the way to a place called Emerald City Medical Center and DNA Specialists for, obviously, the paternity test, Justin puts music on. More specifically, he plays Every Little Thing She Does is Magic by The Police. It’s an old song—far before Justin’s time—but he seems to have the lyrics memorized.

I know that because he sings and bounces his foot in time to the music.

When the song ends, and he starts it up again—telling me he loves to listen to songs on repeat, just like me and Tess—I can’t help it. I blurt something stupid out.

“You’re crazy,” I tell him. It comes out matter-of-factly.

Justin pauses and turns the music down slightly.

“Actually, I have complete control of myself.” He reaches inside his jacket pocket and removes a switchblade, flicking the sharp end out with a snap of his wrist. “See, I have a knife on me. I could stab you in the leg if I wanted to. But what good would that do me? I practice restraint.” He puts the knife away while I sit there, wide-eyed and whirling. My mind is working on solutions in the background even as my mammal brain goes into full panic mode.

We’ve spotted a predator, it says. Run.

When the next song comes on—Melancholy by AViVA which Justin says he knows I like—I just sit there and let him sing. I’ve learned my lesson quick. Also, I know now that he keeps weapons on him. I should’ve just assumed. Probably has a gun under that suit jacket, too.

We arrive at the testing center, and I follow him in obediently and let the technician swab my cheek. Been here, done this before. The sterile room with its bright lights brings painful memories back to the forefront of my mind.

Me and Tess. Three tests. One with a cheek swab, one with our hair, one with our blood.

All matches.

She didn’t trust the first one. Or the second.

Because, according to that page she wrote, I wasn’t what she expected or wanted.

It doesn’t take long for the employees to gather our samples, and the results will only take about twenty-four hours. Unfortunately for me, I have no doubt that this man is my biological father.

There’s no way I’d ever be that lucky.

I do notice, however, that Justin seems to know everyone who works at the place by name. They laugh and joke with him. He even pats a guy on the back and whispers an inappropriate joke under his breath that has the whole staff chortling.

Does this fucker know every person in the Seattle metro area or something?

Raúl follows Justin around like a puppy, albeit it one with pink leopard print glasses and a French manicure. He gives me disdainful looks when Justin isn’t watching.

“You’re so lucky,” he tells me, echoing Mr. Volli’s sentiment, “to have such an amazing father.”

I glance over at him. We’re both standing near the doors to the medical center, waiting for Justin to finish chatting with his buddies.

“What is wrong with you people?” I whisper, turning away and shaking my head. I slip my Maxine-phone out of my pocket and then close my eyes as I clench it in a tight fist, struggling not to think about my sister. She pops into my head constantly. I was tempted to ask Justin if I might not be able to talk to her at some point. Knowing that she knows about me and Maxx is an open sore that oozes and bleeds with every breath I take. But I really, really don’t want to draw his attention over to her, so I keep my mouth shut.

Better she hurts now than dies later.

Raúl ignores me, his dark gaze focused on my bio dad. I take that moment to check my phone. I haven’t looked at it once since leaving with Justin. How could I? He absorbs every spare second of time, stares at me obsessively, and talks nonstop.

The first thing I notice is a long, heartfelt message from Maxine. Even though I blocked her number, it isn’t difficult to use an app to make phone calls or texts through a dummy number. That, or she’s using one of her friend’s phones. Got another phone for herself. The possibilities are endless.

I know it’s from her though because of the first line in the message.

I don’t care if you slept with Maxx. Baby sister, please call me.

I delete it and then block that number right away. Justin will know she’s contacted me—he’s a master hacker in every way that matters—but I can’t control that. I can only control if I respond. Surely, he’ll see that.

With my hand shaking and hot tears fighting to break through my practiced stoicism, I check my other messages.

Maxx and Chasm are blowing up my phone in a group chat.

Chasm: Let us know you’re okay, Little Sister. Won’t lie. I’m feeling panicked.

Maxx: Just one message, one word. Let us know you’re alive.

Chasm: My dad is being obsessive today. Not sure if I’ll be able to see you tonight. But I’d like to. Let me know when you get home, and I’ll try to escape.

Maxx: Tess is drinking heavily. It’s not good over here. The police have just released the names of the dead teens from the other night. One of them is Francisca Cortez, the daughter of the host on the talk show you went on. The other is some random fuckboy she was banging.

Oh.

Shit.

I shoot off a quick text—I’m alive, be home soon —and then put my phone away as Justin saunters over to me and Raúl. His assistant opens the door and out we go, father and daughter in step together.

“You killed Francisca Cortez?” I whisper, and Justin stops short. For a second, I wonder if I’ve made a mistake, but then he just laughs.

“Uppity little bitch. She was so rude to you behind the scenes at the talk show. She had what was coming to her.” Justin waits for Raúl to open the limo door before climbing in. I scramble after him.

“Why Francisca?” I ask, trying to puzzle out his methods. I’ve looked at his victims over and over again, and I don’t see any patterns. Like, none at all. “Just because she was rude to me once?” Also, he was spying on me even then. Christ.

“Well, not just that,” Justin explains as Raúl closes the door and off we go, heading back in the direction of the Vanguard house. “But I was having trouble choosing between Francisca and her younger sister, Maria. The former was extraordinarily rude to you, so that became the deciding factor.”

I chew on my thumbnail, a new habit I’ve picked up from somewhere recently. I think I’m just stressed out and looking for easy tics.

“Besides,” he continues, without any prompting from me. “Don’t you just hate influencers? What a plague. I feel a shred of guilt; it was my generation that introduced the disease known as Myspace. But social media’s gotten so much worse, hasn’t it? All those hideous, ugly, little people fighting for clout.” He cocks his head at me. “You have a lot of followers, Dakota. Don’t allow social media to become an obsession; it’s a dangerous one. I must say however, I did enjoy your last few videos.” He throws both hands up by his chest, giving them a little shake, like spirit fingers or some shit. “Who wants to help me catch a serial killer? I loved that. So dramatic. So much fun.”

“Why Francisca Cortez?” I repeat, trying to pull him back from his tangent. As sharp as he is, he seems to let his mind wander down random paths when he’s talking. Also, I don’t particularly enjoy being mocked. I understand that my video has yielded little to nothing. The skeleton key video, however, has been a bit more lucrative.

Speaking of, that’s the plan for tomorrow.

Find some way to get to the asylum after school. And not just that, but the cemeteries on my list as well as the hotel. Tess will never allow it, but what if I played Justin? He said he enjoyed hearing me ask for what I wanted. Maybe I just tell him I want to go out after school with my friends? He’d know what I was doing, but I also think he’d enjoy watching me run around searching for clues.

“Francisca is Martina Cortez’s granddaughter, that’s why,” Justin says, scowling rather than smiling for once. And oh my fucking god. Did I say his smiles and grins and laughs were terrifying? Hell no. They’re about a million times better than this. My hackles raise, and my hands curl around the edge of the seat, fingernails digging into the leather with a creak. “Martina Cortez is a heartless snake who uses the backs of others to climb the ladder of success. She’s a pretentious bitch who used the false charges against me to not only launch the most popular episode of her show in internet history, but also gobbled up the money from my company to bolster her failing finances.” Justin inhales and then exhales several times, curling and uncurling his hands. When he opens his eyes and looks at me, I know without a doubt that he must die.

Because he will never, ever let me go.

“Because of the things she did—because of the things they all did, this whole accursed town—I lost your mother. And then she lost you. They owe me fourteen years of poverty and struggle, of misery and longing. They owe me a company and all of the research and money that went with it. They owe me a reputation and a social life.” He reaches out to cup my face again, stroking his finger along the length of my jaw as I shudder beneath his touch. His hand his warm, his touch gentle and kind, but there’s a quiet menace to it that penetrates deep into my very soul. “Mostly, they owe me fourteen years with my beautiful daughter, years that I can never, ever get back.” He drops his hand and smiles again, back to his cheerful self. “Fourteen years, fourteen victims, on the fourteenth day of Parrish Vanguard’s disappearance. Poignant. I couldn’t have asked for a better start to my new life.”

Start?

Did he just say start?

“So … you’re going to kill more people then?” I whisper, hating myself for not sounding stronger, but unable to cope with even one more item on my already overflowing plate.

Justin’s smile turns into a rictus grin.

“No, princess: you are.”

And that … that’s what I’ve been afraid of all along.