Chapter 11 · The Collector's File

"My name's on this." I shoved the death bill at Sienna's face. "My name. Not Mia's. Mine."

She couldn't hear me. I still couldn't hear myself. The garage air tasted like gasoline and old paint, and the overhead bulb kept flickering, throwing her face in and out of shadow.

Sienna's mouth moved. I caught buyer and your and maybe sold.

"Don't you dare," I said. "Don't you stand there and tell me you sold my sister and then logged me like I'm next on the invoice."

Her hand came up. Stop or wait or I don't know what. I knocked it aside.

"Six years," I said. "You had six years to tell me she wasn't dead. You let me think she was gone. You let me work for people who would've killed me if they knew I was asking questions."

Sienna grabbed my wrist. Her grip was cold and exact, the kind of hold that said she'd done this before. She pulled me two steps closer and her mouth shaped words I couldn't hear but could guess: I kept you alive.

"By lying?"

She let go. Stepped back. Pulled a pen from her jacket pocket and clicked it twice.