My stomach is in knots. I’m trying to poke holes in a plan I’m hearing about for the first time, but Francia has been plotting all of this since the moment we met. Every second of our friendship has been a scheme and I had no clue.
Francia has thought of everything.
“You’re insane,” I breathe. “Actually, clinically insane. None of this is normal. You understand that, right? You’re a crazy f*****g bitch.”
Francia walks around my chair. I try to angle back to see her, but I can’t. The ropes are too tight. Then she squeezes my knuckles painfully and yanks on my finger. Something cracks. Pain flashes. Then a weight disappears.
She walks back to face me. Slowly, she slips the huge diamond onto her finger.
“Maybe I am crazy.” She holds out her hand, letting the diamond reflect the muddy lig
