48. Freya
48
FREYA
T he guest room in Oz’s parents’ house is quiet. We’ve been moving around so much the last couple of weeks that I never really unpacked much, but I gather what belongings I have and tuck them away in my carryall.
I find some Polaroids Oz took of us during the family dinner, of Jude laughing, and Eli, River, and I all dressed up. We look so happy and normal it makes my heart hurt. Pressure builds under my eyes and I slip the photos into the side pocket, putting them away for safe keeping.
Zach did as he promised and let me and Layla go.
The bomb had been real though, and we lost two agents. The only reason River and Eli are still alive is because they hung back to answer Oz’s call.
I add two more names to the death count caused by my own blood. It’s still sinking in that Zach is my half-brother. I always thought my mother’s side of the family was the good part in me, the part that made me different from my father, but Zach doesn’t share Maxwell’s DNA and if anything, he’s more of a monster. A true psychopath, incapable of feeling emotions.
Logically, I know it’s likely Zach gets that from his father, Jeremiah, but it still feels like I’m tainted. Not only is my father a killer, my brother is too. And Angelica is only a hairs breadth away.
I wanted to murder Zach in that limo. I wanted to tear his hands off of Layla and sink my knife into his chest. He hurt the people I care about and that was enough for me to justify ending his life.
Maybe I’m fighting a losing battle. Maybe I’m destined to become the monster my father groomed me to be. Maybe what I’m about to do is for the best.
Laughter from downstairs drifts through the floor and I shake myself out of my funk. River, Eli, Layla, Oz, and Jude are all safe downstairs. I need to stop wallowing in self-fulfilling prophecies and join them before one of the guys comes looking for me.
I finish packing my bag, tuck it under the bed, then head downstairs.