Twisted in Chaos (Destructive Devastation #2)

Chapter 5

“So, you and my father, hmm?” I ask, tilting my head to examine Aiden's fallen face as I button up my dress shirt after taking my time in the shower. Before putting on my clothes, I even reapplied and secured my bandage. I refuse to let an infection take me down now. There is too much work to be done.

Aiden says nothing as he watches me slip on my shiny black dress shoes and buckle my belt. In fact, he puts his nose in the air like he's better than this conversation. So strange how I missed his double-crossing ways. Was he always this way, and I missed it? Or does my father hold something over his head to keep him in line to be his spy? That would make sense. Considering that’s what happened to my wife. My father held her sister over her head for years, using her to do his bidding.

Nothing surprises me about my father anymore.

No matter. One way or another, I'll get the answers I need from his lips. Bloody or not. It's his choice, really.

He's stoking the fire, adding accelerant to the flames with every word he doesn't speak. Soon, I'll explode. And I'm not quite sure I'll be able to reel myself back in after I've lost it.

“Fine then, keep your secrets.” I'll extract them later.

My father may have built and lived in this house, but this place is my home, my domain. I know every nook and cranny, creak in the floor, and where Arrow likes to hide his knives and needles for fast retrieval.

Aiden rolls his eyes—such confidence for a dead man walking.

“Your father is waiting rather impatiently,” Aiden grits out, grabbing my good arm and urgently dragging me forward.

I allow it—for now. I'm giving Aiden all the power here, after all. I'm allowing him to believe I'm submissive in this situation when I'm just the predator in sheep's clothing. Aiden doesn't know what's coming yet.

“How wonderful of him to wait,” I mutter when he drags me down the short hall, past several closed doors.

My ears perk when the sound of a shower running catches my attention from Shepp's art studio. My brows furrow. No one in this house uses that shower or sink, only Shepp when he needs to wash his brushes or hands.

“And who else will join us? Sheppard?” I inquire, returning my attention to the matter at hand—Aiden’s grubby fingers on me. “Arrow? Journey?” It’s on the tip of my tongue to call her my wife, but I’d rather not have them know she means so much to me. No doubt Gabriel would use every ounce of ammunition to force me to heel at his side.

I’m no fucking dog.

Aiden’s gaze eats away at me when we stop at the top of the stairs. His fingers tighten around my arm. Thankfully, it’s the good one, or we’d have a problem. Despite the shot being a graze, it still hurts like hell with every step I take.

“As far as I know. It’s just you and your daddy.” He grins, pulling me toward him. “No one else survived.” His beady eyes take in my unmoving expression. I stare back, noting every lying twitch of his face.

He knows something and isn’t telling me, but he’s also lying about their survival. It’s written in the twitch of his lips and the demented twinkle in his eyes.

“Did they now?” I hum, tilting my head. “Tell me, what exactly happened at the initiation ball?” It's not very subtle on my end, but I’m desperate for answers about my family.

Aiden huffs, yanking me down a few steps. “You mean last night?” He peers back at me. Anger written all over his face. “We were ambushed.”

Colors swirl in my vision, making it difficult to see my surroundings. Ambushed. Of course. I remember them storming the stage. The words they spoke. The guns in my face. My ears ring as he yanks me down the rest of the stairs and shoves my unsteady feet into the dining room.

My vision clears in time to witness my father’s gleaming eyes and wicked smile. His fingers move along the dining room table, swirling over the pattern of the wood. My father's dark eyes lazily run over Aiden's hand placement, and he raises a brow until Aiden forcefully drops my arm. Pain throbs through my shoulder from the jostling movements. But the outside world wouldn’t have a clue.

Never show your enemies what weakens you. Including the mysterious bullet wound.

“Father,” I say, stepping forward.

My gaze lingers on my father's face, filled with a multitude of black and blue bruises. Interesting. Someone beat him to a pulp. Whoever they are, I’d like to shake their hand and give them a prize. Instead, I hold my composure, not showing the glee simmering within me that he felt a pinch of pain.

“Son,” he says, clearing his throat. “You're dismissed, Aiden.” Gabriel stands from his seat expectantly.

“Yes, sir,” the obedient little puppy says, respectfully bowing. “I'll retire to my room for the night. Radio if you need anything.” He smirks at me like he's won the golden goose.

Fat chance.

“Come, have a seat,” my father says with joy seeping into his voice and gesturing to the seat across from him.

He can't hold back the grin ripping across his lips when he embraces me tightly, slapping my back several times affectionately. I startle at the affections he’s showing. It’s odd. This isn’t Gabriel Viotto. Not one bit. He never hugs or shows an ounce of physical affection. Maybe a few praises here and there. But this? Has someone body-snatched him and replaced him with a gentler alien? I eye him skeptically as I slowly pull back from the hug and move to settle in my chair. He rounds the table, sitting opposite me with a contented sigh.

Well, no antenna or green skin. Perhaps a shapeshifter has replaced this joyful man, sipping his whiskey. Maybe he'll be more apt to answer my questions instead of brushing them off.

“Afternoon, Father. You seem pleased today,” I say, leaning back in the chair as a few workers burst into the dining room with salad plates and set them in front of us before they scurry off into the kitchen again, disappearing.

Interesting. He's integrated his staff into my home.

“War is afoot, son. And new developments are unraveling.”

“War?” I question, eyeing the pristine lettuce topped with parmesan and croutons. Just then, my stomach makes itself known to the room, gurgling loudly.

My father raises a brow. “Yes, war. Last night, Shadow infiltrated my tower. Do you not remember?” He eyes me critically, taking in my expression as I ponder his question.

“And we're certain it was Shadow?” I question without answering his own.

He tilts his head. “Hmm. Of course. They announced themselves, son. They spoke to the entire family about what they were there to do.” He pauses briefly, eyeing my shoulder. “And how's the shoulder this morning? Dr. Weaver administered extra pain meds to make you more comfortable. Your screaming was filling the house.”

The look he sends me has irritation spiking in my veins. Me? Not able to handle the pain of a graze? I’d understand if it was a full bullet wound. But this? Sure, it hurts. But screaming and crying so much he had to sedate me? I think not. His motivations for doing so are incredibly suspicious.

“It's fine.” Not completely. He doesn't need to know every time I shift, my pain flares up. “I'm assuming Shadow's forces shot at me,” I state, gauging his oddly favorable mood.

If I can get answers from him and patch the holes in my memory, I'll be better off. Knowledge is power, after all, even with him acting so strangely. He reminds me of a kid excited for Christmas, barely able to contain himself.

“Unfortunately. A lot of the family is feeling the effects of his attack. Many were wounded. Most survived. In the end, we shot each and every one of his people, taking them down before they could get to anyone else. You were the last of their victims.” He shakes his head in disappointment. “How about a whiskey to celebrate your speedy recovery?” my father says, clapping his hands until another server emerges from the kitchen and they quickly pour us each a fresh glass of whiskey.

There seems to be no rage resting in his words. He is giddy with delight, smiling at the workers moving around us again, heading back to their stations. Where is the outrage over Shadow attacking us? Or that I got shot? Gabriel from a month ago would have tossed me in a cell until I recovered. Not giving me pain meds to knock me out.

Something stinks. Badly. But I must pretend everything is okie dokie, or I will tip my father off and face his wrath.

“It's five o'clock somewhere,” I quip, tossing the burning whiskey down my throat. In the back of my mind, I secretly hope there were no drugs at the bottom of the glass. It would be quite unfortunate if I lost my wits around my father when he’s obviously scheming.

“Refill,” my father demands with gritted teeth to the server, who hovers in the corner of the room now, waiting for Gabriel’s demands.

Ah. There he is. The man beneath his jovial mask peeking out to rear his ugly head. I knew he’d return.

My glass is refilled, and I nod my thanks to the server, who slowly backs away. But I have no intention of consuming more alcohol when my father is being unpredictable.

Gabriel fixes me with a stern look, erasing the warmth from his expression.“To dismantling Shadow’s organization piece by piece,” my father says, shoving his whiskey glass into the air. “Someday soon, everything we've put into play will fall in line.”

I’d love nothing more than to reach over and gut my father where he sits, so his kingdom is mine. I’d right his wrongs. Take back what is ours and heal our fucking community. Like most days, I resent being the dutiful heir, putting on the show of a lifetime to appease my psycho father, who would rather slit my throat than be a parent.

“Here, here,” I say, clinking my glass against his, attempting to keep my questions to myself.

Do I want to know where my wife is? Yes, desperately. With Gabriel Viotto, I have to ease into this conversation to not alarm him of any intentions. I’ve learned this from watching him from afar for so long and being in his presence.

I pretend to sip my whiskey and set it down. “Will Shepp and Arrow be joining us this afternoon? It's odd to see you back home after so long.” I add the last part quickly, eyeing my father's stiffening shoulders.

Interesting.

My father carefully sets his glass on the table, wrapping his fingers around it, and I mimic his movements.

“It is unfortunate they both won't be joining us tonight. Arrow, of course, has been in a coma since the explosion. And Shepp? I'm afraid the search is about to be called off.”

My grip tightens on my glass as the words register. It’s the only thing grounding and keeping me from jumping from my chair. Coma? Search? I swallow the bile burning in the back of my throat, remembering the wretched stench of smoke coming from me when I woke up from my drug-induced sleep.

“No!” I hiss, breaching through the curtain just in time to face Arrow , who grins at me. A fucking rocket launcher sits on his shoulder.

Safety off. Finger on the trigger. Arrow shifts his feet shoulder length apart. He leans slightly back and then pulls the trigger. Smoke plums out behind him before the rocket launches out of the tube, sending more smoke in front of him.

“And Viotto tower?” If Arrow truly set off the rocket launcher inside the ballroom, the explosion undoubtedly decimated the entire building. Perhaps that's why he's here in my domain. He has nowhere else to go.

“A total loss. I will move all my operations here for the next six months until I rebuild my headquarters better than ever,” he says, picking up his fork.

Like absolute fuck will that happen long term. This is my home now. A place I made for my brothers and I. Fuck, even my wife.

“And no word on Journey?” I have no clue how I utter those words without revealing my internal freakout. It’s wound tight inside me, ready to spring forth at the drop of a hat. If Journey is hurt, dead, or fucking missing, I don't know what I’ll do. Kill my father? That’s a possibility. If I could only remember the last time I laid eyes on her.

“We're still searching for remains in the rubble. Such a shame what happened.” He clicks his tongue several times before daintily taking a bite of his salad.

“Yes. A shame,” I say, swallowing another mouthful of whiskey to hide the vomit I’m threatening to expel.

I'm decidedly not staying on task with staying sober and instead falling victim to alcohol to numb my soul.

Journey and Shepp are unaccounted for. Arrow is in a coma. I was down with a bullet graze and heavily drugged at the hands of my father’s doctor. I’ve lost time. Precious fucking time. I don’t know how to reclaim it all when we’re all spread out in the wind.

I suck in a breath, counting backward from ten. Again and again. Just like Shepp taught me to do. It’s calming. Mind clearing. Sweeping away the worries drowning me.

I watch my father again. Watching the slight tic of his jawline and how he gobbles down his drinks. My father can tell a lie with a smile on his face and the proof in his hands.

So, what’s stopping him from lying straight to my face about where they are? It’d be a little too convenient for everyone to be dead, missing, or in a coma. Wouldn’t it?

Gabriel swallows hard, signaling for another drink. Agitation boils to the surface of his skin when he snaps his fingers hurriedly at the poor server. My gaze wanders over their movements. All the pain and panic ease inside me like a record screeching to a halt.

Gabriel is bluffing through this, hoping I won't ask questions. And if I do? He has perfectly tailored responses up his sleeve.

“And efforts are being made to find them?” And there it is—the twitch under his right eye, alluding to his lies.

Gabriel Viotto is hiding something, too.

If my family is under the rubble of the tower—if it fell at all—then I’d march down there and dig them out myself. But I have a funny feeling they are not there. The question is—where?

My father chews the remnants of his salad slowly, eyes roaming over my tight facial features. “Indeed, son. They won't rest until your wife and Sheppard are found alive.” His words ring in my ears as static fills them. My wife? He knows Journey and I were married? Well, this can’t be a good fucking sign. He’ll use this against me every step of the way. “As for Arrow, they've assured me he'll be fine. Now, how about we enjoy our lunch?” He gestures toward the food, uncharacteristically giving me the answers I need.

But of course, he didn’t, really. He’s skirted the entire Q and A, giving me minuscule crumbs but no solid answers. With that information, I know he’s manipulating me into doing whatever he wants. If Journey, Shepp, and Arrow are out of the picture. Where does that leave me? Alone. Vulnerable. Perfect for the fucking taking.

Or so he thinks.

Not only do I have to worry about where my family is, but now, I have to worry about what Gabriel has up his sleeves. Aiden has been on top of me since I woke up, escorting me from my bedroom to here, and I’m sure the same will happen once I’m done.

I have a feeling I’m about to become my father’s unwilling prisoner, trapped within the walls of this mansion.

“Then I can help,” I say, tapping my foot. “I'll march down there after lunch and offer my assistance. They're my concern.” The sooner I get out from under my father’s nose. The fucking better. And what better way than to poke and prod at his thin story?

“If you must.” My father shrugs. “We have a very important guest joining us soon.” A creepy smile lights up the dark features of his face, something I haven't seen since I was a child and my mom was by his side.

“Who?” I ask without holding my tongue.

“Jericho?” a feminine voice whispers from behind me, forcing the hairs on my neck to stand on end. “Darling?” she whispers again, her emotion cracking her tone.

My father immediately jumps to his feet, moving around the table at warp speed until he's out of sight. Odd. The man never moves for anyone like that—not me or the boys. He’s only ever concerned with himself.

The only person he ever moved quickly for was my mother. Or, from what I can remember of her.

My heart pounds against my ribs, threatening to shatter them into pieces. Her voice rings through my mind, bringing the memories of her existence back to life.

My breaths shudder when I finally stand on wobbly legs and lean against the table.

“Oh, Jericho,” she whispers remorsefully. “You've gotten so tall.”

A warm hand rests on my good shoulder, gently squeezing. French-tipped nails come into view, leading down my arm. My mind goes to the clouds, floating there until I turn on my heels and meet her gaze.

The woman who disappeared off the face of the planet, leaving me to fend for myself. Deep, soul-splitting agony spears right through me at the sight of her. She hasn’t changed from my memories. She is dainty, meek, and always holds a smile for me.

Grace Viotto.

“Mother?” I rasp, squeezing my fingers into fists as her crisp blue eyes take me in.

This can't be real. After so long.

“I'm finally home, baby,” she murmurs, with tears glistening in her eyes. “I’ve finally made it back after so long.”

Age hasn't done anything to her outer appearance. Seeming as beautiful and graceful as she was when I was younger. Her skin is flawless, free from wrinkles and blemishes. She shines under the sun, streaming in from the windows, giving her a heavenly glow.

It's like she's walked out of a picture from the past without changing her outer appearance. But I'm familiar with the pain in her gaze.

She's hiding something deep in the depths of her soul. Something so heinous it'll take months to unravel. Maybe the reason she disappeared so long ago without reason.