Chapter 10
That familiar itch crawls under my skin. My fingers twitch. Aiden’s lifeless body now hangs inside my shower. His head back and throat open. Blood seeping everywhere. It splatters the walls. My clothes. My face and hands.
With all the help Aiden’s given me, I know what I’m up against. Slightly. My father is a madman. Something I was aware of before tonight. He’s made a deal with the fucking devil. His enemy and taken people he’ll soon live to regret as soon as I’ve raised my army.
That familiar ache, tugging at my chest comes back full force. Get to Journey. Get to Arrow and Shepp. Find them. Save them.
If I have to, I'll swim fifty miles through the damn ocean just to get a glimpse of her. Touch her. Fucking breathe her in.
My need is growing higher and higher.
But I have to be reasonable. Swimming that far would be a death sentence on my own. Besides, I need backup so I can obliterate anyone in my way.
Next stop is Arrow’s hospital room. At least Aiden had the sense to reveal what floor and room Arrow was being held in.
My eyes gaze over the words etched into Aiden's abdomen. Your move. A short and sweet message for my father when he discovers his golden goose has flown the coop.
Now, to actually fly.
My steps are slow and methodical as I go to the bathroom mirror. My eyes roam over the blood splatters on my face, clothes, and hands.
My eyes darken. My beast completely takes over when I smash my fist into the fucking mirror and revel in the pain. I huff. My breaths come in heavy pants. I squeeze my eyes shut. I only have a few hours to sneak through the guarded halls, get to the garage, start my car, and get the fuck out of here for good.
No one matters except Arrow, Shepp, and Journey.
I fucking got this.
After washing the blood off my skin and scrubbing myself down in the separate bathtub, I calm myself as the red stains the water. Erasing the life of Aiden and his traitorous ways. Cross me once, and it’s the last thing you do. Then, I get dressed in Aiden's security outfit, attempting to disguise myself from my usual clothing. If they think I’m part of the guards, they won’t even look twice when I walk through the halls.
I sigh when the pants do not button, and the black shirt clings to my biceps, nearly ripping with every move I make. Looking back at Aiden, I spit on the ground. What a wannabe, playing make-believe with the family.
“It'll do,” I grumble, running a hand down my face.
Anticipation swarms through my veins. I can't make any mistakes when I sneak out of here. This has to go without a hitch, or I'm fucking screwed.
I grit my teeth. Stop the whining and get this shit done.
Your family is depending on you.
And not the asshole downstairs playing marriage with my mother.
Journey. Shepp. Arrow.
They're the only family I need.
I grab my phone stashed in my closet, shoving it into my pocket. I also collect the multitude of small weapons Arrow has hidden around the room. Taped to the bottom of nightstands, under the mattress, and even in the bathroom cabinets. Anywhere, really. Who knew my psycho brother had prepared us for this moment so well? Not me. I’ll have to thank him later, a million times over.
With one last look around the room, I grab a small black bag and shove extra clothes and my phone charger. I'm sure once I leave the estate, all my funds and everything else will be cut off. Well, what my father knows about, anyway.
I still have my resources.
I place my ear against the wood of my bedroom door, listening. Silence greets me. Nothing but the house creaking from the light winds outside. I blow out a breath, dispersing the tension from my body.
This is my moment. My escape. The one opportunity I have to run from the destiny my father has thrust upon me.
It's time to do what I should have done all along.
Walk the fuck away.
Screw the consequences.
I square my shoulders, unlock the door, and slowly open it. I peek out, eyeing the empty hallway. My one advantage to this situation is I've lived here for years. Every squeak and creak has been memorized in my mind.
I walk on silent feet toward the steps. My breaths slow when I peek downstairs, noting the silence.
Even the shadows stand still as I move through them.
Then I hear him. A deep, dry cough echoes through the darkened foyer, echoing off the tall ceilings. I flatten my back against the wall, slowly moving along it while focusing on the brightly lit kitchen.
My lips curl. My fingers work toward the weapons stored in my pocket in a sheath. If he comes any closer, I'll slit his throat, ending his existence for good.
I should.
I wish I could see his face when he finds Aiden carved to pieces in my shower. It’s my war cry, after all. The bell ringing in the new enemy. It’s my fucking vengeance for controlling my life. I want him to spiral into the abyss.
Like he’s made me do so many times before.
Gabriel Viotto will be taken down. In blood. With weapons. Torture. You name it, he’ll meet the end of it. It’ll be slow and methodical—what he deserves.
Another horrible-sounding cough comes from the kitchen again. Water pours. And then, the coughing stops, followed by heavy breaths. I continue to watch for his presence until I get around the corner to the attached garage. A wall hides my presence, giving me ample time to spy. Once I'm in the garage, my car is my getaway. For now, at least. I have plans on how to get away without detection.
“I want the goddamn money!” he hoarsely shouts. The sound of his fist slamming into the countertop fills the air. “That twenty million dollars is mine. If you can’t get it done, then I’ll find someone else who can! It shouldn’t be that fucking difficult.”
Money, huh? I smirk. Of course, that's what this is all about. The money Journey's mom promised him when she sold Journey for marriage and torture. Her father, who had never been in her life, left her a twenty-million-dollar inheritance.
I wonder how Journey’s mother, Sable, is doing in her treatment center. I have not called to see how sober living is treating her lately. The last call I made, she was desperate to talk to Journey. I am sure to get her wrongdoings off her guilty conscience.
“You gotta let me speak to her. It is important. I want to tell her how sorry I am.” There’s urgency in her tone, but something else as well. Whatever it is, she can wait. Like she made Journey wait for food and comfort while living under her roof.
Fuck Sable.
“You'll talk to her when I allow you to.” There is no getting around my rules. Sable will learn that soon enough. After all the torture she put Journey through, she does not deserve a second of her daughter's attention. “Goodbye, Sable.”
“No! Wait, it is…” Click. I do not have time for her.
My father clears his throat, bringing me out of the memory. How odd. The great Gabriel never caves to his illnesses or weakness, which sounds ridiculous even to my ears. How can a man never bow to the flu or a cold? He always has. Either powering through it or meticulously taking his Vitamin C and other health concoctions my mother invented years before. He's always kept her recipes around; despite her absence, he’s lived by them.
He says more meaningless words into the phone and saunters through the kitchen. Determination squares his shoulders as his voice carries through the phone. He wants the money and won’t stop demanding it until it’s in his pockets.
Boy, does he have another thing coming to him.
“Here, darling,” my mother softly says with an edge.
I peek around the corner, watching her hand him a glass filled with an orange substance. I can practically smell it from here. Citrusy and fizzy. Tickling my nose. Like the same drink she gave me when I was a child. I shiver, squeezing my eyes shut as the memory assaults me. An occurrence that hasn’t happened in years.
“Here, my Jericho. Drink up. This will help give your body all the extra vitamins and get you all better.” She pets my dark locks when I sip, wrinkling my nose.
“Mommy,” I groan through a hoarse rasp. My throat aches, and the cough comes back with a vengeance.
“I know, love. It tastes yucky. But you must drink it all. It's the only way you'll feel like Superman tomorrow.” She smiles down at me affectionately, gently patting my head. “I'll take you to the zoo.”
“Yours?” I perk up.
“Indeed. They're all so eager to meet you. I've told them about my boy Jericho as they've settled in.”
I grin, chugging the weird-tasting orange drink, and hand the glass back.
“Now, baby. It's time for you to close your eyes and get your rest. Tomorrow, we have big plans.”
My heart aches at the memory that's been locked in my mind for years. If I hadn't seen the drink clutched in my father's grip, I never would have recalled it. The moment my mother’s presence left this mansion all those years ago, she was wiped from my brain. Gabriel made sure of that. Dark closets. Harsh words and even harsher punishments. He didn’t spare me. I may have only been five, but I knew I had to forget her existence to survive. Looking at her now brings all the ghosts to the forefront of my mind, torturing me with vivid memories of our time together.
My father takes the drink without question, guzzling it while listening to whoever is on the phone. I cock my head with interest.
Despite the distance. Despite the paranoia Gabriel suffers from daily, he trusts her to fix him drinks. First the drink at dinner, which was suspicious at best. Now this. It’s something he doesn’t do very often. Maybe his mind is reminiscent of the past when she was his dutiful wife, doing anything to please him. Or perhaps he doesn’t think she’d ever betray him.
Then it happens.
My breath fucking stalls. Her crystal blue eyes connect with mine from across the house, staring deep into my soul.
She blinks.
I blink.
I’ve been made. Any second now, she’ll tap him on the shoulder, eager to show him he was right to lock me away.
My breath slowly pours from my nostrils. I don't react. Move. Fucking twitch a muscle. Hoping she merely sees an unmoving shadow against the wall. My eyes narrow when something strange happens.
Something odd.
She waves me on with a small smirk on her lips. Triumph glistens in her eyes.
I stand up straighter, eyeing her again. I cannot be seeing what I am seeing, right? Under normal circumstances, I would take that as my first sign to get the fuck out without a second thought or hesitation. But I am spellbound by her. My mother. The woman I did not know was alive or dead in a ditch.
I blow out a breath when she waves again with a stern look. I see it, then. Her meek mask falls off, and her face hardens. But why? My father's back remains to her when she waves one last time before I listen, mouthing ‘Go. ’
So be it.
I sign my thanks, darting through the shadows to my car in the garage, praying the silent door will keep my exit hidden until the sun comes up and my father realizes I have gone missing.
Then all hell will break loose.