Chapter 56
The loud voices of the fuckers closest to Gabriel leak through the walls. I grit my teeth as they whisper, begging for answers as to why they're there.
“Did the priest happen to mention if they could hear us from in here?” Jericho murmurs, standing directly beside me as we both watch through the false vents with a clear view of Gabriel’s bosses standing around the large room with their thumbs up their butts. I wonder if they smuggled any weapons in? Seems kind of like a fish-bowl to me.
Come one, come all, grab your enemies, put them in this tiny room, and eviscerate them one by one. If I were in charge, I'd be down for a bit of death— Game of Thrones style. It reminds me of that one episode where they all gather for a wedding and get locked in. Immediate death. But no spoilers on my end. My lips are sealed. Especially to Jericho, who hasn't bothered to catch up after falling asleep during our last binge-watch. Amateur.
“Any ideas about what this shit is about?” one of his bosses grumbles, looking around the room with narrowed eyes.
Sucks to be that guy.
“Where’s Gabriel?” another asks, shoving his hands into his pockets—the outline of his weapon presses against his suit pants. Oh, goody! They brought weapons to protect themselves. Smart men.
“They don’t trust this meeting,” Jericho murmurs, seeing the weapons on each of them hidden in their pockets and waistbands.
“Nothing, but come here now to discuss the future of Briar City and the promise of money.” The third one shrugs with a huff.
“It’s fucking suspect, is what it is,” the other one hisses through clenched teeth.
“Indeed,” Jericho answers back with furrowed brows. “They weren’t clued in as to what was happening. Strange right? Father always sends a briefing as to what’s going down." He may not be a good man, but Gabriel Viotto can run a business like none other.
“Right,” is all I can say when my lips twist.
“Good evening, men!” Grace’s voice rings out through the room, instantly silencing them.
"Good God in a fucking rainbow," I say with my jaw dropping. "It is your goddamn mom."
Jericho levels me with a look like he is completely done with my shit. "Did you think we lied about her return?"
"Wouldn't put it past ya," I quip, shoving at his shoulder.
Of course, I knew she was alive after what they told me. But to see her alive and in action, walking across the stone floor with authority, has my hackles rising. Guards follow behind her, helping a stumbling Gabriel find a seat on the stage. They dump him in the chair without care, letting his pliable body slump. His beady eyes remain closed, and his breathing seems off. And is that vomit on his suit? Ew. Has she not changed or bathed her husband in a while? Maybe he was poisoned or something.
Jericho shakes his head, turning pale at the sight of them both. "Fuck. He looks..."
"Like shit." I finish his sentence with a grin. "Looks like she's been taking care of your daddy."
"You call that taking care?" Jericho raises a brow.
"Obviously not hygienically, but morbidly. You know, she's been slowly killing him. I recognize it." I point to his father confidently.
Knock-out drugs aren't my only specialty. I enjoy a good poison here and there. Shit, I even left some in the basement of the mansion after interrogating a man for several days. It's a painful one. It makes your hands and feet tingle while a cough forms and slowly drains you until you're a blob.
"Interesting," Jericho says, rubbing at his chin before stiffening. "Look." He gestures to the main stairwell of the room.
"Cool. More victims," I quip, leaning in to examine the men piling into the room. "They look rugged. Manly men. Gross, too."
"It's Shadow's men," Journey says, standing beside me with panic lacing her gaze. "It's..." She covers her lips.
"Shadow's men, you say?" Jericho murmurs, rubbing a hand up and down her back. "We're all right. We're safe."
He's not that convincing, but she must believe him. She leans her head on his shoulder, still looking like she might throw up.
"A fucking trap," I hum more to myself than anything.
"She lured them all here," Jericho asks, confirming my thoughts.
"We should go then," Shepp says warily. "Something is about to happen, and I..."
"No," I bark. "This is a fight we don't step back from."
"We're hidden," Journey says shakily. "We'll be okay."
Famous last words, am I right? We're safe. We'll be okay. We won't get chased by a man with a chainsaw while hiding behind a wall of chainsaws. Or something like that. Do I think we're safe? Nah. But we're safer hidden here than sneaking out of the church with possible watch dogs roaming outside. And I tell them that much.
"He's right," Jericho says, looking pained for needing to say that.
"I am!" I say gleefully. "So, we stick it out here no matter what happens."
Shepp just nods, staying behind us with worry in his eyes. What's the worst that could happen?
“Good evening, family!” she says, waving more of Gabriel’s inner circle into the room. It’s packed with his men in suits. Business owners. Alliance members. Everyone essentially sits within ten feet of Gabriel and stands there with furrowed brows. They have no fucking clue why they were called to a meeting.
“Why are we here, Gabriel?” They snub Grace, turning their attention to the man in the chair gasping for breath. His beady eyes scan the room. Wide-eyed now. Begging for fucking help from the men who are supposed to be his most loyal.
Something shifts in the room. It’s subtle. The business owners and Gabriel’s bosses adjust to their rigid stances.
“You are here because he called you here!” Grace grits out, an angry red taking over her face. Her fingers dig into Gabriel’s shoulder, looking like a devoted wife, except she’s anything but.
An excited flutter blossoms in my stomach, seeping through my veins. She’s taking over. This is a historic event within the family. Something I get to witness and then decimate.
I eye Jericho, who peers through the vent with a blank expression now. Devoid of everything that makes him Daddy Jer. He's Business Jer now—or Asshole Jer. Whatever I call him, he's not himself. But it's fun to make up so many nicknames in my head as long as I don't say it to his face. He already hates Daddy Jer enough.
“This is fucking weird,” Jericho hisses, shaking his head. “She’s...” he trails off, taking in his mother as she shifts, puffing out her chest. Her chin lifts, and only a smile a fellow psycho could recognize crosses her lips.
“Gabriel has gathered you all here today to witness history in the making.” Her fingers dig into his shoulder again, curling her blood-red nails over his suit.
He doesn't fucking budge. Not like he could. If the poison has worked its way through his veins, then it's taken everything from him already. He lost his voice and strength a long time ago. Probably from the time Jericho said buh-bye and left them in the dust at the mansion.
“History?” Parker Sullivan, owner of a trading company within the city limits, scoffs. “We’ve been waiting for word from him for weeks. He’s been MIA, and word on the street is he’s sick. You sick, Viotto?” He raises a haughty brow, shoving his hands into his suit pockets.
I wonder how he fits his balls in those pants? Read the room, asshole. You’re about to die. Now, where's my popcorn? I'm always in the mood for a salty treat when blood spills. After that, I can have some pickles and orange juice when they take their last breaths. Peace out, bros.
“Yes, my husband has been quite sick these past few weeks, as you know. That’s why I’m here. That’s why...”
“You?” A wrinkly old man steps forward, dragging his cane as he slowly approaches the front of the group. Ronald Thompson. Classic businessman making millions by embezzling. Of course, he hasn’t been caught because Gabriel helps him and vice versa. A little tit for tat between the men for keeping their mouths shut. “What about him? He looks...” Ronald tilts his head. Stupid fucking idiot.
My skin practically buzzes with anticipation at the murder about to happen. I hope it's Ronald first. He's always been a cunt to his employees, family, and mistresses. The amount of times I've wanted to storm his castle and help him drop dead has been plenty.
“You feel it, Jer?” I whisper giddily, bouncing on my toes.
“Feel what?” he says, rubbing his chin, attempting to figure out what’s happening. How can the ever-observant Jericho Viotto not realize that the Red Wedding is about to happen?
I lick my lips, taking the scene in. “You remember that Game of Thrones episode we watched?” I hum, straining my ears as the door at the top of the stairs shuts hard, and more people file into the room, surrounding the businessmen. Axes, hammers, swords, knives, and every exciting weapon hang on their shoulders. The businessmen take a nervous step back, shaking their heads.
“What the fuck, Viotto?” one shouts as they huddle together, attempting to fish out their weapons from their pants.
Fucking pussies. Did they not learn their lessons from before? Always bring a damn gun or knife to a meeting and have it in hand. Duh. You never know what you’re going to encounter. Like now. They’re about to meet their makers, but there’s nothing they can do to stop it.
“We’re going to discuss Game of Thrones when this is happening?” Jericho snaps, running out of patience.
“Yeah. You know. The episode where the family gets invited to that wedding dinner, and they get locked in and murdered as revenge?” I raise my brows, not taking my eyes off the disaster preparing to unfold. "Oh right, you fell asleep." Jerk. Can't even pay attention to my beloved show.
Jericho jerks straight, watching the excitement lighting up my face. “You’re saying...”
But poor Daddy Jer doesn’t get the chance to finish his words when chaos unfolds. Grace’s words splinter through the air like a fucking whip.
“That’s why we’re here, boys. Your reign as kings of this city is over. Welcome to Shadow’s grasp.”
Jericho swallows hard, forcing all his emotions into the pit of his stomach.
Grace points a small knife at Gabriel. “You stole my life. You stole my future. Now, I’m ending your useless life. You’re a pig.” With that, she drags the sharp end of the knife over his throat. He weakly fights it off, flailing his limbs. The guards hold him down.
Her guards.
They’re all there for her. The other half of Shadow. The woman who had a mission in mind.
“Well, I guess we know for sure why she came back to Briar Cove,” Jericho says with wide eyes, watching as the rest of the guards slaughter every man in the room with vicious cuts and stabs before they can ever fire off a shot from their hidden weapons. Their screams echo through the basement. Fear permeates the air. Until every man associated with the Viotto family lies motionless on the ground, painting the cement red.
But we knew she was bound to do something. Something corrupt and foolish just like this. But we never expected her to take out the entire Viotto family in one go. Well, they didn’t take everyone out. Not us.
“Bring him in!” Grace shouts.
“Arrow,” Jericho says with a tight voice, gaining my attention. “Arrow, I need you to look at me.” His hand finds my shoulder, forcing me to turn and look him in the eyes. "We need to go. Now."
"What? Why? It was just getting good and..."
“That’s right, come forward, Priest.”
Okay. It wasn't getting so fucking good. It's getting bad. Very, very fucking bad. It's the worst-case scenario on crack.
"I want to get off the rollercoaster now," I say breathlessly, shoving Jericho off my shoulder.
"Arrow," he pleads softly, stepping toward me.
"No," I snarl, not watching my volume.
Every muscle in my body locks up at the sound of her voice.
“Arrow, we will die if you do not look at me again,” Jericho commands, forcing my face toward him again.
Something hot and burning fills my eyes, and wetness coats my cheeks. What the fuck is happening?
"Arrow," Journey's sweet voice fills the demon's fog, taking over my brain. "You're crying," she whispers, swiping the wetness away.
"Crying?" I croak, shaking my head and forcing them away from me. "No. Fuck this..." I trail off, peering through the vent. No matter how hard they try to drag me away, I get tunnel vision. It zeros in on my father, kneeling in front of Grace without a care in the world. He smiles at her, offering something warm and inviting, and FUCK THIS.
My heart beats a million times a minute when a shuffling of feet in the main room takes over.
“Grace,” my dad says softly. “So wonderful to see you again.” Kindness rings out in his voice. The same love he shared with me on so many damn occasions.
“You’re special because God made you that way,” he whispers as he takes my hand. “We need to control your impulses, Arrow. We need to channel this into something good for the people.”
“For the good of the people?” my little voice asks with confusion when he drags me toward the storefront we had just come from several minutes ago.
“Yes, love,” he murmurs, kneeling in front of my face. “You understand why stealing is bad, right?” Not really. If I want it, I take it. What's so bad about that?
I wrinkle my nose. “But I wanted the chocolate.” I want to cross my arms, but he grips my hand in his, squeezing.
“You wanted the chocolate, so you stole it from the shop?” He cocks a brow but never raises his voice at me. “It’s wrong to steal, Arrow. It’s wrong to kill.”
“Why?” I question with a shrug. “Maybe they shouldn’t...”
“No, son,” he whispers, holding the candy before me. “You’ll walk into that store and return the candy you stole. Face the consequences of your actions.”
So, I did. Returning to the store with a frown, I held the two candy bars. I stole the ones I wanted so badly when my father wasn’t looking while we were shopping on a Sunday afternoon. At that point, I'd been living with Gabriel for months, and he let my impulses run free. Hell, he encouraged them. Not my dad, though. He gave me a moral compass and encouraged me to correct my wrongs. Stealing was bad. Murder—bad. But he knew I had to do what I had to do to feel whole.
I always wanted my father to look at me with those compassionate eyes filled with love and understanding. At all times.
I was his. His son. No matter what.
“Arrow,” Jericho growls, putting his hands on my face, jerking my gaze away from the man who gave me life, kneeling on the ground with his hands folded in front of him.
Now, it all makes sense.
“He knew,” I whisper with defeat. A feeling I don’t know creeps up through me. Desperation? Sadness? Rage? I can’t decipher what the hell it is, but it claws me—digging in through my flesh and palming my heart. It squeezes so tight, turning into rubber bands and stealing my breath.
“Arrow,” Jericho growls. “Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t...”
“Don’t tell me what the fuck to do,” I snarl, stepping away from him. Anger seizes me. Pulling me under into the abyss of my rage. The familiar anger I’ve come to know and shake hands with. It's my friend. My passenger. It fuels me. “Don’t tell me to stand the fuck down when my dad, the good guy, is about to sacrifice his life for what?” I hold out my arms. “For what?” My voice nearly chokes up, but I stop because I can’t stop anything right now.
I'm a fucking rollercoaster running off the tracks, heading straight for a life-ending crash. I can't stop the steps I take toward the door. I can't make myself stand down, no matter how many pairs of eyes are on my person. Their voices ring out, begging me to step away.
It doesn't penetrate the fog encasing my mind, driving me to do stupid, reckless things like exposing us to a room full of murderers.
“Arrow,” Journey whispers, stopping me dead.
My sweet Kitten. The love of my fucking life. Her fingers graze my arm. I soak it in. Let it become me even when I step away from her. If she touches me now, she'll only be touching a monster. A monster who needs to unleash on the fucking bitch holding his father hostage.
“Don’t,” Shepp whispers desperately, stepping up. He could easily pick me up and hold me down. I’d fight against him. “Arrow, if you open the door, you’ll expose everything.”
I lick my lips, looking between my family. The ones who accept me for who I am. My dad did, too. He accepted me, flaws and all. He gave me life and reason. He gave me Gabriel to hone my skills he could no longer contain. The urges I couldn’t keep under control. I killed animals. I wanted to kill people. Gabriel gave me the tools, but my dad gave me the morals to think of.
I turn my back to the ones I love. I shouldn’t go out there or expose the room. But my dad wanted me to see this for a reason. He knew he was going to die and sacrifice himself for what, though? Why? Why let us view this if he knew he was going to perish?
I guess I'll find out.
“Arrow,” Jericho says with a pained expression. He must see it. Read me like he reads everyone else. Shepp, too. Journey’s pale face looks between us with popped-open lips. Frantically, she shakes her head, knowing exactly what I’m about to do before I can.
Grace’s voice filters through the vents, spilling her hate. She’s so vengeful against Gabriel despite already ending his life. The entire family has her hate and rage. But so do I.
“It’s time to make amends with your God, Priest. You’ve done things no holy man should,” she says confidently, holding up the sword used for initiations.
Something cracks inside me when all her guards gather around her. No doubt, people loyal to Shadow and only her and Thomas. They were a team, creating a weapon to take down the Viotto family. The family that so callously tore them apart.
They tore my father and me apart, too. Dad gave me to them with good intentions. Sure, I saw my father weekly, but Gabe always had words to say to belittle the time I had.
“Your dad has good intentions, son. But don’t mistake his kindness for what your life is going to be like. If you value him, you’ll do as I say. Learn your lessons and kill when I say kill.”
I was six when he uttered those words.
Without a second thought or letting their whispers follow me, I slam the button, opening the secret door. I step out into the chaos, tearing my shirt from my body and tossing it back into the room. My mind is nothing but static. The need to kill pulls me forward like a piece of thick thread tightening around my rib cage and forcing me to move. I immediately shut the wall behind me. My impulses jump—my demon shrieks.
And chaos fucking reins down.
“Arrow, no,” my dad gasps, kneeling before the she-witch holding a sword in the air. She grins at me.
“Oh, another one, huh? Were you hiding and watching the show?” She raises a brow, evil transforming her face into a thick mask of bullshit. I see right through her. She’ll spare no one to get what she wants. And all she wants is the power Gabriel held and took from her.
I don’t say a word. I can’t when I stand among my fallen comrades. They worshipped Gabriel and his power. And look where it got them? On the ground, dead.
I lick my lips, cracking a smile. “You have something I want,” I say, pointing to my dad. “He has nothing to do with this.” I wave to the room.
“He’s provided a venue for the Viotto Family to assert their bullshit rules,” she says through clenched teeth. “He is as compliant as you are, Arrow Armour. Not to mention, he's been leaking information to the feds. " She cocks her head, looking me up and down. “Now, what are you going to do about it?”
My heart shudders in my chest. The feds? What the fuck does that even mean?
"I am no traitor to you!" my father shouts in my direction. "Only to the man that took you."
His words don't register. Nothing does at this point. There are a lot of things I want to do about Grace. I want to squeeze her head off and watch as her eyeballs burst. But I don’t think Jericho would appreciate me murdering the mom he lost for so long. Would he be upset with me? Probably.
Fuck.
The devil inside me rears his ugly head, screaming in my mind to fight for my dad—the man who defended me my entire life. I can't let him die in vain. Without a fucking fight.
I don't think rationally when it comes to this moment. The little voice inside my head shouts for revenge. It demands this woman go down to the pits of hell where she belongs because she doesn't belong here. Not in the mafia world Gabriel so carefully curated.
She smirks, swinging the sword up further in defiance.
“Then you came out of hiding, just in time to watch the life drain from his eyes. You'll be next. Every person associated with Gabriel Viotto will die tonight. Blood in for the family. Blood out for freedom.”
The roar that fills the room comes out of nowhere—vibrating my vocal cords when I march forward. I give into my demon, letting his vengeance free.
Kill them all. Kill Grace. Save my goddamn father. Everything in that goddamn order.
I don't feel the wood beneath my fingers when I pick up an ax on the ground. I don't see the heads roll when they tumble from their bodies without having a chance to react. Their screams fuel me until I'm tackled to the ground, thrashing under their hands.
“Son,” my dad says, breaking through the fog. “Son, come back to this moment,” he says with more authority this time.
Something snaps inside me, sucking back into the abyss that had opened inside me. Taking my demon from the front of my mind to the back, where he gets to cause more damage.
Heavy breaths leak from between my lips as the cool floor of our meeting space pushes into my cheeks.
The only thing grounding me are the eyes staring back at me in the same position.
“There you are, son,” he whispers with a sad smile gracing his lips.
All the chaos around us ceases to exist. All the noise. It's gone into a vacuum as I stare at my father.
“I've always loved you, Arrow. Carry that with you with every breath you take. I'll always be with you. I taught you so well. Everything I did was for the good of you.”
Grace says something above us, but I don't listen. I only watch as the sword penetrates through my innocent father's skull, cutting straight through the bone into his brain. Again and again, I watch as a sense of nothingness takes me over as he bleeds out. From his mouth. From his eyes. Ears. It's everywhere. Soaking into my clothes.
My brain doesn't register the moment I'm pulled on my knees, facing the bitch herself.
“Such love from a man who gave you to a maniac. Tell me, what did Gabriel teach you?” She cocks her head, eyeing the red staining me now.
My father's life force. His blood.
Numbness takes over every molecule when I look into her cruel blue eyes, sparkling with revenge.
“Violence.” It's odd to hear my voice so lifeless and devoid of everything that makes me… me. “Torture. Cunningness. He taught me to be the perfect mafia man.” My eyes fall on my dad's body. His soul left its shell the second she thrust the sword into his soul. “That man taught me morals. He was innocent. You killed him for nothing.”
The pointed end of a guard’s knife sits against my throat. Pain. It envelops me, giving me life. I cock a smile, fighting through the fucking numbness begging to drown me.
“Innocent? Pfft.” Grace waves a hand, leaning down to stare into my eyes. “None of you are innocent. You're born and bred to become him.” She points to Gabriel, slumped in his seat with blood soaking his white shirt.
Lifeless.
She's taking everyone in this room and killing them quickly.
“Weren't you born into this life?” I ask, raising a brow.
She was.
Grace Viotto, formerly Grace Contelli, was an East Coaster until her father aligned with Thomas’ father and Gabe's. But that's the extent of what we know now.
She doesn't answer me. Simply looking me over with narrowed eyes.
"Boss." A deep voice clears his throat from behind us, but I'm unable to turn my head because the knife continually digs into my flesh.
"Do you feel that way about me, Mother?" Jericho's voice booms throughout the echoey room. "That I'll turn out just like him?"
Grace's face softens when she takes him in. Her eyes move up and down his body, as he advances on them.
She tilts her head. "The sad truth of it all is yes. He molded you into the perfect little heir."
"Because you left." His words ring out like a whip, reeling her back a step. Her lips pop open. And is that hurt I see crossing over her face?
"Jericho," she says, lifting her chin and shaking off the vulnerability.
Of course, she can't show how she truly feels right now. She has to remain a stone to stay in power amongst the men following her orders.
"Mother," he retorts coolly without missing a beat. "Could you possibly remove the knife from my brother's throat?" I can practically hear the taunting in his voice and the lift of his brow.
He's strictly business Daddy Jer right now.
"No," she says, tilting her head the other way. "I don't think I will." She steps forward, and my eyes follow as much as I can until she stands before Jericho. He towers over her, staring down at her. He's cleverly wiped every emotion off his face, leaving a blank canvas. "You look so much like him, Jer." She licks her lips. "It's such a shame." She lifts a hand, and the men around the room close in on us, putting us in the middle of the circle. All their weapons draw as they wait on pins and needles for her command.
"It's never a compliment to look like him," Jericho says with a straight face. "You think I enjoyed being in his presence? That I liked being thrown in the basement and left for hours on end? You left me with a monster. So, I am a fucking monster now." Out of the corner of my eye, I observe as his arm moves, shielding Journey between him and Shepp, who covers her back. Shepp's wide eyes look around the room with breaths heaving his chest, ready to attack anyone who lays a hand on her.
Hook. He got her. Grace's face falls further as her finger works up and down his jaw. "Oh, my son," she murmurs with a loving expression.
She traces the stubble on his jaw, going over his nose like she's memorizing his face. Tracing it so she can't forget what he looks like when she slaughters us, killing off the last of the major players in the family. There are still small people. The other business owners simply owe us money, and we collect. In return, we offer protection and weaponry.
"You left me defenseless. I'm curious, was it worth it?" Jericho asks in a broken voice, his voice cracking with emotions he never lets free. But for her. The woman who discarded her child like he was nothing—he'll do it.
"What you went through pales in comparison to what I went through at the hands of your father." Her eyes harden. "Eradicate them," she softly says, stepping back. " Let this..."
"Do not fucking touch her," Jericho growls with venom dripping from his voice. "Do not fuck with my wife. Do not fucking touch my baby."
My spine stiffens at his words, bringing me back to reality. We're trapped in this room with these psychos. That's all fine and dandy, but my goddamn woman is here. My baby in her belly. And yes, it's mine. I can feel it in my fucking sack.
"Well, this has been fun," I murmur, reaching up without effort and yanking the knife away from the man behind me.
I could have done it all along, but I sort of wanted to be stabbed. Maybe just a little bit. Blood gets me going. And I wanted to feel the burn to know I was still alive. He yelps and puts up a small fight. Well, until the tiny knife that was once at my throat sinks into his neck. A pity, really. Such a waste of space. I grin as blood squirts all over my body.
"That was for my fucking father," I grit out, trying not to look at my dad on the ground without life in his body. It tears me up inside, begging my demon to go free again and murder every fucking person in this goddamn room.
Grace holds up a hand, momentarily stopping the advance of her men in their tracks, even after my little slip-up and murder of her men. She looks between the four of us with raised brows.
"A baby?" she breathes. "You're going to have a baby, son?" A creepy smile breaks out on her face. "How far along are you?" She peeks around, looking at Journey and holding eye contact with her.
"We're not entirely sure yet, Mother. We've been a little tied up and on the run from him," he says, gesturing to Gabriel's body. "Thanks for taking out the trash." His performance is applaudable. He's holding his chin up high, but I know the threat of murdering Journey has his fingers curling at his side.
"Stand down," she shouts, lowering her hand. "There's a change in plans. I'm going to be a grandma."
Seriously? This is what stops the psycho bitch in her tracks? Being a grandma? I won't question it, though. It saves my Kitten from witnessing my wrath. Again. And saves her life. I can't have my baby mama dead. Fuck that. I’ve already lost my father. I can’t lose anyone else so soon.
"Let's escort you home, Jericho. You and your friends," she says with a weird smile twisting her lips.
"Home?" Jericho asks, cocking his head. "You want to take us back to..."
"The mansion, son. Let's go home and have dinner. We can get reacquainted. Then, you can tell me about my baby," she whispers, looking between them.
Her baby.
My heart rate spikes at her words.
"The four of us will go to the mansion with you if we have your word on our safety. My wife. My brothers. Me."
"Oh, we'll have use for the four of you, son," she says with a smile resembling so much of Jericho.
I always thought he got his psycho tendencies from Gabriel. Every inch of him was evil. But Grace? She's slowly climbing up the ranks as the number one psycho. But I hold that status, and I'm not one to let that go.
I’ll keep Journey safe until we walk into the mansion, but I can’t let her see me fall apart more than I have. I lost my father.
And that’s just something I don’t know how to process.