Chapter 46 Holland
HOLLAND
I followed Ella down the stairs to what she called Dope’s dungeon, the smell of weed making me scrunch up my nose.
“He loves his pot,” Ella said, fanning her hand in front of her nose. “I have no idea how he’s so fucking smart the way he smokes, but he’s a fucking genius.” She laughed.
“He probably uses it to slow down his brain. Often people self-medicate with whatever helps instead of medication with serious side effects. Has he ever mentioned OCD or ADHD?”
“Not outright, but he says the weed helps him focus. All it does is make me sleepy, and I struggle to string a sentence together.” She shook her head, her soft laugh bouncing off the walls.
I grinned as we entered the dark room where a redheaded, good-looking man sat at a desk with two computers whirring in the background and three large screens spanning his desk.
“Ladies.” He nodded at us as we joined him.
“Dope, this is Holland.” She sat on the loveseat as I reached out to shake his hand.
“Awww, the woman who brought Kip to his knees. You’re a badass just for that accomplishment.” He grinned at me.
My cheeks burned with his compliment.
“Don’t mind him. He literally has no filter. He’s not super good at reading the room, either.” Ella gave him a pointed look.
“It’s the weed. I’m slow to react at times.
” Dope laughed, then sank into his computer chair.
“It’s good to meet you, Holland. Kip has …
well, he’s said some things.” Dope cleared his throat.
“That came out wrong, but we’re all connected it seems, so no reason to beat around the bush.
He told us about Draco and what you went through.
When he couldn’t get in touch with you the other day, I saw my man unravel like never before.
He’s in deep.” He rolled his chair up to his desk again.
“I didn’t mean to worry him. I was visiting his mother.”
“Bet you were,” Dope said. “Hope that went well for you.”
Ella nudged me in the side with her elbow. She knew how it went already.
“Kip’s mother died today,” Ella said to Dope.
“Holy hell. Really?” His voice held a note of excitement.
“Really,” I added.
“It’s about damn time she returned to the pits of hell from whence she came.” Dope cackled, imitating a demon.
I couldn’t help but laugh. He was entertaining as hell.
Dope scrolled, the screen flying by. I wasn’t sure how he could see what he was looking for at that rate.
“What can I do for you, ladies?”
“Do you want to tell him, or do you want me to?” Ella asked gently.
Even though we were getting to know each other, I had a feeling Ella and I would become good friends. Deep friendships were developed over dark secrets just as much as the good times.
I sat up straight and squared my shoulders. “When I was visiting Lily the other day, she said that I … that I … was the Pied Piper’s biological daughter,” I blurted.
Dope’s hazel eyes popped open wide, and he stared at me with his mouth hanging open. It took him a moment before he closed it. “Shit. That was rude. I’m sorry. I don’t know why anything surprises me anymore. Fuck, I’ve seen it all. Done it all.”
“We need to verify that information, Dope. Lily lied and twisted the truth, so before we dive into the deep end of those shark-infested waters, we need proof. We figured you could help.”
Dope popped his knuckles. “Oh, hell yeah. I’m on it. But—” He held up a finger. “Would anyone like a beverage? Tea? Soda? A joint to chill you out while we see if your father is the most evil being ever born?”
“Dope,” Ella chided. “Really?”
Guilt flashed across his expression. “I’m on it.” He returned his attention to his computer, typing with a determined focus, the clicking was the only sound in the room for several minutes.
“Hmm.” He continued typing. “Hmm.” More typing.
I shot a glance at Ella, a little exasperated with his nonverbal comments.
She gave me a sheepish smile and mouthed “sorry”.
“Interesting,” he said.
Dope tapped the spacebar, leaned back in his chair, and scratched his chin.
“Almost in. If there’s a blood record buried in here, I’ll find it.”
My stomach twisted. I hadn’t slept. The skin under my eyes was so sensitive, I wondered if it was bruised.
“And you’re sure it’s here?” I asked.
He shot me a look, half stoned, half razor-sharp.
“These people kept records on everything. And I mean everything. If the Pied Piper sneezed, someone logged it.”
The screen flickered. A black window blinked to life—lines of code dancing like static on a broken TV.
“We’re in,” he muttered.
Folder after folder populated. Latin names. Redacted reports. Dozens of birth records tagged with code names and obscure religious phrases. One caught my eye: “Offerings: Book of Daughters.”
“Open that,” I said.
Dope clicked.
Inside: dozens of entries, each tied to a different child. Dates. Notes. Some redacted. Some were marked with symbols I didn’t understand.
Then—
“Here,” he said, his shoulders suddenly tight. “Entry 27. ‘Project Lilith.’”
The screen filled with text. My pulse skipped several beats.
Subject: S.A. (Samantha Alder) DOB: [redacted] Paternal: ‘Acquired via D.C. Initiative.’ Maternal: J.M. Disposition: Reserved. Trauma resistant. Ideal for conditioning.
Dope exhaled. “Shit …”
I leaned forward, reading it again.
“They cataloged me like livestock,” I whispered. “Conditioning?”
Dope didn’t respond. Just scrolled lower.
A faded handwritten entry bled through the screen like rot beneath wallpaper. A transfer log.
'Transferred to Primary Parent (Codename: Pied Piper). Status: Claimed.'
The words blurred. My vision pulsed. The floor tilted.
Dope scrolled lower.
My stomach twisted, and I tasted iron.
“He claimed me,” I said. “Like a … like a fucking possession.”
Dope sat back, silent.
“So it’s true,” I said. My voice didn’t sound like mine. “He’s my father.”
Dope hesitated, like he didn’t want to be the one to say it.
“It’s not DNA,” he offered. “Not proof-proof. But yeah. It reads like a … possession record.”
I stepped back, heart jackhammering in my ribs.
“They planned this. From the beginning. He saw me, as a child, and saw something he could manipulate … control.”
The screen blurred. My body pulsed with heat—shame, confusion, fury.
I stumbled back, my hand gripping the back of Dope’s chair.
“I was never supposed to survive him,” I whispered. “I was supposed to become him.”
My nails dug into my palms until my skin burned with the pain. Pain I welcomed.
And then something in me cracked wide open.
Not panic. Not grief.
Rage.
Cold, coiled.
“He wants someone as twisted as him?” I hissed. “Fine. Let him see what his daughter grew into.”
Dope looked at me, startled.
“I’ll find him,” I said, teeth clenched. “And when I do—I’ll bury him in the shadows he fucking built.”
And that’s when he clicked open another folder. One buried at the bottom.
“What the hell?” he said. “I got something weird.”