Chapter Twenty Seven
Bridgette
It’s October thirty-first. It’s a day that is widely celebrated all over the country, but one that turns Salem into an absolute shit show. Parades, carnivals, millions of tourists. It’s honestly a fucking nightmare.
Growing up in the Brethren, we didn’t exactly go trick or treating like all the other kids. We weren’t taught that it’s a ‘just for fun’ holiday where we dress up and go door to door for candy. We were taught that it’s the one day a year we are at our most vulnerable. The one day where the evil from the past has a chance to come back. They don’t believe they eradicated all the witches in the trials; that there are still some out there, ready and waiting.
I don’t buy into all of that shit personally, but you’ll never catch me uttering a single word of that. The Brethren very much believe that the trial consisted of demonic witches that needed to be executed to cleanse our town. They believe that their ancestors will come for us in revenge. They believe that to this day, the threat remains. That’s why we are all currently barricaded inside our home, in the safe room in the back of the house, just like we do every October thirty-first.
Except this year, we have a few more people joining us.
When I say safe room, I’m sure you picture a small room. In actuality, it’s a two thousand square foot safe condo hidden behind a bookcase in the upstairs hallway. No windows, no way in or out beside the bookcase. Sounds really safe to me.
It’s not all bad here. There is a bathroom, two bedrooms, a living room with several couches, and a fully equipped kitchen stocked with enough food, water, and booze to last us all a month at least.
Brad and Maggie are playing video games on the couch while my father and Calista have a drink at the bar and me…I’m sitting on a loveseat in Thomas’s lap, practically counting down the minutes until sunrise. From the moment I stepped into the room, he was sitting there, ready and waiting for me. I felt the fear hit me first before accepting defeat.
I felt Brad and Maggie watch me as I made my way across the room to him, and when he patted his lap, I knew what he wanted. My eyes couldn’t help but come to my brother, who shot us a look of disgust before facing the TV. Maggie watched me a little closer, but her expression wasn’t so much a look of disgust as it was…pity. Understanding. Sadness. I didn’t like her looking at me with any of those. I didn’t like her looking at me at all.
Liar.
The hours have ticked by, and thankfully, Thomas has remained occupied on his phone, scrolling and emailing consistently. My eyes grow heavy and I’m ready to pass out, but I don’t dare go lay down in one of the rooms like Calista did. I don’t even want to risk falling asleep on a couch in the living room like Brad and Maggie did hours ago. So, I push myself to stay awake. I feel my eyes begin to flutter shut when a scratchy beard presses against my neck, scraping against the sensitive skin and sending a set of chills racing down my back.
“Want to go lay down, sweet girl?” he rumbles.
My stomach revolts on instinct just hearing his voice. I do my best to muster up a smile as I shake my head.
“I’m not very tired,” I say with a shake of my head.
Those mud brown eyes crinkle as his thin lips form into a smirk.
“Don’t lie to me,” he says, his face teasing and playful, but his voice hard and warning.
I’m not sure how to react, so I stay quiet. He pushes me to stand before getting up himself and taking my hand in his. I look down at it in disgust, keeping my eyes on the ground as we pass by my father.
Thomas ushers us into the other bedroom, pulling me on to the bed before forcing me to lay down. When my head hits the pillow, it’s not relief I feel. It’s fear, it’s regret, it’s…heartache. Thomas slowly begins undoing his button-down shirt before dropping it to the floor, revealing his gray haired chest. His hands undo his belt, pulling down his slacks and boxers in one go, revealing a half hard chub. God, I’m gonna be sick.
He moves over to me, his hands pulling down my leggings no matter how tightly closed I keep my legs. He reaches for my panties next, and this time I don’t uncross my legs. No. Fuck this. Fire ignites in his eyes, his gaze promising hostility before cracking his hand against the sensitive flesh of my upper thighs. I cry out and he forcefully yanks them off before grabbing the hem of my sweatshirt, lifting it and my t-shirt over my head until I’m laying there completely exposed.
This is why I’ve been so hyperfixated on Asher, on any of the Legacies. They are the only ones who could ever stop things like this, the only ones with the power to intervene. It’s clear that Asher doesn’t want me. I’ve known that truth for longer than I care to admit. I was just hoping I could convince him otherwise, hoping I could make my escape somehow…someway. I was just hoping?—
Suddenly, the door opens, and my father appears in the doorway. His eyes take in the scene before him as his gaze comes to his best friend. For a moment, a small amount of hope blooms inside me, but that hope quickly withers and dies when he looks to Thomas and nods approvingly, shutting the door behind him and locking it.
The hollow sound of the lock engaging cracks a piece of my heart as I begin shaking my head.
“No, no, no, no,” I whimper as Thomas closes the remaining distance between us.
His large hand covers my mouth, muffling my screams as he climbs on top of me while my father pulls up a chair from the corner. My eyes fixate on the crown molding on the ceiling, tracing over each detail, forcing my mind to escape. To allow me to be anywhere but here. Anywhere but this hell, and it almost works.
Almost.
* * *
I’m sitting in the dining hall at the university, picking at my salad when Mercy and Angela sit down. I lift my eyes in question, what do they want? For the most part, we have kept our space from each other since this summer. I’ve just come to the conclusion that having no ‘friends’ is so much better than being friends with little cunts like them.
“You are not going to believe what happened last night,” Mercy says with a sneer.
I lift an eyebrow in interest because that’s all I can muster to feign any kind of interest in her.
“What?” I ask.
“Asher came to her room last night to hook up,” Angela says while Mercy crosses her arms and sulks. “And he called her Skyla!” she whisper shouts.
My eyes widen as I look to Mercy.
“Yeah, the motherfucker straight up called out her name as he was dumping his cum into my pussy,” she gnashes, shaking her head as she huffs. “First it was all about how he missed fucking me and then he was calling out that posers name?”
“Poser?” I question.
“Yeah, c’mon, Bridgette. You really think she can just come out of nowhere and steal the most eligible man among us? He belongs to one of us, not…her. Where the fuck has she even been? England? For what? She hasn’t earned her right to sit at the goddamn table, let alone at the head.”
She’s not wrong. I can’t help but stare at Skyla, jealousy and envy causing a murky mess inside me.
“And look at her!” Mercy continues as we watch.
Asher comes up to their table, making eye contact with Liam, who is currently snuggled into Skyla’s side. He looks at them but doesn’t stop as he sits down at an empty table in the corner of the room. Asher doesn’t look up from his plate, taking a bite of his pizza as he keeps his eyes downcast.
My gaze moves back over to Skyla as I see Liam slip his hand under the table, gripping her thigh. I fucking knew there was something there, Maggie convinced me otherwise so easily. Played on my jealousy. I don’t know why that pisses me off so much, but it does. My eyes come to Maggie’s, only she isn’t looking at me, she’s smiling at something Skyla says before taking a bite of her food.
Skyla must be able to feel our eyes on her because she turns around as Mercy speaks to me.
“Fuck that bitch. She doesn’t deserve to be here. She doesn’t deserve to take not one, but two of our men.”
My feet move across the room before I can stop myself, my blood boiling thickly in my veins. Am I taking my rage from my own issues out? Possibly. But that doesn’t erase the fact that this bitch literally holds everything in her hands I could ever need to be free, and she’s rubbing it in everyone’s goddamn faces.
“Christ, here we go,” Liam grumbles under his breath.
I ignore him, focusing solely on the bitch who deserves all my wrath. Mercy is right. She doesn’t belong here. She doesn’t deserve to be here and steal all of our chances of freedom. It’s not like the Legacies won’t grow up to be the monsters they were raised by, but it’s better than the monsters we have been raised with.
“So, what’s the deal? Asher isn’t good enough for you? You’re trying to go after Liam, too?” I call out, making sure my voice reaches every corner of the dining hall.
Predictably so, all eyes land on us.
“What are you going on about?” Liam drawls casually. Conveniently, his hand is nowhere to be found on her leg anymore.
I soften slightly as I turn to Liam.
“I’m just worried about you. She’s a master manipulator. The way she is obviously playing Asher, then dragging you into it.”
“How about you stop talking about things you know nothing about and go back to your lunch?” Skyla snaps.
My eyes shoot to her, anger thrumming in my veins.
“How about you stop whoring yourself around my school and go back to where you came from?” I snarl before winding my arm back and cracking my hand against her cheek.
I’m proud of how hard her head whips to the side. My hand stings from the impact, but her quickly reddening face makes it oh so worth it.
In the next second, I feel a body rush me from behind, grabbing the hand that slapped Skyla and reaching for Maggie’s silver fork before plunging it into the back of my hand. White hot pain sears through me as I screech. I reflexively try to pull my hand away, but it’s embedded deep into the table. I look down in horror as shock floods my body. Blood begins pouring around the fork; my hand feels like it has its own heartbeat, and I wail and shout as the pain sets in. Maggie’s panicked eyes come to mine as she looks to Asher like he’s going to come for her next.
Asher jumps up onto the table, jostling the fork and forcing another scream to rip out of me.
“I thought that we had learned this lesson a while ago, at this very table no less, but perhaps we need a refresher. Skyla is off-limits, period. You will not whisper about her, you will not glare at her and you will most definitely not put hands on her,” he shouts, trailing his eyes down to me for that last part. The pure venom in his eyes has me shrinking in place. I feel like dirt beneath his glare, worse even.
“The next person that even breathes my wife’s name, will be leaving this school in a body bag. Clear?” Asher continues.
That has the entire room silent. His wife? They got married? When? He…it’s over. He’s married. I lost my chance.
“I said CLEAR?!” Asher snarls.
“Yes!” the room answers in unison.
“Better,” he says. “One more thing, you would all do well to keep my bond brother’s name out of your fucking mouths as well. Anymore bullshit fucking rumors about my wife, or my brother being unfaithful to me, and you will receive the same treatment,” he says, stomping his foot near my hand to shake the table once more.
A sob rips through me as the searing pain rips through my hand and touches every single nerve of my body.
“You okay?” he asks as he tenderly cups Skyla’s cheek, Liam right there with her. “C’mon, let’s go,” they say, rushing her out of here like the princess she is while my hand is fucking impaled!