Chapter Forty Eight
Maggie
Father? Is he fucking crazy?
“You think because you screw my whore mother you can call yourself my father?” I laugh. Or at least I try to laugh. Even to my own ears, I can hear how strained it sounds.
My mom shoots me a venomous look, but I couldn’t give a shit.
“I think I can call myself your father because of the blood running through your veins,” Thomas says with a self-satisfied smirk.
What?
“You’re lying,” I accuse.
He tuts, shaking his head as he wraps his arm around my mom. She snuggles into his side all too happily, nuzzling like two long lost lovers.
“Tell him, my love. It’s been a plan in the making for a long time now.”
“Thomas and I fell in love when I was sixteen,” she says dreamily.
“And how old was he? Thirty?” Bridgette’s tone hardly masks her disgust.
She shoots her a narrowed glare before the dreamy look returns.
“I told my parents that I wanted to marry him, but he hadn’t made a name for himself just then.”
Thomas nods. “I was new to the Brethren. Building a successful empire like mine takes time, and money.”
“So, I married well,” my mom says.
“To Dad,” I guess.
“To Matthew Bartlett, yes,” she corrects. “His family was ungodly wealthy, especially for not being a part of the Elder families. It was the perfect arrangement. He wanted a dutiful wife and a family, and I wanted my Thomas to thrive so we could finally be together.”
She smiles up at him like he hung the moon and all the stars. He grins down at her, placing a kiss to her forehead.
“When I got pregnant three months before the wedding, it was a total mistake. Just a little slip up during our engagement party,” she says, sharing a sultry look with Thomas.
He winks at her, nuzzling his nose against hers.
“I couldn’t let you walk around on Bartlett’s arm without being stuffed full of my cum.”
My mom beams like it’s the most romantic thing he could say, before her smile drops, and she looks at me.
“Once you came around, Matthew was infatuated. Everything revolved around you. The little attention he used to give me was scarce, but you provided a great distraction. For years, I was able to funnel money from his account to Thomas, to allow my love all the resources he needed to build us a life. Once you went off to Gallows Hill U, he got suspicious, though. Started focusing more on work, more on finances. He started asking questions,” she says with a shake of her head.
“We knew it was time to handle the matter,” Thomas said.
“To kill him? Kill my father?” I guffaw.
My mom shrugs like she forgot milk at the grocery store.
“It was an easy way to stop his questions and inherit his entire fortune. But that weasel changed his will without me knowing!” she seethes. “He changed it and left his entire fortune to?—”
“Me,” I say, shaking my head. It makes sense why she was so hateful after his death. When we had the reading of the will, she sobbed for days. I thought it was because she missed him. She didn’t miss him at all, she was devastated because he left her penniless.
“You, his little pride and joy,” she says with a mocking wrinkle of her nose. “I needed a new husband, and fast.”
“Why not just marry Thomas, then?” Bridgette questions. “When Matthew died, Thomas was plenty wealthy.”
True.
“Harry and I had some…disagreements of our own. He owed me a substantial amount for an investment I placed with him, he thought he didn’t. We settled on you as payment,” he says to Bridgette.
“But my mom was planted as a way to still get your money,” I say with a shake of my head, my mind reeling as I try to keep up with curveball after curveball that’s being thrown my way.
“We were going to wait a little longer before taking care of Harry, but you did the heavy lifting for us. Thank you for that, sweetheart.” Thomas nods. “Tonight, Calista will file a missing person’s report. After an appropriate amount of time, they will find Harry’s car burnt to a crisp just outside of Boston. Terrible accident. Hardly any remains left. So tragic,” he says, his smile still in place.
“My father didn’t leave me or Brad in his will?” Bridgette questions.
“No, I double checked this time,” Calista says proudly.
Bridgette rolls her eyes, clearly not surprised, but disgusted in her dad all the same.
“So, all those times you raped me? Held me down as I was screaming and begging. Let my father watch before he joined in or jerked off in the corner as he tore me apart piece by piece. That was all…for what? Kicks?” Bridgette asks bitterly.
Calista frowns, turning to face Thomas.
“I thought you said you never touched her.”
He rubs his hand on her back, keeping his narrowed eyes on Bridgette for a moment before speaking.
“I did what I had to do to keep up the charade, my love. Brenton loved playing with his little girl and part of the contract was that he would still have full access to her. That he could join in whenever. I had to make it believable.”
My mom pouts at that, walking up to Bridgette before delivering a sharp slap.
“Fucking slut,” she spits.
Bridgette cradles her cheek as Thomas grabs my mom by the hair, quite literally bringing her to heel at his side.
“What happened to my mother?” Bridgette asks, dropping her hand from her face.
Thomas looks at her, puzzled for a moment, before he has an ‘ah ha’ moment.
“Oh, nothing. She died giving birth to your sorry ass. That was a carrot I just knew you couldn’t resist.”
Hurt and pain flash across Bridgette’s face while I try to take control of the room.
“So, what now?” I ask.
I’m not stupid. They just admitted to one count of homicide, another count of attempted premeditated murder, and I’m pretty sure whatever poor soul is burnt to a crisp in Harry’s car didn’t die of natural causes. They don’t plan on letting either of us walk out of here.
Thomas grins, pride shining off him.
“Straight to the point, a woman after my own heart.”
Disgusting prick.
“It’s really quite easy. All we need from you is to write down the account credentials of the trust your father set up for you.”
“What if I don’t?” I ask, seeing what kind of leverage I have.
“Then your little lesbian lover dies first,” he says, pulling a gun out from his suit pocket, holding it at Bridgette’s head.
I step to move in front of her when he cocks the hammer back, forcing me to throw my hands up.
“Easy, easy.”
My brain runs through scenario after scenario of how to get us both out of this, but every time, I come up short.
“I’ll give you everything you want, but you have to let Bridgette go first.”
Thomas laughs. “Nice try, little girl. See, that won’t quite work for me. She seems to have a big mouth. She’d no doubt be on the phone with the police the instant she crossed over that threshold,” he says with a shake of his head. “Reminds me of that little bitch, Sewall.”
“Maryia?” I question. “You know her?”
Thomas laughs, shaking his head. “I was told you were quite bright; looks like your mother exaggerated. Know her? Sweetheart, who do you think hired her?”
What.
“Well, it wasn’t so much hiring as it was threatening her little sister who’s battling cancer. She needs a life-saving surgery and I’m the only person that can provide it. The Sewall household has all but fallen into destitution. Take this…residence for instance. It’s practically unlivable.”
This is Maryia’s family home?
“Her family went bankrupt trying to keep up with her sister’s disease. They moved into the city and left Maryia to try and secure a husband. I found her first, though.”
“So…what? You paid her to be my girlfriend? Or threatened her so her sister would live?”
Thomas nods from side to side. “That’s simplifying it, but yes. Essentially.”
“So, she wasn’t psycho obsessed with Maggie. She was just trying to save her sister,” Bridgette says with furrowed brows.
He shrugs. “Not sure. Why don’t you ask her yourself? Maryia, dear. Could you come out here and clear something up?”
I wait for several seconds, but she doesn’t come. What the fuck? This goddamn piece of shit has been fucking with my life before I was even born and clearly continued to do so afterwards. He planted someone to be my girlfriend?
“She’s always so damn defiant,” he hisses. “Go,” he says, waving the gun at Bridgette and me to walk in front of him and my mother.
Slowly, we creep through the house before stopping in the living room. A sharp gasp rips out of Bridgette, and I feel like I’ve been kicked in the stomach. My brain has a hard time processing what my eyes are so vividly seeing.
Maryia is there, sitting on the couch, head rolled back, body stiff as a board, with a slight odor beginning to waft off her. There is a single bullet hole in the side of her head and my eyes trail to see a bullet lodged into the wall to her right.
Oh my fucking god.
“She was useless to me after she tried and failed to not only acquire the account information herself, but to keep you at least entertained and away from Bridgette. The poor thing,” he says with a faux look of sadness. “She was so distraught about learning that her girlfriend had been sleeping with her stepsister that she killed herself. Quite tragic. At least, that’s what the police will deduce after reading the text messages she sent to Harry Brenton yesterday morning.”
Oh my god. The times I caught her snooping through my phone. Her insane jealousy. Her cryptic words as she held the knife to her throat. “I can’t fail.” If I left her, she would be useless, and Thomas would dispose of her and her family. She had to stay relevant. To find answers. Holy fuck.
“Looks like you’ve thought of everything, Thomas,” Bridgette says.
“I helped!” My mother butts in like she wants credit.
Thomas silences her with a sharp look before smiling at Bridgette.
“Thank you, I certainly did try.”
“Only question is, what are you going to do with us? Father, daughter, and stepdaughter disappearing in the matter of forty-eight hours? That’s sure to tip off even the dullest cop,” she challenges.
He nods, frowning. “I suppose it would. We will just have to operate under the story that you two ran away together, living happily ever after. See, look at that. I’m even giving you disgusting abominations a happy ending.”
“You won’t shoot us,” Bridgette says as she takes a step closer. “Not if you want this all neat and tidy with a pretty bow. Extra bullet casings, gunpowder residue. No one will believe the bullshit lie you just spun.”
A look flickers across his face like he hadn’t thought of that. He stares at Bridgette for a moment, panic in his eyes before it quickly recedes.
“You’re right. Alright. New plan,” he says, lifting the gun and shooting Bridgette in the shoulder.
She cries out, falling to the ground as she clutches it.
“B!” I shout, rushing to her when Thomas points the gun at me.
I pause, looking down at Bridgette as she cries out in pain.
“Maryia lured you two here and shot you both dead for betraying her before killing herself. It’s easy enough to buy off a coroner to fake the time of death. Perfect, that’ll work well. Now, Margret, the account information, please,” he says as my mother hands me her phone with the login page to my dad’s bank.
“You’re gonna kill us anyways, why on earth would I make you rich while you do it?”
“I just figured you’d want to die first. I might have some fun with your little girlfriend before I finish her off. A last hoorah of sorts.” He smirks, his eyes combing over Bridgette before coming back to me. “You’re welcome to watch if you’d like to be difficult.”
Fear splashes across my face as Thomas closes the distance between him and myself.
“If you think for one second that you or this whore are making it out of here, you are fucking nuts.”
“If you think for one second that they came alone, you’re fucking nuts,” Asher says from the doorway, gun drawn.
Thomas turns to him as Ronan and Wesley come from the left, Vincent and Liam from the right. He turns wildly, searching for a way out or a weakness, but comes up short.
“You couldn’t have said that two minutes ago?” Bridgette grumbles, wincing as she clutches her shoulder.
“Sorry, our feed cut out. Blame Wesley’s piece of shit equipment.”
“It’s not the equipment,” Wesley grumbles.
My mother’s eyes dart around wildly before she tries to make a break for it. She runs towards Liam and Vincent before grabbing a hold of Liam’s gun. Before she can actually grab it, Vincent has her in a hold and is twisting her neck violently, the room echoing with a hollow crack. Her body drops to the floor, neck bent at an unnatural angle. I stare down at her dead body as I try to muster up any semblance of a feeling. Killing her wasn’t a part of the plan. Mainly because we had no idea she was in on it. Now, knowing what I know, feeling what I feel, I can honestly say her death feels more like cause for celebration than mourning, and I don’t care how fucked up that sounds.
Thomas’s eyes round with shock and despair as he stares at my mother before falling to his knees. He tries to crawl to her when Ronan and Wesley pick him up, subduing him easily. Thomas lets out a mournful sob that shakes me straight to my core. Wow, it looks like although they were deranged, murderous narcissists, they actually loved each other. Again, no pity or remorse comes.
“How do you want this one handled, Bartlett?” Ronan asks.
I crouch down beside Bridgette, sharing a heavy look before I turn to the guys.
“Make him suffer.”
Thomas’s sobs echo through the empty house as the guys drag him out, tossing him into the van they brought. Vincent lifts up my mother’s body, carrying her to the van, as Liam crouches down, examining Bridgette’s wound.
“Through and through,” he says. “Let’s keep pressure on it and get you to the hospital.”
“Please,” she grits.
“I’m so sorry, baby. We should have had the guys come in sooner,” I say with a shake of my head.
She smiles weakly. “I blame them, don’t worry.”
“Hey! What did I do?” Liam defends.
We both ignore him as he helps me get Bridgette to her feet. They walk out the door and I follow after them before pausing. I look back at Maryia, or Maryia’s body, I suppose. An unfathomable amount of pain swells inside me. Pain for her, for her family. She was an innocent that got dragged into this fucked up situation. All she was trying to do was protect her sister, her family. She truly did whatever it took. My heart breaks. Despite not being in love with her, I did care about her, or at least the person I thought she was.
Stepping up to her, I close her eyes, saying a prayer or a thought, or whatever, that she is at peace. That she’s happy. That she’s okay and promising her and myself that her family will be okay, too.
When I make my way out of the house, I already see that the van is gone and Liam is in the driver’s seat of the car, Bridgette in the back. I slide in beside her, holding the wadded up gauze Liam has given her and applying pressure.
Her head leans back against the seat, mind seemingly whirling.
“Are you okay?” she rasps.
“No, you?”
“No,” she says with a short laugh that makes her wince. “Fuck.”
“Almost there, Brenton.”
She nods and we sit there in silence for several minutes before she speaks again.
“I can’t believe it.”
“What?” I ask.
“After everything. Everything I’ve been through, everything you have. Everything those two horrible humans did. It’s done. It’s over. We’re free.”
Free.