Chapter 44 Evie
EVIE
The first thing I notice is the suffocating scent of orange blossoms and the grating of my mother’s voice in my head. Garbled pieces of conversation reach my altered mind, but everything is so dark.
“Take her and let me go. I won’t say anything, I swear.”
It feels like an ice pick is splitting my skull in two, making it impossible to focus on the world around me.
But my heart is racing, doing everything it can to pierce the thick fog clouding my mind.
There’s a painful numbness in my hands and fingers, an aching stretch in my shoulders—and then I realize they’re drawn overhead, suspending me just enough that the soles of my feet barely brush the ground.
“There she is,” a deep voice says, just as a sharp slap lands across my cheek, jerking my head to the side.
Chains rattle, the sting of the hit reverberating through my skull as the faint echo of retreating footsteps fades.
I blink, trying to open my eyes as the scattered puzzle pieces begin to rearrange.
Mother is next to me, standing in heels with her wrists bound, suspended from a large hook overhead.
I remember finding her with the dean. The cathedral. And then…
“You drugged me.” My mouth is dry, and there’s a lingering bitter taste coating my tongue.
“If I drugged you, I wouldn’t be here beside you.” She rolls her eyes, leaning away from me. “For god’s sake, stand up. You look ridiculous.”
Shame burns through some of the lingering fog in my veins as I find my footing, easing some of the tension in my shoulders. Blood rushes painfully back into my fingers as I wiggle them and realize my eyes have started to close.
“Then who?” I rasp, trying to recall what happened.
A dank, moldy smell clings to the air. Worn brick pillars curve up to support a low ceiling. Wooden crates are piled along the edges, and a single suspended bulb swings overhead, casting a morbid yellow glow. Pale shards spill over the top of one, looking a lot like bones.
Swallowing against the dryness in my throat, I shift my gaze, searching the room for clues. Two doors sit on opposite walls, flanking a raised dais and crumbling alcove.
“Why are we in the basement of a church?” My tongue scrapes over my lips like sandpaper as I swing my gaze back to my mother. “I spoke with you, and then—”
Fingers grip my chin from behind, yanking my attention to the third presence in the room. Cold, familiar eyes scan my face, narrowing as he tilts my head from side to side.
Oh god. It can’t be.
His cocky smirk is gone, replaced by a sneer. His blue eyes are lighter than his cousin’s, his light brown hair darker and longer than Mark’s. But the tattoos lacing his forearms, the arrogance gleaming in his eyes—it’s the same.
“Not Mark,” I croak, brows furrowing as I try to recall. It was months ago. A night of dancing. A back alley. Silas knocking Mark out. Tempest trying to leave with…
“Jameson?”
“Might’ve overdone it with the chloroform,” he says with a shrug. “Heat of the moment and all that. Your mother didn’t seem worried.”
Accusation flares through my gaze as the effects of the drug continue to ebb.
“I had no idea you’d lose your mind and capture me as well,” Mother snaps. Her glare is sharp, lips curled in disgust as she flexes her bound wrists. “I thought you were going to teach your future wife a lesson.”
“Wife?” I hiss, but Jameson only tilts his head, his icy blue gaze dragging over my body—so disturbingly similar to Jonathan that my stomach churns.
“You’re Father Michael’s son.”
“Finally connecting the pieces?” Jameson grins. “That’s okay, Evie. No one expects you to be smart.”
Once, I let people like him shape me, to mold and use me… but that’s not quite right, is it? I was never asked. They took my identity, who I am in my truest, rawest form. And once I’d been reduced to a shell—hollowed and vacant—they made me believe it was for my own good.
If it had happened quickly, maybe I could’ve fought back. Maybe I would’ve remembered who I was before. But how could I when I never had the chance to become her?
“I’ll never marry you,” I spit, ignoring the tears coating my cheeks.
“Too late,” Jameson says, withdrawing a sheet of paper from his pocket. He unfolds it slowly, holding the fine print up to my face. “Already done. It has your signature and everything.”
A dull ringing grows in my ears as I stare at the forged signature, signed and sealed by Father Michael and Roy.
“You can’t do this,” I whisper, even as he tucks the marriage license away. But the words feel frail even to my own ears. It’s already done. My life, my independence… gone.
“Enough with the dramatics, Evie,” Mother chides. “Father Michael told me about the bikers you’ve been spending time with—”
“Yes,” Jameson’s harsh voice cuts through, his attention locked on me despite my mother’s outburst. There’s a shift in his eyes, a clearing of all emotion that sends dread sliding down my spine.
“And he told me about you letting the filth out of prison too. Another reason why you’ll earn redemption before I allow you to be seen at my side. ”
Fear grips me like a vise, locking my muscles. My heart hammers against my ribs so hard it feels like they might bruise from the inside out.
“Of course she will,” Mother says, oblivious to the danger we’re both in. But I feel it—feel the sick change in the air. I’ve had enough horrible men look at me the way Jameson is looking at me now. Like I’m not a person, but an object he’s already decided to break.
“That’s the entire point of this. Jonathan said you agreed to take her off our hands.”
My breath hitches, eyes going wide. “You’re the man he wanted me to meet for lunch?”
Jameson grins, his expression cracking the calm facade he’s been wearing.
“Surprise. After your second unexcused absence, Mommy Dearest told me where to find you. Imagine my shock when I found out about your meeting with the dean. Or should I say… Daddy?”
My chest heaves, each breath of anger expelling more of the poison clouding my system. A flicker of strength stirs in my limbs, and I grip it tightly, trying to hold on as fear threatens to unravel me. But I need more time for it to wear off. So, I lift my chin and dare to meet Jameson’s eyes.
“My family decided I’m a disappointment and wanted me punished. I understand them,” I say, jerking my head toward my mother. “But you. What’s your excuse? You’re, what? Angry Tempest never called you back?”
The back of his hand whips across my face, splitting my lip. Blood floods my mouth as Jameson flexes his hand, then wipes the smear of red from his knuckles, like the sight of my blood disgusts him.
“You know damn well this has nothing to do with that bitch and everything to do with Mark.”
“Mark?” I ask, feigning confusion, because of course I know this is about his cousin. About the bullet that shattered his skull. But Silas and the Seven handled it. Jameson doesn’t have proof. He can’t. Or Silas never would’ve walked out of that cell.
“Oh, you mean the guy I danced with twice? He was your cousin, right?” I try for casual, but I can’t stop the cruel undercurrent lacing my words.
He closes his fist this time, the force of the blow taking me by surprise. Stars dance across my vision as my body sways. The skin across my cheek feels damp, the tissue beneath my eye already swelling. Fresh blood pools in my mouth, and I catch Jameson scrubbing his hand clean again.
I wait until he’s done, until the moment he thinks he’s rid himself of all traces of me, and then I spit.
Scarlet flies from my lips, splattering his face. It collects in his light brown strands, dripping down his face, his neck. For one glorious second, I revel in the shocked horror consuming him before those hollow eyes find mine.
“Shit,” I breathe. Maybe that wasn’t the best idea.
The chains binding my wrists rattle as I instinctively try to pull away.
“Stop.”
Jameson halts, nostrils flaring as slow, deliberate footsteps echo from the far end of the room. My gaze shoots to the dark doors across the church basement. No. It can’t be.
But then he’s there—my nightmares brought to life—and I wish, for one terrible moment, that Jameson had knocked me out. That I could rewind time and dig the knife a little deeper across my forearms or swallowed the seed from the Cerebra odollam blossom I once held in my palm.
Anything to avoid this.
Because I know Silas is looking for me. He’s out there, right now, hunting. And as much as I want to believe he’ll burst through those doors and slay the monsters at my feet, the truth is—he’s not here.
Not now.
Time has run out.
The beasts are stalking toward me, intent on revenge, and I’m alone. With no way to stop them from tearing me apart.