Chapter 8
EIGHT
Gigi
Everyone’s primary focus is still on dealing with the aftermath of the fire at the Circle headquarters, which makes the journey to my family home easy work.
The damage isn’t as extensive as I hoped – I heard from Harry that once the fire engines arrived, the blaze was under control within a few hours.
The flames were limited to the east wing, a collection of cellars, cleaning closets, and storage space.
Richard will recover quickly from the loss.
Fucking typical.
Despite knowing their attention is elsewhere, I slip down dark alleyways rather than use the main roads, letting the cover of nightfall mask my journey.
I approach the familiar street, mistakenly stepping in a puddle on the pavement.
The water soaks through my shoes, dampening my socks and making my next steps squelch.
I can practically feel the shake of Harry’s head; his plea for me to turn around and head the opposite way.
The weight of his presence; the beady eyes I can feel through his computer screen as I trail up the driveway towards the front door.
It’s enough for me to flip my hand up and offer the street’s patrol camera a middle finger.
The distance to his house is short – twenty minutes max, albeit quicker on the Harley. Mine still stands at the Circle headquarters, if Richard hasn’t smashed it up by now.
Determined to find my mother, to hurt her, I approach the house with little plan. No fancy weaponry – Richard took that away from me, my Glock now a distant memory. No right or wrong way to approach this situation. Just an overwhelming desire to discover the truth, no matter what it takes.
Yet Harry’s words ring through my mind.
“Your mum is not the enemy here. Trust me.”
I’ve grown accustomed to brushing off similar comments, but Harry knows far more than I give him credit for. Anything he says nowadays seems to be laced with elements of the truth. He’s cryptic in a way I despise but have learned to willingly accept.
Mum’s Audi sits on the driveway. I peer through the windscreen, spotting the suitcase on the back seat, still there after she returned home from her flight.
I stop a few paces from the front door, an eerie calmness soaking through me. But I’d be a fool to think I have time on my hands. Harry’s on his way, or someone far worse. The thought pushes me forwards, and I twist the front door handle, which is suspiciously unlocked.
Without making a sound, I slip inside. A low light shines through the hallway, lighting my path as I sneak into the kitchen and take a knife from the rack. I wrap my hand around the hilt, the metal cold against my palm.
I tighten my grip, giving myself the confidence to continue. Do it, my mind shouts in encouragement. Just do it!
Taking steps forwards, I turn the corner, skidding to a stop. Someone’s standing in my path. My chest constricts sharply, causing an involuntary sound to catch in my throat as I’m confronted with the barrel of a gun.
“Don’t fucking move,” the voice says.
I look past the weapon towards where William stands at the end of it, his expression harsh and his gaze narrowed. I always thought “Dad” was weak, yet he looks merciless where he stands in the doorway.
“Where is she?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Around.”
William slips his phone from his front pocket, bringing it to his ear. The call rings only once before someone answers. “She’s here … I won’t let her leave … I will.” He hangs up, slipping the phone back into his pocket.
“Was that Richard?”
He lifts a shoulder, deflecting the comment.
I breathe, “Who are you?”
“A father.” He smiles wickedly as he repositions the gun in both hands, directing it against my temple. “Or a stranger, in the grand scheme of things.”
My gaze moves over his shoulder, checking for any sign of my mother. Is she around? Is she all right? The knife in my palm suddenly feels unbearably heavy as I turn back towards William.
“I just want some answers,” I say calmly, attempting a step around him. “Just tell me where she—”
“SIT. DOWN!”
He charges forwards, gun still in tow, and pushes with enough force that I stumble against the floor. The knife almost slips from my grip, but I tighten my palm, hissing at the burn of the sharp metal.
“I’m not fucking around!” he shouts, shaking the gun in my face, the metal groaning with the movement.
“Okay … okay …” I bring my free hand up in a sign of mercy. “I believe you.”
“You fucking kids. It’s always you fucking kids.” He starts to pace, muttering under his breath with each step. “Years … years I wasted my life, all because she put you rotten kids first. You were always the fucking priority.”
The priority? No. I witnessed Mum’s behaviour firsthand, her disdain towards me when I tried to prioritise Jack. William has it all wrong.
A sly grin slowly forms across his mouth at catching the confusion sweeping over me. I watch his every move, from the way his hand loosens around the gun to the way he crouches just a metre away.
“Maria swore her life away to protect you and your brother. Had me rot in this house just because he didn’t want people knowing what happened.”
“He—?”
“Fucking Richard! Who else do you think?” He tsks, hissing through his teeth.
“Richard made a vital error having you kids. He never wanted children, but of course, your mother was young and besotted with him.” He scoffs, shaking his head, but I can sense the anger in the way the vein in his neck starts to throb.
“She had Jack, knowing Richard wanted nothing to do with him. He let her live quietly at first, planting a story about a drunken one-night stand, but you—” He cuts himself off, trying to retain the fury building inside of him.
“You were always the fucking problem. One night together after years of limited contact – that’s all it took.
All it took for her to get knocked up again, and for Richard to form a plan that would sign both our lives away. ”
The words tumble out of me. “I’m sorry.”
“I told her! I fucking told her she should just abort you – even pushed her down the stairs once. Didn’t fucking work, though, did it?
” He’s near seething at this point, his palms starting to shake against the gun.
“If people found out he had kids, it was all over. His dirty offspring would be entitled to his fortune. That and the fucking Italians and whoever else would have leverage over him.”
“But that doesn’t explain …”
“Richard needed a stand-in-father to foolproof his story. Someone to sit and do his dirty work while he acted like his double life didn’t exist. So the story was planted …
The drunken one-nighter who was riddled with guilt and looking to make amends miraculously reappeared, wanting to take responsibility and become the father he ought to be. ”
William.
He was forced to play the role Richard should have stepped into by acting as our father, albeit not a very convincing one given my childhood. Not an ounce of interest in anything. Never taking Jack to football practice, nor me to ballet class. It was always … it was always Mum.
“Why?” I breathe. “Why did you do it?”
“Why does anyone do anything in this world?” He gets right in my face and screeches, “MONEY! It’s always about fucking money!”
The urge to back away on top of the information overload has me clawing at my temples. I can’t handle all this, yet I can’t find it in me to pass up on a final opportunity to learn the truth.
I push my luck further. “But that makes no sense … If Richard was so adamant we couldn’t know, then why were we allowed to join?”
“Because he’s a fucking fool?” he says as if the answer is obvious. “Plans changed when Jack came snooping. Richard was awestruck with your brother and saw a part of himself in him. He thought he could create a weapon while trying to keep his deepest secret hidden.”
It’s the most insight I’ve ever received about Jack’s time within the Circle, though it feels farther from anything I’ve ever dreamed of.
I press, “What happened?”
William catches the glimmer in my eye and snaps his mouth shut.
Fuck.
I was so close.
Instead, he says, “After Jack died, Maria was under strict instruction to never let anybody discover the truth. She loved you kids more than anything, but she had to convince me she wouldn’t let you get as close as Jack did. Even if that meant laying a hand on you.”
Something sour envelops my stomach. “So, what … you were reporting everything back to Richard?”
“Every. Insignificant. Detail. No matter how much it broke her, Maria tried everything to keep you quiet. But Richard knew you were close to finding him, and he was tricked into seeing the same potential in you he saw in Jack. He simply made it easier for you to find the Circle. And by finding the Circle, you’d find him.
” He sneers. “Your mother was punished for not upholding her end of the bargain.”
My face pales suddenly, and I feel as cold and numb as ice.
“That should have been the end of it. I was so close to getting out of here. I should’ve been free—” William cuts himself off with a curse, hitting himself over his head with the weapon.
“Maria wanted you to move out so badly, but of course, you didn’t listen.
Then she forced you to go live with that fucking kid, Greg. ”
William starts to pace, having riled himself up to such an extent that his whole body is shaking with tremors. He starts muttering under his breath. “I could’ve left … I could’ve been free …”
In the moment of distraction, I edge closer towards the open doorway, fearful of what’s become of my mother.
I make my movements slow, darting my attention towards William where he continues to mutter, faster and more jumbled now.
He switches off the safety of the gun, white-knuckling it in his grip.
Words I never thought I’d say flood to the forefront of my brain.
Please tell me Mum’s okay.
I’m just a few short inches from slipping out of the room unscathed when I hear a cry for help. It’s muffled, but it screams for my attention.
Mum.
William’s head whips towards the open doorway, catching my near escape. I dart forwards on my knees, slicing the knife across the back of his heel. He falls to the floor with a shout, clutching the back of his leg and seething in pain.
“GET BACK HERE!”
I pull myself to my feet and run out of the room. A gunshot whistles through the air, sending glass flying and impaling a wall light. I shriek, shielding the side of my face from debris.
“WHERE ARE YOU?” I scream.
My hand splays against the wall, trying to find my balance as I run through each room. Another cry for help steers me towards the living room.
The air whooshes out of me. “Mum!”
She’s lying gagged and cuffed on the carpet. Her hands are purple from the restricted blood flow, and her wide eyes are tear-stained and-red rimmed. I rush over, crashing to my knees and running my shaky hands over her.
“Tell me what to do,” I rush out, flustered. “What’s hurting you?”
EVERYTHING.
Everything is fucking hurting her!
“We need to get you moving, okay?” I start working on the cuffs at her wrists, slicing the knife against the rope. “I’m going to get you out—”
A bang echoes through the air, but I duck just in time, feeling it pass closely above my head. The bullet hits the wall behind me. I whip my head up as William stumbles into the room, ready to fire another shot.
Barely thinking, I launch the knife through the air, and it lands with a whoosh in the centre of his chest. He looks down at the blossoming wound in disbelief, taking one step backwards, then the next, until he’s stumbling, his back slamming against the wall.
Death drowns his every facial feature, yet he steadily lifts the gun higher. Straight towards us.
“NO!”
He fires the shot and falls to the floor.
The body I’m clutching onto jolts with the landing bullet, and a heavy dose of liquid sprays over my face. Red blinds me, limiting my sight. But I know. I can fucking feel the devastation sweeping through me as I wipe the blood from eyes.
“M-Mum?” My voice wavers. “Mum!”
Her weary gaze finds mine, a tear slipping from her eye. I rip the remaining cuffs from her wrists, tugging the gag from her mouth. Blood pours from her chest, soaking the clothes on her frail body.
“FUCK!” I throw my palms over the wound, but it gushes faster than I can prevent it. My hands are shaking so violently the liquid slips between my fingers. “I-I … I’ll call for help. Just stay here—”
A shaky hand wraps around my wrist, halting my movement. My gaze falls to my mother, who keeps me still, and the weak shake of her head. Her chapped lips move over the word: “Stay.”
“But you need help.” My voice cracks. “Please. Please, let me help.”
“G-Gigi.” Her smile is broken, pain seeping through her, yet her eyes still glow with flickers of life. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. It’s not fucking okay—”
“Don’t …” She inhales a breath, wincing. “Don’t s-swear.”
Laughter slips from me, masking the sob falling from my chest. She still manages to retain that smile despite her pressed lilac shirt being drenched with scarlet. God, she’s soaked in it. Her hair. The floor.
“Gigi?” she asks. “D-do something … for me.”
“Anything,” I breathe.
“Take the r-rug … to the … dry cleaners. It’s t-too pretty to be … ruined.” She somehow manages to pull a smile from me despite the pain I know is tearing through her. It turns sad quickly as I watch how she winces with the slightest movement. “I-I’m sorry for everything I … I did to you.”
“It’s okay,” I soothe, brushing her hair back from her forehead. “I-it’s okay. Just hold on. Please. S-stay with me, okay? I’m so sorry.”
She shakily grabs my fingers, but her grip slips from the blood seeping off our skin. “I hope … I hope y-you can forgive me.”
“Of course. Of course I forgive you,” I whisper. “B-but why? Why would you do that for us?”
“You … you do anything … f-for the ones you love.”
Her eyes start to droop, her attempts at gripping my hand loosening, until her palm falls limp at her side.
“Mum!” I grip her stained shirt in my hands. “MUM!”
A car pulls up outside, tyres screeching against the driveway. The headlights shine through the window, pinning me to the spot. But I can’t find it in me to move. I can’t leave. I can’t.
“Run,” Mum whispers so quietly I barely hear her.
“But Mum—”
“G-Gigi.” She brings unbearable strength into her voice. “Run.”