Chapter 42
Forty-Two
Blair
My head spun while I flipped through the pages of the diary.
The leather cover was delicate, and I was careful each time I turned to another entry. The paper was yellowed with age.
Whoever had owned it wrote nearly every day.
Sometimes her writing was confident. Other times, it was scribbled sloppily.
All of them were in my mother’s handwriting.
At least, I was certain it was hers.
And unless she had a twin, that was her in the photo.
She had the same waves of dark hair. Same sharp cheekbones, slight dimples, and a proud lift of the chin.
On the commune, cameras hadn’t been allowed, but I did find a photo stashed in one of my mother’s drawers once.
It was of her and my father. They posed for the photo while my father held a baby who I assumed was me.
I never forgot it because in that photo, they looked like parents who loved their daughter.
In that photo was a younger version of her, and she looked identical to the one in the diary. She was even wearing the same yellow dress.
I flipped the page to read the next diary entry.
Dear Diary,
Two Sons want me. I’ve never felt like such a lucky Fawn before. I know others are jealous of me. One day, I’ll be married to the most powerful man in the world. I’ll be the strongest Fawn ever and rule beside him.
I swallowed, a bitter taste filling my mouth.
Her other entries were all similar to that one. Filled with pride, excitement, and a weird obsession with status and power.
I ran my thumb over the edge of the page, nausea and the yogurt gurgling in my belly.
Another entry caught my eye down the page. The ink was darker, like she’d pressed her pen into the paper so hard that it nearly tore it.
Scooting closer, I leaned in to read it, but froze when I heard a faint sound.
Footsteps.
Heavy ones.
I looked toward the doorway, expecting to see Enzo, but fell back, scurrying off the bed when I found two tall, broad-shouldered men dressed in black robes.
They wore masks I’d never seen before.
I screamed and ran toward the bathroom. One of the men lunged toward me, catching me around the waist before I made it. He clamped his gloved hand around my arm like a trap.
My screaming didn’t stop when he yanked me around as I fought him.
“No!” I shrieked, thrusting against him. “Enzo! Enzo! Enzo!”
Before I could yell for Enzo again, the man pressed something soft against my mouth.
A sharp, chemical taste filled my lungs.
“No!” I wheezed out. “En …”
I wasn’t even sure those words left my throat.
I tried to fight, but they were stronger and carried me away.
My vision blurred, and my limbs felt like they weighed a million tons.
The last thing I saw before everything went black was the diary on the bed.
My head throbbed before my eyes even opened.
A dull, pulsing ache spread through my skull. Each beat of my heart pressed harder against my chest.
A chemical film coated my tongue. So thick that it clung to the back of my throat. It almost tasted like crushed pills, dissolved in rubbing alcohol.
I tried to lift my hands, but they wouldn’t move.
My gaze was still half blurred and tilting sideways.
I could make out dark shapes. Flickering lights. Moving shadows.
Calm down, Blair. Take in your surroundings. Figure out where you are.
I was seated in a chair.
Wait, no.
I was strapped to one.
Rough rope dug into my wrists, bound to the arms of a wooden chair. My ankles were also tied. The fibers bit into my skin whenever I tried to break free.
The space looked similar to where I’d had my Initiation, but this one felt wickeder.
I was almost certain I was still in the tunnels.
And I was also almost certain these weren’t the same Sons from before.
They gave off a different vibe and wore different masks.
What had happened in the Fawn Quarters rushed back to me.
The men, the cloth to my mouth, them dragging me away.
A bright light above me turned on, and I jerked against the ropes again, refusing to be a show to these psychos.
“Hello, Blair.”
My entire body stilled at the distinct, chiding voice.
No, no, no-no-no-no-no.
Please, God, no.
I attempted to heave forward, but pain shot through my chest when a man stepped forward from the shadows. For a second, I refused to believe it was him.
He was the only one not wearing a mask.
He wanted me to see him.
When we came face-to-face, he dug his palms into my hands painfully. “Miss me?”
He inched back, studying me like I was an animal he’d just stuck in a cage, and he couldn’t decide what to do with me.
“You’re supposed to be in prison,” I said with a cracking voice.
It was obvious that wasn’t true, but those were the only words I could form at the moment.
My father smiled at me.
Not nicely. Not fatherly.
It was that same cold, demented smile I remembered from my childhood.
He had more wrinkles now, reminding me of old leather. He’d lost weight, and his eyes were more sunken in. His front tooth was decaying and chipped. But it was him.
Every feature of his face was burned into my memory.
He drew back, tapping his fingers together. “If you know the right people, you can get out of life sentences.”
“But they said parole wasn’t possible,” I whispered.
“They were wrong.” He pulled at the neckline of his robe. “You testified very well.” He viciously smiled while giving me fake applause. “The jury believed your every word.”
“Because it was the truth,” I said around a tight throat. I spat, trying to clear the vile taste from my mouth, but also because I wanted to show him how much he repulsed me. “You murdered people.”
He sighed. “When people turn their backs on us, they die.” Another long, dramatic sigh from him. “I thought you knew that.” His gaze lowered to the ropes binding me before returning to my face. “And I think, Blair, you turned your back on us.”
Cold dread seeped into my veins.
“What do you want?” I asked him.
For a second, he didn’t answer and just clicked his tongue to taunt me.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying everything to stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks. But I couldn’t. They fell like hot streams.
“Tell me something,” he said.
I bared my teeth at him, curling my fingers around the arm of the chair.
“Do you regret testifying against your father? Your own flesh and blood?”
I pressed my lips together, at first deciding not to answer him.
But then, I changed my mind.
If he was going to kill me, which I knew he was, I’d say all the things I’d wanted to say to him for years.
I’d stand up to him. Speak my mind. Be the strong girl I was when I ran out of the burning chapel.
“No, I don’t regret it.” I raised my chin.
He cocked his head to the side, sneering at me.
“What I do regret is not slitting your throat all those years I witnessed you kill innocent people.” I did my best to bring my face closer to his. “You deserved to rot in prison and then rot in hell, like the piece of shit you are.”
It seemed I was not made for survival of the fittest games.
But I refused to plead for my life because I knew he wouldn’t give it to me. When my father swore he was going to do something, he did it.
“Oh, she’s now got a mouth on her,” he said.
Pain stretched across my cheek and jaw when he slapped me across the face.
“It seemed leaving the commune made you falsely believe you could have a voice.” Spit flew from his mouth as he spoke, hitting my aching cheek.
He sneered again before taking a step back. When he did, another person emerged, stopping at his side.
“Hello, Blair,” she said in that angelic, manipulative voice.
It was the same one she’d used to drag people into my father’s warped cult.
I glared at my mother as she waltzed forward in a long white dress, barefoot, with butterfly clips in her hair.
“It’s time, my love,” another masked figure said, joining them.
My mother took his hand, then my father’s, as they came closer. She kissed each one before dropping their hands.
She stepped up to me, and I winced when she cupped my face.
“Hush, little baby, don’t say a word—”
“Stop it!” I screamed over her, but this time, that song didn’t strike the chord inside me it once had.
This time, it wasn’t agony. It was anger.
“Fuck that song,” I told her. “And fuck you!”
Her singing ceased, and she stared at me in shock at how I’d spoken to her.
“You chose strangers over your own blood.” My father came forward, rubbing his hands together. “I’ve waited years to watch you die.”