Chapter 44
Forty-Four
Blair
During my childhood, the fear that my father might kill me had been a constant companion.
He’d threatened to do it countless times.
His attempts to drown me outnumbered his hugs.
And he vowed in the courtroom that he’d do it if they ever freed him.
After his arrest, I’d tried to assure myself I was safe now. He was behind bars and across the country from me. But now, he was free, and I knew he’d fulfill that promise to himself.
No one crossed my father without paying for it.
The nasty taste was still in my mouth, so I tried to swallow as little as possible. My head still felt fuzzy and heavy, like I was wading through a thick fog as I tried to connect clues that didn’t fit.
My father continued his incessant, irritating speaking, making my headache worse. The bastard couldn’t simply take my life. He’d always been a fan of making people listen to his drawn-out rants.
Over it, I groaned. “Just kill me already,” I spat at him, the chemical hitting my lips. “No one believes you’re special. You’re a loser and mad that your brainwashing didn’t work on me.”
My words were risky. Ballsy. But I knew there was no chance I’d leave here alive, so it was time I said my piece.
A wave of pain shot through my jaw again at the force of his second slap. The sharp edge of his wedding ring cut into my lip, breaking skin, and I could taste my blood.
He stepped behind me, grabbed a handful of my hair, and dug his fingers into my scalp as he tugged my head back so far that an aching throb ran down my neck. The scent of raw tuna wafted from his breath when he got in my face.
“You should be happy they forced me to keep you down here,” he snarled.
“I wanted to stay true to my word and drown you.” He yanked my hair back again, and I couldn’t stop myself from crying out in pain.
“Every day in that prison cell, I fantasized about killing you. The only thing that kept me breathing there was knowing I’d get that someday. ”
He released my hair, but the pain didn’t lessen. It came from everywhere. My cheek. My jaw. My head.
Closing my eyes, I struggled against the rope, and when I opened them, more men in masks formed a circle around me. They all wore robes like the Sons had during my Initiation.
The masked man who stood by my mother unmasked himself. He shook out his blond hair, but I wasn’t surprised by him.
I always wondered why the Arizona senator—now vice president of the United States—had come to my mother’s rescue after my father’s arrest.
Always wondered why my father’s arrest never made headlines or was talked about.
Especially because the public loved stories about cults.
They consumed documentaries and podcasts about people like him. Experts did interviews about the leaders’ mental psyches.
But my father’s name was never mentioned on those cult-leader lists. Deep down, I knew it wasn’t in exchange for my testimony against him.
Now, it all made sense. The Sons had protected him. They were more powerful than the police and had high government officials on their side. Given the vice president was here, I was certain both men were Sons.
These were men who had committed crimes and murder with impunity, and I came along and ruined that. I’d proven them wrong—that they could get penalized for their crimes—and now, I’d face the consequences for that.
I took a moment to look at each mask around me.
They were Sons. I knew it.
But which Sons?
Enzo? Brooks? Nico?
Goose bumps prickled across my skin at the thought of Enzo being here.
Was that their plan all along?
To make me a Fawn, get me down here, and kill me?
I hunched forward, nausea roiling in my stomach and up my throat, and spit out bile at the thought of Enzo turning on me.
No.
He was a man who’d kill for me. Not kill me.
Right?
I glared at my mother. Much like my father, the hatred had aged her.
Two years had passed since the last time I had seen her. That encounter was brief, and we didn’t speak. She tended to ignore me while my stepfather handled all our communication.
I’d always wondered why they still took care of me. Everything made sense now. They wanted to keep me alive, waiting for the day my father could get revenge on me.
“How could you?” I cried out to her as tears rolled down my stinging cheeks. “You were—you are—supposed to protect me.”
“Why?” she asked, as if genuinely confused.
“Because you’re my mother!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, fighting against the restraints.
She jutted her hip out. “So?”
The men gave her space as she came closer. She maintained a distance, as if worried she’d get some contagious disease if she came too close.
Her voice was as tender as the day she’d sung that lullaby to me. “I’m here to rid the world of evil, and you are evil.” She rubbed her belly. “You robbed me of having another precious baby and then had my husband locked away to rot in prison because you’re a selfish bitch.”
My head snapped sideways when she hit me in the face.
It wasn’t a slap like my father’s. It was a full-on punch.
“Enough!” My father rubbed his hands and wet his dry lips. “No more speeches. No more letting her breathe for a second longer. It’s time.”
“It’s time,” the men in masks echoed.
My mother and stepfather stepped back.
A shrill gasp escaped me when my father tensed his shoulders and pulled a knife from his jeans. I held in a breath and accepted my fate, refusing to plead for my life. That’d only give him satisfaction.
I only hoped he’d make it quick, but given his personality, I didn’t expect it. He’d prolong it for dramatic effect and because he was a hateful, violent asshole.
He’d give me the slow death that he truly deserved.
He came to my side and ran the knife’s edge along my cheek. “This woman committed betrayal against a Son,” he stated loudly. “What becomes of those who betray or deceive a Son?”
The masked men chanted, “Death.”
I relaxed my body, rolling my shoulders back, as a silent prayer left my lips. Looking up, I stared my mother down. She tried to avert her gaze, but it kept finding its way back to mine.
My father pointed the knife at the men. “You sure we can’t take her in the woods? There’s a small river there. Just a little water is all I need.”
“No,” my stepfather stated, voice firm and final as he moved in closer. “We already risked too much by bringing you here. You have the girl. Kill her.”
My father nodded, his brow creased in displeasure at that answer. I almost expected him to try to kill my stepfather so he could get what he wanted.
But he didn’t. He only circled the chair to stand before me. His voice was a soft murmur as he said, “Hush, little baby …”
I winced but didn’t beg for mercy.
As he drew his arm back, the knife ready to plunge through my chest, the door opened.