Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
LILITH
Dear Diary,
I tried. I really did. But he has a hold on me.
I’m not sure I would be able to let him go even if I wanted to.
Even if he is with her.
Does that make me a bad person?
Tell me, diary…
Am I bad?
xox
“You look awfully familiar.”
I stare at the man dressed in a white button-up shirt and neatly pressed dark blue trousers as he opens the door for me.
His eyes, almost the same color as the night sky, stare down at me.
He is tall, possibly the same height as Reon.
He’s the man my father wanted me to meet.
But I have already seen this man before.
Goddammit! He is a member of the Society.
“Why do you look so familiar?” he asks.
I don’t move from my spot because if I run, he’ll know. I try not to give anything away with my body language because he will know.
“Maybe because I look like my father,” I say, and he waits a few breaths before he nods and steps back, opening the door for me to come in. He shuts the door behind me and motions for me to sit on the couch.
“I’ve been to a therapist before, but it never worked,” I tell him.
“I’m not your usual therapist. Plus, I doubt you could afford me anyway.” I bite my lip at that.
He moves to a couch across from mine, though it looks more like a recliner than a couch. He leans forward, his almost black hair pushed back and styled neatly. He’s fit, very much so, and he’s also a little older than me, I think.
“I don’t do favors. I despise them. But your father…” He pauses. “Well, I have kept you a secret long enough, so anyone who would take that information and run with it wouldn’t be privy to it.”
“I was a secret?” I ask, confused.
He sits back and brings one foot to rest on his knee, his polished shoe shining in the light.
“Yes. You have a different last name from his. He did it all to protect you. Have you ever looked at your birth certificate?” he asks. “He’s not on it.”
My brow furrows. “But—”
“He did it for a reason. Not only was your father powerful, but he also had many people willing to take him down. Which they succeeded in doing.”
“And what are you to him?”
“I looked up to your father. Our fathers were once friends. When my father died, yours helped me. He paid for me to get through college. I wouldn’t be where I am today without him.”
“So, you owe him?” I ask.
He thinks about my question, his gaze never leaving mine. His stare is intimidating.
“I do. It’s why you’re here, and I haven’t told the Society about you. But I guess you already know that since you somehow got into one of the parties.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “I remember you now.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, I do. It’s the eyes. Even if you change your hair color, your eyes are very telling.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s not a compliment,” he says matter-of-factly. “Your father has spoken with me about your…” He pauses and smirks before he adds, “Colorful thoughts.”
“Yes.” I don’t bother to hide it—what would be the point? This man can see right through me and has the information I want.
“It would stem from your childhood.” His words make my stomach clench.
“What do you mean?”
“Your father took you hunting a lot, not for the Society, just hunting in general. If I recall correctly, you even saw him hunt a person.”
“I’m sorry, what?” This new information takes me aback, and I can feel the nerves skyrocketing in my stomach.
“You were there by mistake. The Hunts are usually only for members of the Society, but you were present. I was the only one to see you because I lived off your father’s words and orders and couldn’t step away. Yet I remember you. It’s normal for that type of thing to be suppressed.”
I shake my head, my father is in the Society. I’m not even sure how to process that. “They hunt people.”
“I won’t go into details, but I think we should make a plan to meet once a week.
I’d suggest you stay far away from all the men in the Society, especially if you plan on keeping your head.
And I’m not saying this to protect you. I’m saying this for the sole fact that I owe your father.
” He leans forward. “I couldn’t care less if you died walking out my door.
” He sits back in the chair and smiles. “How does next Friday at nine work for you?”
“I don’t need therapy,” I state.
“Oh, but you do. Tell me, Lilith,”—one side of his lip quirks up— “does the blood turn you on?” I gasp at his question and wonder how he knows that, but he simply chuckles.
“You didn’t immediately say no, so your non-answer is good enough.
Let’s wrap this up. And remember, stay the fuck away from the Society.
I will not protect you if they find out who you are. ”
“I don’t need your protection,” I growl, getting to my feet.
“If you say so.” He waves to the door, not bothering to get up. I walk out and don’t look back. When I get to my car, I look up to find him staring down at me from his window, a small smile playing on his lips.
How deep was my father in the Society?
How much of my childhood don’t I remember?
I always believed my father was a bad man, and no one ever corrected me. My aunt never spoke much about what he did. He was caught red-handed, killing someone. And now he’s in prison for the rest of his life. That’s all I know.
* * *
Deven is standing next to my car as I walk out of the grocery store. I huff out a sigh at seeing him. His hands are in his pockets, and his shoulders are slumped as he looks around.
“Deven,” I say as I approach with my arms full of groceries.
“Lil, how are you? I saw your car and wanted to stop by and say hello.”
I move past him and open the trunk, placing my bags in there before I shut it. When I turn, he’s blocking my way to the driver’s side door.
“Look, I left her, okay? I realize I fucked up. I do. But it’s you I’ve always wanted.” He scratches the back of his head. “Would you consider coming back?” he pleads.
“Please move, Deven.”
“Lil,” he says in a voice that feels like nails on a damn chalkboard.
“I have to go. Have a nice life.”
He reaches for me, gripping my arm, and leans in. “Do you want it rough? I saw the way that man choked you when he fucked you in our house.”
“If you don’t remove your hand, I will remove it for you.” I glare at him, and he rolls his eyes at me.
“It’s what you want, right?” His grip tightens on my arm, and I know it’s going to leave a mark—stupid asshole.
“Last chance,” I warn. He doesn’t listen. Instead, he keeps a tight hold on my wrist.
“You never needed me, Lil. I wanted to be needed.” He sounds desperate and crazy all at the same time.
“That sounds like a you issue.”
“Fucking hell, Lil.” He pulls on my arm, and it starts to hurt.
Before he can do anything else, I turn to face him.
Hope blossoms on his face, but just as quickly, I lift my knee and slam it straight into his useless cock.
He releases me and drops to a crouch. I lift my foot and kick him, and he rolls to the ground in a ball.
Stepping over him, I get in my car, start it up, and fucking leave with a squeal of the wheels and kicking up a few stones as I go.
I had planned to go straight back to the cheap-ass apartment I rented this week because I’ve been living in motels and whatever is cheap for the last year, but I change my mind and head to my aunt’s house instead.
She never had kids of her own, but raising me, she tried to give me a normal life.
Even if she was a drunk and had no business raising a kid.
When I finally pull up in front of her house, I’m reminded of all the times I ran away, snuck out that front window, and escaped. I always came back, but she never knew. Linda was always passed out somewhere in the house, so it was never an issue.
I lock my car, then walk up to the front door and knock.
I hear her yell out that she’s coming, and when the door opens, I’m greeted by Linda, who, I might add, does not look drunk.
Her salt-and-pepper hair is down and has slight waves, and she’s wearing a floral dress that looks good on her.
When her gaze lands on me, it brightens for just a second before she opens her mouth.
“Lilith.” This woman is the closest thing to a mother I’ve ever known.
When my father was off doing God knows what, and I wasn’t with a sitter, I was with Linda.
That was a lot of the time. So, when he went away, it seemed to make sense to be with her full-time.
I don’t even remember questioning it. “It’s been so long. ”
“Yes, it has,” I agree.
I haven’t seen much of her since I was with Deven. He never liked Linda, and I understand why. She always had a drink in her hand. But right now, as she stands in front of me, I see no evidence of her drinking. She almost seems… sober?
“Come in, please.”
Her house is old, with the paint chipping away and peeling off over the years.
It has a front porch connected to my old room, where I used to slide the window up and sneak out.
Linda’s room was at the back of the house, so it was easy to sneak out without her knowledge.
I don’t bother removing my shoes as she holds the door open.
“Your father told me you visited him.”
“You speak to him?” I ask.
“Of course, dear, he’s my brother.”
She shuts the door behind me, and I follow her into the kitchen.
Everything is neat and clean, which is the first thing I notice.
It’s not dirty and untidy anymore. There aren’t bottles lying around, and the sink has no dirty dishes piled in it.
There are plants everywhere, growing and thriving.
This house always felt so dead when I was a teenager, and now it’s bursting with life.
“He said it was the first time he’s seen you since I took you in all those years ago. I guess you went on and created a better life for yourself, which makes us happy and sad at the same time.”
“I’m divorced,” I say woodenly. Her mouth forms the perfect O before she turns and pulls out a pitcher of iced tea—I bet it’s peach-flavored. She used to make it for me when she was sober, and I can’t help but wonder how many sober days she’s had. “The house looks better,” I say, and I mean it.
“Yeah, well, I’m better. So, I guess when you feel better, the things around you do as well.” She pours a glass and places it in front of me. “I’m sorry to hear about your divorce. I only met him once when you were engaged, but I got the feeling he never liked me to begin with.”
I wave her off and then reach for the glass.
“Don’t be sorry. He was a cheating pig, and he hated the fact that my family was so broken and that my father was in prison.
” Wrapping my fingers around it, I look at her.
“Where is the alcohol?” I ask. It’s usually never out of sight.
There would be a bottle on the counter or near the couch. Anywhere and everywhere.
“I’ve been sober for two years.” Her words leave me speechless, the weight of her revelation sinking in slowly.
“Why? How?”
She takes the seat opposite me and flattens her hands on the table. Her nails, which have dirt under them, tap the floral tablecloth as she looks me in the eye.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t better for you. I know I was all you had, and I apologize.” She stretches her hand out for mine, but I pull back.
“I don’t need you to be sorry. I’m fine.”
“Are you?” she asks, raising a brow.
“What did my father tell you?”
She leans back in her seat, and I see a look of disappointment flash across her face before she says, “You have the same desires as him.”
“Why would he tell you that?” I shake my head, not caring about the answer. “I came for my birth certificate,” I tell her.
She gets up and goes into another room. I hear a few things rattle before she returns and places it in front of me.
I look it over and, sure enough, my father is not listed.
Lilith Hackleburg. Hackleburg is my maiden name.
I wasn’t given my father’s name at birth; I always assumed it was because my mother insisted I have hers.
To be honest, I never asked.
“Is he even my father?” I already know the answer; we have so many similarities, but I have to ask.
“Of course he is. You are his spitting image. He just wanted to protect you from that world and did a good job.” She smiles.
“And my money?” I ask. “Was there any left?”
“He couldn’t leave it in your name for obvious reasons. There couldn’t be any traces back to you. To the outside world, you were my kid.”
“That makes no sense,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief.
“I was great friends with your mother, so it did, actually.” She rises once again and leaves the kitchen. When she comes back, she has a duffel bag.
“I didn’t spend it all, but I used some.” She pulls open the bag. “I have been topping it off from what I used, so you should have most of it.”
I stand and open the bag wider, revealing stacks and stacks of hundred-dollar bills.
My mouth hangs open.
“I do hope you will visit again,” she says, and I can hear the hopefulness in her voice. It is weird because growing up, I only remember her secluding herself and never wanting me around.
I take the bag and walk out without another word.