51. Hendrix
Hendrix
K iller.
Murderer.
Executioner.
These three words have been marching like a black parade through my head for the past five days. Yet, no matter how many times I hear their footsteps, the idea I’m considered each is still a foreign concept.
Even though it was me who held Carlo’s gun, me who shot Nikolai and Leerie in cold blood, me who watched Dante and his men finish them off execution-style.
In all eyes of morality and law, I’m guilty as charged.
Blood will forever be on my hands.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret what I did, shit, I’d shoot those two again with a smile.
But becoming a killer feels no less finite than the act of being killed.
For starters…what will happen after I die?
I may not be a religious person, but I do believe there’s a God and Hell reserved for those who do bad things. I also believe killing a person, even one who killed someone you loved, scores you an invitation down to the worst level.
Or circle.
Or whatever the heck the other Dante guy called it.
I’ve heard Vic mention after one of his many Sunday morning bible reading-slash-unsolicited sermons, that God is merciful, so if that’s the case, I guess I’ll just have to spend the rest of my life on my best behavior.
Super easy fucking peasy …
“Knock, knock.” Mom appears at my bedroom door, still in her pajamas, holding a mug. “Made you some chamomile tea.”
A.K.A. the millionth olive branch extended since I landed my ass back in this bed.
Right after I… did what I did to Nikolai Ivanov and Leerie, Dante offered me a private escort back to the mansion, one I was in too much shock and pain to try and argue.
The entire ride consisted of me groaning, and him insisting I wouldn’t have to worry about repercussions.
That, because of my loyalty to Carlo, Nikolai’s empire collapsed and he’s more than capable of making sure it remains this way.
The second we got to the mansion, though, chaos two-point-oh unfolded when I was ambushed by medical professionals, and Dante was ambushed by my mother’s hand slapping his face.
Words got tossed around, along with bodies, all while my mother continued cursing Dante for conspiring against her when I was in danger.
Auntie holding a hysterical Juniper up was the last of what my working eye got to spy before getting rushed into a medical room I never even knew Vic had in the mansion.
Which leaves us here, now, Mom still alive, but with dark circles under her eyes, entering my room even though I didn’t invite her in.
“How are you feeling this morning?” she asks, sitting beside where I’m propped to offer the mug.
Taking it, I respond with, “To be honest…I forgot what my body feels like without cuts and bruises.”
“Looks like the swelling around your eye has come down even more. Can you see fully?”
“Yeah…but it hurts when I strain.”
“Just keep resting.”
As if I have any other choice being stitched together like Dr. Frankenstein’s newest monster.
Man…some jokes really do write themselves.
Thoughtful silence drifts from where Mom is sitting beside me, then moments later she clears her throat. “I know I said it a million times already, but I’m really sorry for the mess I caused.”
“And I will say it for the millionth and one time, you should be .”
The curt response comes as no surprise to her, given they’re still all I’m willing to give.
If forgiveness is in our future, it won’t be with Mom’s words, tea, or the endless array of flowers and teddy bears she lined my room with.
Time may heal physical wounds, but not a lifetime worth of lies.
“You’re right…and I will regret it for the rest of my life.
” Mom tucks strands of messy hair behind her ear, then exhales a shaky breath.
“I don’t deserve your forgiveness, Hendrix, there’s no doubt about that.
But I love you too much not to hope you’ll find it in your heart to give me a chance to earn it. ”
“I won’t make promises I can’t keep.”
“And I respect that, baby, even though it breaks my heart.”
Left with nothing else to say, I take a sip of the tea, wincing from the sharp sting it forms on my busted lip.
“Should I get you more medicine?”
“No, I’m fine. They make me too tired.”
Saint too, apparently, because it’s past eleven in the morning and he still hasn’t woken up for his morning Hendrix bodily inspection.
A ping comes from my phone on the nightstand, so Mom reaches over to retrieve it, sneaking a glance at the screen before handing it to me.
I open the message to find a candid photo dated back eighteen years ago of a younger Dante and Luca Salvini, laughing with their arms draped over each other’s shoulders.
This is the third picture Dante sent me of my birth father, each one more carefree than the last, making it that much harder to picture the man as a monster.
“So you’re speaking with Dante, I see.”
Mom tries, but there’s no hiding the bitterness in her tone.
I slide the phone under my blanket. “He’s been checking in on me.”
Not really sure why, since he’s got three men constantly outside the mansion demanding hourly updates on every damn move I make.
Or don’t make.
“Dante is a very dangerous man, Hendrix.”
“He’s also an honest man, Mom . Who’s making it a priority to fill me in on half of where I came from.”
Come to think of it, I doubt she would’ve bothered making up the fake story about my dad if I didn’t overhear the tail end of her conversation with Auntie when I was a kid.
“You saw what he did to Nikolai and his daughter. Do you really want to associate yourself with someone like him?”
Yeah…about that.
The trust between Mom and me is part of an even longer road than the one to forgiveness. So, as hypocritical as it may be, I decided to keep my sins between me, God, and whoever was in that basement.
“You don’t get to take the moral high ground,” I say with a derisive laugh. “Besides, if walking into this world a year and a half ago taught me anything, it’s that keeping up with the Joneses is the only thing standing between life and death.”
“I know I’m in no place to question your choices—”
“Exactly,” I cut her off, “and that’s why your sentence is going to end right there.”
“Hendrix—”
“ Juniper …” I cut her off again. “You’re my mother, therefore I’m biologically programmed to always love you. But if you want any shot at forgiveness, then back the fuck off and let me make my own decisions. Especially when it comes to the family you hid from me.”
Do I want to want a relationship with Dante Salvini?
Obviously not.
But sharing blood and the blame in two deaths makes it hard not to feel a sick, twisted connection to someone. Or at least that’s what my conscience has been trying to convince me of.
A look of sadness washes over Mom’s face, and I hate how much seeing her this way adds to my physical pain.
So much a part of me, albeit a small one, wants to reach out and hug her. If not for Mom’s assurance, then my gratitude for being alive to see her again.
Seems the universe is in agreement with the larger part of me, because a moment later it steals my chance.
“Okay, baby. I will trust your decision.” Mom motions to the mug. “But can you at least agree to drink up before your tea gets cold?”
In spite of my determination to stand on business, I appease her and take a sip, continuing with several more in silence as Mom looks on with an adoring smile.
I’m halfway through the tea when another knock comes from the door, followed by a dramatic Shakespearean voice.
“ A glorious morn to my fair and gracious, bestie!” Archer waltzes in, holding a life size Black Panther plushy in his arms. “ I cometh bearing gifts!”
Let me start by saying I tried really fucking hard to stay mad at the idiot throughout his days long attempts at forgiveness.
Which included, but was not limited to, pleading phone calls, FaceTimes, voicemails.
Cards and candy baskets. Even a ridiculous video of him acting out a scene from The Taming of the Shrew .
Dressed up as grovelling Katherina.
I stood my ground, though. That is, until Thor, Iron Man, and The Hulk showed up last night to sing “Sorry” by Justin Bieber.
It was not only painfully hilarious, but thoughtful enough to remind me of who Archer is at his core, and how selfless he’s always been when it comes to our friendship.
All of this, plus the honest fear of a whole ass drama club showing up for the rest of The Shrew, is the reason he’s comfortable enough to greet my mom and nearly deck me in the face with an oversized superhero.
“ Milady …” He drops the plush next to me. “I present…a body pillow imported straight from Wakanda.”
I shake my head in amusement.
Archer kisses my forehead, then takes the mug from my hand. Sniffing and sipping and…gagging.
“Okay…that shit’s nasty.” He places the mug onto the nightstand. “Like drinking flowery piss.”
“How the fuck do you know what flowery piss tastes like?”
“Google. Ever heard of it?”
If I had two working eyes, they’d both be stupefied blinking right now.
“I’ll leave you guys to…whatever this is.” Mom chuckles and stands, ruffling Archer’s hair before exiting.
“Momz is aware I’m not a seven year old, right?”
“Says the guy who just barged in here with a gigantic stuffed doll, talking about flowery piss.”
“A body pillow,” he deadpans. “Which I’m starting to believe you no longer deserve.”
Archer tries yanking the pillow off the bed, but I latch onto it, regretting the decision the second I’m hit by a round of sharp shooting pain.
“Well, fuck me sideways.” I groan a laugh, sitting upright to toss the pillows behind me across the bed.
“Need anything?”
“Nope. Even though the correct answer should be heavy drugs.”
“I’d go with some makeup…but drugs work too.”
I level Archer with a glare, making him hold up both hands.
“Too soon…got it.”
“How about never?”
“ Double got it .”