Chapter 5 #3
It would have been easier for him to kill me. Less painful. Now, I was marked, scared, and struggling to fight the sociopath urge to forget everything I loved and give in to the true meaning of being a star.
Poor baby Yankee Doo shuffled back and eyed Sebastian warily.
I didn’t blame her. Fuck. I wished I had the balls to walk in there and shoot him in the face for even putting his kid through this.
My heart ached gruesomely for the childhood she lost. It was obviously not the first time this happened, or she might have done more than transform into a helpless feline out in the cold.
Shaking. Shivering. Terrified to the point she chattered her teeth to release anxiety.
For a second—a micro, tiny-tiny second—I wondered if she would turn into this when I went in for the kill.
Would I remember her shaking? Her eyes this wide and her lips struggling to form words?
I guess I wouldn’t. If adrenaline could help me forget every time my father did his worst, then I was sure it would make that horrible memory go away.
“I could have killed you!” Sebastian’s voice traveled through the open door.
I debated on hanging around. He was distracted, and that dog was nowhere in sight. I could hear it running around obsessively in the garage, most likely chasing my scent with a need to kill.
The handle of my knife had a slight curve to it.
It was made to mimic the dagger of my family’s rituals, a reminder that I too would one day join them.
I loosened grip before the handle could become another bone in my hand and watched as Sebastian slowly lowered the gun from his daughter’s innocent face.
As she visibly relaxed, though still trembling, relief washed over me. Genuine relief. Relief I hated to admit to myself.
I had to kill that girl.
The pictures in the garage weren’t her, not the same girl standing in the window.
Truthfully, she didn’t even reflect the girl I met in the parking lot either.
She was obviously the same age, same girl.
Her hair was the same, and her skin still shimmered in the flood of the light pouring in behind her.
Yet, I still couldn’t wrap my head around why I was incredibly uneasy at the sight of her.
I blamed it on her expression. It entrapped me, the way she stood there, unmoving. She stared down the barrel of a loaded gun and didn’t back down. She still walked up to her father with those honey rich eyes that never met that disgustingly deceitful smile, pretending she was fine.
Pretending she wasn’t dying already. This girl was already dead. He would kill her, much like my father would kill me, if he truly wanted to.
She was better off dead than stuck with a corrupted cop as a father. I’d be doing her justice. Mercy.
Papa always taught me to never give mercy. He’d obviously never met a girl who glittered as bright as an angel’s halo.
I thought I was better off dead than in this position.
Sometimes, I still did. I’d taken the time to thoroughly consider if I’d ever put Estelle into that situation.
If I ever would. Sadly, for my star-eyed daughter, Duke—small-dicked Daniel—Harvestman had no intentions of getting close to her as an appropriate father.
He didn’t want to know her name and refused to be in the same area when Erica occasionally brought her around the school for practices.
It was sad. I’d known Duke a long time. Well, before I fucked everything up and slept with him behind Christian’s back.
He wasn’t always a coward. Now, his best act of parenting was avoiding her so she wouldn’t be subjected to the way he hurt everyone else to hide his insecurities.
Part of me still held on to hope he’d face his truth and get his shit together before it was too late, but that shipped sailed.
It was better this way. I was only grateful he never put himself in the position to hurt Estelle more than her not having a someone to call a father.
This was 2024, though. My baby girl didn’t need a father. She just needed some love. She needed someone better than me. I was too broken to love her the way she deserved.
The back door slammed shut, and Sebastian paced close to his daughter. A tail flew by the window, but I paid it no attention. My eyes glared through the glass at that gleaming weapon in his hands, waiting for the moment he dared point it back at his kid.
I was assigned to kill his daughter.
Being made into the hitman Papa wanted involved being put in uncomfortable situations.
A hired killer. I wanted nothing to do with this title, but I fit the part.
I was molded to bend at every angle my father, and my grandfather, wanted for this path.
No one even considered Carlos, Jean, or one of the other Vincent boys who grew up training to enter the family.
Only the best were considered. That title was mine, and these stars were made for me.
The sky was the limit. I was the one poised to join the family’s elite killers.