Chapter 30
“FAMILY LINE” BY CONAN GREY
Iwalked in from work late that night. It was only a few hours after school, but the sun had gone down by the time I returned home.
“Quinnie?” I heard my mother’s voice. “We’re in the dining room! Can you join us, please?”
I followed her voice, expecting to see my mother having dinner with Estelle. It was easy to expect things that weren’t plausible when my entire life had been unpredictable.
My feet slid to a stop outside of the dining room when I heard an unfamiliar male voice. I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes.
It was fine. Everything would be fine.
If only I could believe those words. It had been too long since I chanted them in my head and things turned out in my favor. This was terrifyingly one of those times I knew I wouldn’t be so lucky.
When I walked into the dining room, my heart sank at the tension in my mother’s shoulders. Estelle sat in her highchair with red eyes, dried tears crusty on her cheeks as she munched on some fries.
“Ah, Eleanor!” My grandfather stood from the table and brushed down his suit. “Come take a seat. We were just discussing some family business.”
Family business? Bullshit.
There were three men I’d never seen before at the table, all covered in tattoos with different scars showing through their gruff attire. One man sat directly beside my daughter, his blue eyes a devilish gray as they raised to mine.
“When did we start ordering burgers?” I rubbed my sweaty palms on the back of my jeans. I was still in my royal blue polo, making me less than intimidating.
“Your papa wanted burgers,” Mom quietly told me, her eyes not matching her smile.
“You could use a few burgers, Eleanor.” My father leaned back in his chair and smirked. “After your pregnancy, you lost your appetite.”
I stepped forward and pursed my lips. He’d always been like this, picking on me in front of our family. No one ever came to my defense. Why would they? I was the kid who disrespected my papa’s wishes time and time again.
“I like to keep fit after leaving cheer.” I pulled out the chair next to my mother, across from my daughter. “Keeps the boys in check.”
“Is that a lesbian wish?” my grandmother asked with a broad smile. “To stay lean so the boys aren’t interested?”
“No, Baba.” I gently shook my head and placed a bit of fries on my plate. I preferred not calling her babushka most of the time. It was easier to call her Baba, and I had since I was young. “There are much more beautiful lesbians than me, ones who aren’t skinny twigs with no ass.”
She roared with laughter, shaking her head and delicately eating a fry. I smiled down at my plate, though the tension in my chest still settled in my heart.
“How is probation?” Grandfather asked.
“Fine.” I shrugged and accepted a cola from the tattooed man diagonal from me. “I’m making up hours working at the kennels.”
“Perfect.” Papa smirked and exchanged a look with my grandfather. “Pick up more shifts. You need to get those hours in.”
“I take all I can around being with Estelle.” I unwrapped a burger and placed it on my plate.
My nose wrinkled at the large amount of toppings.
Messy burgers really weren’t my thing. “Why are we having this dinner? I love that you’re both here—” Take a hike, Grandpa.
“But I didn’t expect it. I wouldn’t have come home in a work uniform and muddy shoes,” I confessed.
My grandfather placed his beer down on the table and wiped his face like we were eating a fancy meal. His bright, greenish blue eyes flickered between my parents before resting on me.
“It’s come to my attention that your time has come.” He smiled. “You’re being made, and I couldn’t be happier for you, Eleanor.”
“You’re going to be one of our brightest stars.” Baba reached over and held my face, smiling proudly at me.
Oh, that fucker. My eyes shot to my father’s smug smile, then to my mother’s uncomfortable fidgeting. This was low, the lowest he’d ever taken me. Of course, Papa would rat out my assignment before it was completed so my grandparents would be more involved.
“I have till Valentine’s Day. You didn’t need to rush down here.” My knee bounced under the table. “It’s a complex assignment.”
“What’s complex about killing a high schooler?” Papa laughed.
“Oh, Graeme. Be patient.” My grandmother clicked her tongue and smiled at me. “You take your time. I remember when I first joined after committing to your Deda. It took me weeks to finally gain the courage to slit that man’s throat.”
“And some persuasion.” My grandfather smiled at his wife. Sometimes, I believed they might actually be in love, unlike my parents. “She didn’t want to at first, but she loved me enough.”
“Cool.” I winced when Papa cleared his throat loudly. “It’s nice. Sweet. A love story of true crime.”
“Your papa was so nervous his first time. I remember he cried in his room after.”
“Mama Harr?—”
“His room?” I frowned and looked around. “You lived with Mom before you were married?”
I looked to my mother and frowned deeply when she sighed and nodded. We stared at one another before my shoulder dropped, and I scanned the room. Thankfully, there weren’t any Russian boys in here my age, or I’d be concerned this was a courtship dinner.
“It was important to our family that our lovely daughter found someone right. We coordinated with your papa’s family to have him earn his place under the guidance of the Harrekson household,” my grandfather explained. “Which is why we do find it disturbing Estelle is not here most of the day . . .”
“Her godmother is pretty bitchy,” I spoke up quickly. “Trust me. She’s learning some new things every day.”
“Hm.” The older man rubbed his chin and watched my child chew on her fries. “She is tall. Where is her father?”
“Doesn’t matter.” I shrugged.
When Papa shot me a look, I cocked my head at him noticeably.
“I take it you’re not great terms.” Grandfather chuckled. “Fine. That’s fine. As long as she understands how important it is to grow up with a starlight mind.”
“Her name is Estelle,” I reminded him, sarcasm dropping from my tongue.
My mother seemed to find some courage to speak up now. She cleared her throat softly and played with her glass of wine. Multiple eyes drifted in her direction before she finally pushed a smile onto her face and joined me in this fake ass family dinner.
“Why don’t you tell Quinnie about your initiation, Graeme?” she suggested, meeting his eyes with her chin high. “I’m sure it would benefit her if you told her the truth about how you stepped into this position. My father wasn’t always there.”
Papa’s lips turned light pink, almost white for a moment before nodding.
“I shot one of the old sheriffs in Murdafest,” he confessed. “He died in his son’s pick up before they could reach the hospital.”
“That’s . . .” I swallowed at how horrific that must have been for his son. “How old was he?”
“Seventeen,” Papa shortly replied.
“Is he still alive?” I asked.
“Yes.” He turned his head and looked at me. “Not sure how much longer he’ll last after Valentine’s Day, though.”
My brows furrowed together.
“After Valentine’s . . . ” My insides twisted into a tight knot. “Sebastian?”
“He wasn’t always Sebastian.” Baba gave a light laugh and turned to my mother. “Isn’t that right, Evelyn? What was his name when you went to homecoming together?”
I slowly turned my head and found my mother’s eyes trained on her place. She took a long sip of her drink and shrugged her shoulders.
“C.R.”
My stomach clenched when my mother raised her eyes and glared at my father. I’d seen them have their moments, but never like this. There were very, very few times my mom would stand up to my father, and it caused Papa to look genuinely guilty.
He didn’t let the feeling take over too much of his face. It flashed through his eyes for a second before he focused on me, his jaw tensing and eyes hardening.
“You will not put this family to shame. Sebastian had set me up for failure long before he pretended to be one of us. He will not rise to power now that he’s trying to return home. Do you understand?”
“His daughter is innocent.” I sat up, chin rising to challenge him.
My grandfather placed his silverware down and observed me closely. I knew better than to talk back to my father, especially in front of him. It was only of the first things I was taught as a child.
Never undermine the man of the house.
And you know what? This fucker didn’t even live here, so screw him.
Screw my grandparents. Screw the bullshit excuses that made it okay for me to be talked down to by my elders.
I didn’t have to respect anyone who didn’t deserve it.
And right now, only Estelle did. This entire room was filled with liars, cheaters, fakes .
. . and I’d allowed myself to become one.
“Quinntessa Dawson wishes to be a football player. Why don’t you screw around with her dad and get her an offer from Chicago?” I suggested.
“Eleanor—”
“Hold on.” Grandfather raised his hand and stared at me. His fingers lowered once Papa quieted. “Continue, child. What do you propose?”
“Sebastian is the main target, obviously.” I side-eyed my father and leaned back in my chair.
“So why not make him suffer? Involve her with a world where it’s easy to blame her .
. . death on something environmental. If you were to use your connections to get her a spot in Chicago, then she could play, and Sebastian wouldn’t stop her from going.
It would drive him crazy to know he let her follow her dreams only for her to end up killed in an innocent drive by. ”
“That’s risky.”
“It’s less risky than me walking across the tracks and shooting her in the head,” I pointed out. “Her father’s an FBI agent. The second he catches me sniffing around, it’s over.”
My grandfather hummed and picked up a fry. He tapped it against his lips before dropping it on his tongue.
“Not a bad idea.” He pursed his lips. “As long as she’s alive, it would still be your target. Are you willing to move to Chicago? To deal with this when the time comes?”
“Are you going to set Estelle and me up?” I arched a brow.
“Quinnie,” my mother hissed, her wine glass clinking against the table loudly. “Go get your father another beer.”
“Oh, Evelyn, she’s of age to make that choice?—”
“No.” Mom’s eyes darkened, shooting across the table to her father at the head chair. “She won’t go to Chicago. She’s staying here with me.”
“Eve, think about?—”
“No,” Mom snapped. “She’s being made here. You and I both know if she takes a step into Chicago, she’ll be expected to give more of herself than she’s ready for. She may be a Harrekson, but she is my daughter too.”
Her eyes softened as she turned to face me. “Baby, you are a bright woman. You can go far here. You can take control here and keep Estelle happy. If you go to Chicago, you’ll be expected to give more than you can because you’re a mother. You are a better mother here, in Coven.”
I slowly nodded.
“Okay.” I lifted my drink to my lips. “Okay, fine. I won’t go to Chicago.”
I didn’t want to go into the shit storm up there in the city anyway. Mom was right. The second everyone knew what family name I stood on, they’d address me by my title. They’d expect to know what stars I wore and how my body count kept me afloat.
They weren’t looking for how many people I slept with, only how many people I’d killed.
“If that’s what you choose.” My grandfather settled the idea in seconds. “Then I look forward to hearing about how you kill this girl.”
I leaned back in my chair and numbly watched my toddler. Estelle’s eyes moved around the table, mostly curious of the silent men around us. She didn’t deserve to sit through all this.
“Have you considered strangulation?” Baba asked. She giggled and tapped her nails on the table. “I remember your Deda once strangled a man for me over a movie seat.”
I forced a fake smile and chuckled. “Charming.”
“It was.” The woman rubbed her pale chest directly over the diamond necklace that hung from her throat.
“Believe me, Eleanor, when you find a man—” She paused.
“O-Or woman. When you find someone who interests you, and you see them step up and kill someone for you, it’s magical.
It’s . . .” Her disgustingly smitten eyes ventured to my grandfather.
“I knew I loved him when I watched him hold a man who flirted with me in Nashville against the wall by his throat.”
“She’s a lesbian. No woman would step up like that.” Papa rolled his eyes.
“Fine.” My grandmother dismissed her son-in-law with a wave of her hand. “Then when that sweet Russian girl?—”
“Doesn’t need to be Russian,” Mom whispered.
“—sees you be the powerful Harrekson woman we know you are, she is going to fall head over heels.” My grandmother grinned at the thought.
“And then you’ll have a white wedding, and you can celebrate their initiation with full commitment to you.
Nothing spices up a honeymoon quite like spilled blood. ”
“And to that,” Grandfather lifted his beer, “I’ll drink.”
I sighed and lifted my glass as he made a comment about how much he adored my grandmother.
She either had Stockholm Syndrome, or he did care for her.
I hadn’t figured out which was which just yet.
Sometimes, I feared I’d never figure out how this family made it through a single day together, let alone this dinner.