Chapter 69
“PITCHFORK KIDS” BY AJR
Milo Vincent was the last Vincent brother.
We were the same age; I shot arrows beside him and watched him cry in frustration when he couldn’t keep up with me. Milo Vincent was a momma’s boy, and his father was an alcoholic cunt who loved to beat him down when he struggled.
He was a quarterback. A baseball junkie. A man with tolerance to have two jackass brothers like Maxim and Oscar.
Had.
“Where is she?!” He pointed the shotgun down at me, trembling with rage.
“You won’t catch her,” I spat. “You’ll be lucky if I even let you lay an eye on her.”
The surprise took a moment to register across his face. Milo lowered the gun slightly, his dark eyes filled with shock.
“You weren’t going to kill her?” he asked.
I don’t answer. Call it pleading the damn fifth, but I was not letting him con me into a beheading.
Milo turned his head and looked around. He took a step back enough for me to see Lukas sniffing through the leaves, and I gasped in surprise, my dog’s dopey head shooting up to find me.
“No!” I grunted as Lukas soared into me, licking at my face and whining loudly. His butt wiggled and his ears pinned back. “Stop! That’s gross!”
I stood and shoved Lukas away from me. He rubbed against me, and I rolled my eyes, bending down to hug him tight for a few seconds so he would calm down.
“Where did you get him?” I asked.
When I looked up, Milo was staring off into the woods where Quinntessa disappeared. He groaned and slammed his shoulder into a tree beside us, tossing his gun over his back by the strap.
Why wasn’t he shooting me?
“You’re hunting her?” I asked. “Why? Why would you want her over me? Aren’t they looking for me?”
Milo scoffed. He spared a quick look in my direction before walking off toward Quinntessa’s path.
“Of course they’re looking for you,” he muttered, ignoring my quick race to catch up with him and continuing into the woods. “But I promised I’d . . .”
I kicked him in the back of the knee and quickly grabbed my gun from the back of my pants. Milo threw his hands up, half kneeling on the ground as my gun dug into his lush Uncle Jesse hair.
“I’m not letting you lay a hand on her, Vincent,” I hissed. “Did you really think I’d walk off with you to find her?”
“I sure hoped so.” Milo turned his head to look at me. “Especially when I’m trying to help you.”
“Help me?” I hit his temple with the barrel of my gun. “Why in fuck’s sake would you ever do that?”
Milo fluttered his eyes and looked away from me. He cleared his throat and shrugged. “She’s got something I need, alright? I want her alive. I want her to live. I’d like to see you make it out of here with the girl you’re willing to fight for.”
Milo began to stand, but I shoved my gun further into the side of his head. He was different. I didn’t know what it was about him, but this wasn’t the Milo I’d known for the past three years. He didn’t look at me with that dull, crybaby look. His eyes had filled with desperation.
Was this hope? His eyes had always been dark. I tried to convince myself it was only the sunlight breaking through the trees that threw me off.
“What is it?” I asked. “What does she have? Her life?”
“You wouldn’t believe me . . .”
“Try me,” I hissed.
Milo sucked his teeth.
“Her grandmother is Amelia Lynch,” he muttered. “And she said some odd things when I found Oscar with her. That’s why I helped her escape.”
This damn horror tale again? Really?
“You’re lying. She didn’t mention you.” I kneeled into his space, pressing the gun harder into him. “Tell me the truth!”
“I am telling you the truth!” he shouted.
“Do not make me blow your head off!”
“I am telling the truth!” Milo repeated. “I am doing this for her. And you. Someone in this fucking cult needs to get out of here, and it would be you.”
Milo raised his eyes, and I was shocked to see how glossy they were. A pang of sorrow hit me square in the chest, like an arrow ready to rip through me.
“I’ve lost the love of my life to my own brothers.” His voice cracked as he spoke. “And I’m helping you for…for…for him.”
It took me a minute to connect the dots. Usually, I was much faster than that, but Milo was a mystery to many.
I thought back to the day I laid on the train tracks, then all those months ago when Milo ended up in the hospital, how hysterical his mother was, how blind his father pretended to be to his suffering. It all started three years ago.
Three years ago.
After I saw a Blackhawks letterman walking down the hallway, hanging on the back of a door in my boyfriend’s home, loosely holding Leo’s body as he raced home after being beaten by the football team.
Leo.
Leo died three years ago. His body was tossed across those tracks.
I fucking knew it wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t a suicide. It was murder.
“You were Hawke.” I took a small step back and felt my heart sink into my stomach. “Leo’s gay friend—Hawke. You stood him up at the dance. You never showed at the theater. He waited for you. It took his brother and me to convince him to go home.”
Milo looked down. His weight shifted, his forefingers pressing into the leaves. His head hung down, dark hair falling in front of his face.
“You let him die.”
“You don’t know the first thing about me.” He shot up from the ground and elbowed my wrist. I yelped, the gun flying from my hands as he stepped into my space. “So be appreciative I’m here to help you before I change my mind and only save her. She didn’t ask for this. You knew better.”
He was looking directly at me. He should have spoken to me, but I didn’t feel it. The distance in his dark, raven-like irises made his diminishing fire settle like chilling coals. His eyes sank deep into mine as his breath hitched.
“Where did Quinn go?”
“Quinns,” I corrected him.
He squinted. “Seems the same.”
“Not to her. Address her correctly.”
He pressed his full lips together and rolled his eyes.
“Fine.” Milo turned and stared into the woods and shook his head. “If she makes it to that clearing, Victor will catch her. She’s fast, but not bullet fast.”
“Who are they hunting?” I bent down and picked up my gun and knife.
Milo looked back at me and rolled his eyes. “What?” he asked.
“Who are they hunting?” I repeated. “Me or her?”
“You.” Milo licked his lips. “Your father wants your head on a stake.”
“Victor is a man of power—something he lacks even in his position. He knows how to bait. He’ll catch her, but he wants me. I am his ticket to the up and up.”
Milo scoffed, crossing his arms over his broad chest, settling his shoulders back.
“I thought you loved this girl? You’re risking her life.”
He was correct. If this didn’t go my way, Quinntessa would die at my father’s hand, looking into eyes exactly like mine. I didn’t think she’d fight. She’d let my love for her guide her home, where she’d assume I ended up if I hadn’t saved her.
On one hand, I was relieved to think this could work.
If she was caught, they’d use her to get to me.
They knew I’d give myself up if I truly loved her, and she’d have more time for me, and I guess dumbass Vincent number three, to escape.
And on the other hand, if a bullet scattered Quinntessa’s beautiful brains all over the meadow, I’d willingly hand myself over to my papa.
I deserved to have my heart ripped out of my chest if she died because I couldn’t resist the temptation of love. I was blinded by the illusion of our hopes and dreams, blended mercilessly by Satan himself.
He had done this to me.
I knew Quinntessa believed differently, but I’d grown up knowing my sins were what brought my life to where it was, each choice commanded by my father, my mother, my grandfather . . . Who was I kidding?
I was the monster.
I’d given myself over to our dark father, just as Milo had. I drank the blood of my family line and decided myself to strike a deal with the devil.
My papa.
I’d done this. All of this.
“It’s a chance I’m willing to take.”