Chase
What’s that saying Lucas likes so much? The ends justify the means. How fitting.
I didn’t want to become like him, but he shaped me with manipulation. He always hit where it hurt most. And I used what I learned against Grace. I changed her—reshaped her. But only as much as necessary.
People are so na?ve.
They always believe what they want to be true.
They let themselves be fooled if it gets them what they want.
All they end up with are illusions. And illusions are dangerous.
They can cost you everything. They can trap the mind so easily.
It’s much easier for Grace to blame Lucas for what happened.
It’s easier to see him as the monster instead of me.
Because deep down she wants to believe I’m a good person.
She thinks I’m just a puppet in Lucas’s childish little games. But it’s all a trick.
That’s why she believes Lucas had Cyrus’s mom beaten up.
It was ridiculously easy to break into a defenseless old woman’s house.
She wasn’t asleep yet. She was shuffling around in the dark, smoking, talking to her dead husband.
She thought he’d come back to haunt her.
She conjured up a ridiculous illusion because she sensed my presence.
I didn’t want to be rude, so I waited until she finished.
Then I stepped out of the darkness. The cigarette dropped from her mouth.
She tried to run, but I raised the iron pipe and brought it down.
The old hag’s skull cracked. She let out a muffled moan, then collapsed on the floor.
Dark red blood oozed from her head. I didn’t want her dead—I just wanted to warn the cop.
He’d stuck his dick in the wrong place. Because I know he did it even though Lucas forbade him to.
The guy is defying us. He’s dancing with death.
He’s na?ve, too, because he has no idea what the Baker brothers are capable of.
But he played his cards right. That’s why he stole a kiss from Grace in the grocery store.
That’s why he kept holding her hand. He managed to steal precious time for himself.
I watched them for two years. Lucas didn’t let me take his life. He had other plans for him. Cyrus didn’t just go undercover to get information for the police—more importantly, he reported to Lucas.
“Tell me about Cyrus.”
“Cyrus Phoenix was born on August 10, 1978—”
“Chase!” she grumbles at me in a slurred voice. “The gist. Why a cop?”
My lips pull into a scornful smile as I look into Grace’s beautiful, glassy eyes.
“Because it’s useful for Lucas to have people in law enforcement. He doesn’t only work with the police.”
“That’s how he could get you out of jail.”
I nod.
“This means Cyrus isn’t serving Lucas willingly.”
“Do you find this reassuring?”
“Yes,” she snaps. “Because I know he’s a good person.”
“But he lied to you.”
“He isn’t the only one,” she replies, shooting me an angry look.
I swallow hard and keep my eyes on the road.
“Sleep.”
“I don’t trust you,” she says, all attitude.
“I don’t trust you, either.” I glance at her from the corner of my eye. She opens her mouth to say something, then doesn’t. She bunches the wet bag under her head and turns her back on me, sinking into the seat.
The storm subsides.
Grace falls asleep.
And dreams sweet dreams.