Chapter 28 Cade #2
“Because you need his help getting out.” She says it matter-of-factly. “And even though I just told you it’s impossible… I can feel it. You’re going to try anyway. You’d die for her.” There’s a wistfulness in her voice that softens me once again.
She’s not wrong.
“She deserves a chance at life.” It’s my turn to gentle my voice. “Both of you do. And these fuckers need to die.”
Genevieve gives me a look that’s both soft and scared, her fingers trembling around the book she still holds. “I hope you survive it, Cade Halloway. Because the path you’re now walking… it will cross with the being they serve.”
“I don’t need prophecy,” I tell her, barely containing the eye roll I desperately want to give her. She really does remind me of Calli. “And I don’t need magic to help me.”
“Bold words,” she whispers, eyes on my face, “coming from a man in love with a ghost.”
I freeze. Just for a second. The words dig deeper than they should.
In love with a ghost.
I hadn’t… I never thought about it like that.
I want to deny it.
I want to laugh.
I can’t.
She watches me carefully, letting my silence say enough.
“I know they’re here with us, and I can feel how bound you are to them. There is a way for you to reach them.” Her voice is low, like she’s telling me something she shouldn’t. I take a step closer. The air between us feels strange—charged.
“Tell me,” I say, dark and direct, my heart pounding, barely stopping myself from reaching for her.
“Get us out of this,” she says quickly, taking a step back like she can read my intentions. “Help Ben, and I promise I’ll tell you what I know.”
“I have absolutely no reason to trust you,” I growl, matching her step.
“You’re right. You don’t know me. But I know Calli.” I pause, head tilting. “We were kids. We played together before the Covenant pulled us in.”
Her voice wavers just enough to feel human. “I don’t want her to die, Cade,” she promises softly. “And I don’t want to die either. I gain nothing by lying to you.”
She’s right. She could be lying—but if she is, it’s not for gain. There’s nothing in this for her, nothing but survival. She must see the decision on my face because she takes a small step closer, voice urgent now.
“I brought you here to let you know that I’ll heal you, but you need to be ready. Ben can’t afford to go easy on you. He has to make Rosa believe you’re broken.”
Her eyes shift slightly, going distant.
“She’s already arrived,” she whispers, the fear in her voice making it tremble—I clench my jaw at the sound.
“I was told to make you afraid. Full and total sensory deprivation. I’m sorry it lasted as long as it did—but Frank had to see it.”
I look at her, steady now that I have more information. And a plan.
“I’m ready. Let’s get this over with.” I grunt, closing my eyes.
My lungs seize as I choke on nothing—
And then I’m back. Gasping like I’m surfacing from a drowning.
“There he is! Good morning, sunshine.” Ben grins wide—too wide.
I bite through the pain as I continue to fill my lungs with air, my chest rattling. Genevieve stiffens and her eyes drop when I try to meet them—her shoulders curling forward like she’s bracing for impact.
“Don’t look at her, big guy,” he snaps. “Eyes on me.” He points with his fingers from his eyes to mine and back again.
We all hear the sound of heels clacking outside the door and Genevieve backs herself into the corner—making herself smaller than she already is.
Ben straightens, turning his gaze to the door, and quips, “Right on time, boss. Our friend here was about to tell us where his baby sister is.”
“Is he ready for interrogation?” Rosa says calmly, stepping into the room, nose wrinkling with disgust.
“As ready as he’ll ever be. We had Gen warm him up for us.”
Rosa stalks over to Ben, running her hand over his shoulders, and I see Genevieve flinch.
“You’ve done well, boys—but I can take it from here.” She turns to me with a grim look and snaps to the room, “Get out. All of you.”
No one responds as they exit the room, Ben wrapping his arm around Genevieve as they leave me and Rosa alone.
I don’t know if this was the plan, but they’d better keep me alive.
“I’m sure you are thinking I’m going to kill you,” she says coolly as she tugs leather gloves from her pocket and slips them on. “We all die in our own time—and this isn’t your time, my dear boy.”
I carefully measure my words, avoiding eye contact as I keep my face blank and my eyes down. No sudden movements. Let her think I’m scared, not thinking clearly. If I am careful, I may be able to get information out of her.
“I understand why you feel this is necessary,” I rasp as she goes to a bag and pulls out two wood clamps and begins to press my hand flat against the arm of the chair.
“After what I did—torture is the least that I deserve. Do what you feel you need to.”
She forces a dry laugh, continuing to clamp my hand down until I feel the tendons pop under the pressure, the bones in my hand giving way.
“Don’t patronize me,” she says, looking down on me, her voice like a whip. “After your parents’ untimely demise, I planned on silencing you, anyway. They were fools to think you had the capacity to lead this Order. You were never loyal.”
My bones grind together, a white-hot pain pulsing through my wrist, but I don’t scream. I won’t give her that.
Crack.
My breath hitches and I bite back a groan.
“Anyone with a conscience would understand. The Covenant is corrupt; you kill people in the hope of gaining more power. It’s wrong—you know that,” I say, breathless—forcing the words past my numb lips, the pain causing me to see stars.
“You speak of a conscience when you take lives brutally without remorse. We at least have a purpose—a reason.” Her voice raises as she begins placing the other clamp on my opposite hand.
“So do I,” I tell her through gritted teeth, as I look at her with an expression that shows no regrets. I know pain, I can deal with pain.
“Ah yes… Your little crusade to save your sister. Very noble of you.” She sneers as she winds the clamp, crushing my other hand. “Your agenda is flawed. He will have his offering and I will be the one to deliver her.” She stands up straight and goes back to the bag, pulling out a soldering iron.
“Who is he?” I groan, doubting I’ll get an answer. “I’m dead anyway. I just want to know the name of the God that claims my only blood.”
She turns the iron on and the tip begins to heat up, glowing softly. She keeps her back to me.
“He goes by many names—only showing himself when needed. I have laid eyes on him only once.” Her voice is quiet and filled with reverence.
“What do you call him?” I ask, steeling myself for the pain as she adjusts the iron in her gloved hand, studying the heat as it glows red.
“There,” she says softly, almost admiringly. “Hot enough to leave a lasting impression.”
She kneels beside me, a knife in her other hand, and slices open the fabric of my shirt with clinical precision.
“You’ll carry his name,” she murmurs to me sweetly. “Right over your heart. As it should be.”
The iron touches my skin and the sound—flesh searing—rips through the room.
I’m barely able to stay quiet, sucking sharp, hissing breaths through my teeth.
Each letter burns slowly, and she moves with methodical precision as she engraves the letters into my skin.
“I want you to look at it,” she tells me finally, stepping back to admire her work, a twisted smile on her face. “And remember who owns your bloodline.”