Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
ELLIOT
We are fucked. She might kill us. Kill me. Kill her. Fuck. I should’ve never involved her. I should’ve never brought her on.
I got attached. I never get attached, and this is fucking why.
“Crane.” Her name falls on my breath. She stares at me with wide doe eyes, waiting for my next word, like I’m the air she fucking breathes, and I don’t deserve to be. I don’t even know how to get her out of this, let alone be deserving of this gaze.
Enyo’s stare drills a hole in the side of my head. He doesn’t even know why Mother is pissed. Not really. I’m pretty sure Calix was going to say Mrs. Jay. I knew she was selling Strays into the ring. I knew and didn’t tell him. Was that a mistake?
“You gonna clue me in as to why I’m getting my ass grilled when we get back, Brother?”
“The less you know—”
“Don’t start that shit with me. Diora obviously knows.” His gaze moves from the road to look back at her. “Tell me.”
“Don’t order her to do shit,” I spit, getting pissed.
“I’m first Son—”
“And that’s why you can’t know,” I say. The lie is dirty on my tongue, but he can’t know. Not because he’s first Son, but because the truth will hurt him.
“What’s going to happen now?” Diora asks, not a hint of fear or doubt in her voice, and I could fucking smile at my Little Crane. She’s brave, but has no idea the lion’s den we’ll be walking into.
Mrs. Jay doesn’t take disrespect very well. We took down one of her rings and messed with her money, the highest form of disrespect in her eyes.
“We’re in deep shit, aren’t we?” Enyo mutters as we pull up to Society’s headquarters.
“Very,” I mutter. I get out of the car and open Diora’s door.
I lean in and her sweat covered jasmine and raspberry scent fills my nose, and for a second, I want to whisk her away.
It’s a dangerous world we live in, yet she is the only person I want to shield from the horrors that come with being a killer for Mother.
Her soft hair grazes my cheek as my lips meet her ear. I press a light kiss against her ear and whisper, “Whatever you do, don’t break. Don’t let her find out you know she’s behind the trafficking. She’ll kill you on the spot.”
I can feel her nod her head against me, and then I back away. Mother trained me; she knows me—how I move and how I kill. She’d kill Diora if it means hurting me, and I can’t let her do that. I can’t lose this fight.
Walking in first will tell Mother I was the ringleader for this one. I want her to give me the heat and let the other two go, but I know that won’t happen.
The meeting room is eerily quiet as Mother stands at the head of the table, with eight men standing around the room.
“So nice of my top three troublemakers to meet with me. If we’d done this before your little mission, we could have avoided this, but,” Mother pauses as she nods toward the men in the room, “you chose to be disobedient.”
Her words crawl over my shoulders, memories of these words being said to me over and over again as she plastered my skin with welts or poisons or bruises.
My hackles raise as my eyes catch Diora’s.
I didn’t mean to look at her. I shouldn’t have, but the urge for comfort has never been this strong before.
This need to protect, and to be protected, isn’t an urge I’m used to. It’s harder to fight than anything I’ve had to fight before.
The Strays under her command are on us the second she stops talking.
I don’t fight as two grab my arms and shove me to stand on one side of the table, and Enyo and Diora are on the other side.
We’re facing each other now, one hand pressed on the table.
Three men hold me and Enyo down, but two are on Diora.
Mother knows us well. She’s noticeably weaker, obviously, because she’s only had a few months of training, versus the years Enyo and I have been here.
“Sons, you know better, but Diora, my sweet Diora, you’re new to this.
So, I’ll keep it light for you,” Mother says as she cracks her gloves over her hands repeatedly.
I can’t help but stare at those fucking gloves.
Those same fucking gloves, covered in whatever poison of her choosing.
The same burns and rashes mark my back as if they are still there.
“Explain, Enyo. Go,” Mother demands, staring at her eldest.
“Trafficking ring on Addline Street was our target.”
“When did they become your target, Elliot? Go.”
“This morning.” It’s a lie, of course, and she knows it.
“You randomly decided to take down a human trafficking ring at, what, nine a.m. this morning?” Mother asks with an incredulous smile.
“Yes,” I confirm, giving her a half shrug, moving as much as henchmen one and two will allow me.
“If we’re going to lie, then there is no point in talking,” she says, and with a flip of her finger, one of the men holding down Diora pulls out a knife and slashes the back of her hand.
“What makes you think you can lie to me, my sweet boy?” she ticks as Diora yelps.
I throw back my shoulders and trip the guy to my left.
He lets go of me as he falls back, but the third man standing behind me lands a kick to the back of the knee, forcing me down, while the guy on my right slams my head down on the table.
My nose crunches with the impact and blood drops are left on the table. Yet it isn’t my pain I’m worried about. I’m worried about her.
“Don’t make me hurt that darling face any more, Elliot,” Mother demands. I see her mask slip. Those eyes that once loved too much. That craved the thrill of youth and wanted it in every sense of the word. The woman who broke children for pleasure.
I’m sure I’m the only one who caught it. That monster isn’t for everyone, just her select few.
I sharply laugh, blood dripping from my nose and burning the skin on my lips.
I feel the ripping of my skin as a knife is slashed through the back of my hand.
I’m stuck watching the Strays holding Enyo down stab his hand, too.
All because I couldn’t tell him to fuck off.
It’s all my fault. He's the one hurt this time, because of me.
He’d probably say we’re even now. I scoff at the thought.
“I’m glad you find that funny, because the next time you three decide to venture off without permission, I’ll kill you myself.”
“Promise?” I ask, the sting in my hand getting worse as open air caresses my wound.
“Get out of my face, all of you.” She dismisses the room and Diora looks at me. She always looks at me. She doesn’t hide it, she doesn’t shy away from it, even though she should. This is what following me will get her.
I can’t protect her.
I can’t save her.
I’m fucking useless.
I nod toward the door, and Diora leaves the room. I can’t focus on anything besides that gaping wound on her fucking hand. I should follow her, apologize for involving her, and promise to never see her again. But I can’t.
Coming to stand, I look at Mother. The wrinkles around her eyes are deeper. Her frown is more constant, and no amount of skin product can hide the aging of her skin. She looks tired.
“I said leave, Elliot,” she snaps as she sits in one of the rolling chairs. She places her head in her hands, and though I see this moment of weakness, I can’t, will never, forget the devil that lurks underneath that skin.
“I didn’t blow your cover,” I murmur, sitting in a desk chair across from her. I watch as her eyes close and listen to her heavy breathing. As if she did the stabbing herself.
“Yes, you did,” she sighs. “I saw the way Diora looked at me. Don’t play me for stupid.”
“You created the ring, Mother?” I ask, even though I know the answer. It’s about time to have this conversation. Admit to the fact that we both know what’s going on here.
“Money is to be made.”
“You thought we’d be okay with it?” I ask.
“That doesn’t matter.”
“You’re strong, mother. You’re a vile, disgusting, manipulative piece of shit,” I say, rolling back in my chair. Standing, I put my unwounded hand in my pocket.
“Wow—” she starts to say, but I’m not done.
“But we loved you. You took that love and did what you always do.”
“And what is that?” She raises her eyebrows. If we would’ve had this conversation years ago, I’d probably have a bullet in my shoulder, but everyone gets old. Everyone becomes tired and weak.
That’s why she didn’t administer the punishment herself. She has Strays to do it for her. She’s not as strong as any of us believe anymore.
“Ruined it,” I whisper.
“Like Mother, like Son, then, huh? Like you’ll do to Diora.” She lets out a sharp laugh. “Son, remember she’s not your puppet. She’s mine.”
“Yeah, okay,” I say, walking out of the room. Like hell Diora is her fucking puppet. She’s mine. My Little Crane.
Fucking mine.