Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
DIORA
I never trusted Mrs. Jay. I can admit I was weak when I saw her in the hallway outside my apartment after Juliet kicked me out.
I was weak when I ran into her arms. I can admit that, while my heart was being crushed for the second time in my life and for once, I wanted to feel a motherly love, to be taken care of, she was there.
That must be how she gets the Strays’ devotion. She gets you when you’re weak.
Still, I’m not the dumbest person alive. I may have followed the lion into its den, but I didn’t come unprepared.
“Diora, make me some tea, please,” Mrs. Jay demands as she sits on the couch. She took me to her home. “I have eyes on the back of my head. No funny games, please. I’m tired.”
Even better. You’re tired. That works for me.
She points a lazy finger toward where I assume her kitchen is as I stand at her front door. Mrs. Jay lives pretty modestly for someone who wears tweed suits. Her two-story house is in the far suburbs of Litchfort. In the part where neighbors are about half a mile apart.
It doesn’t surprise me that her closest neighbor is so far away, and it doesn’t surprise me she’d brought me here.
What I can’t figure out is why she brought me here. Am I here so she can kill me or sell me? According to what we found at the ring, I’m on the cusp of being too old to be sold, and even if she does want to sell me, she probably wouldn’t get very much.
So, she must want to kill me.
Sighing, I round the entry hallway to the kitchen.
She has a pristine white kitchen, where even her fridge is white, and it makes my skin crawl seeing all the white.
Is this a doctor’s office? Walking toward the one steel-colored appliance, her stove, I search for something to heat the water up in.
She uses a kettle. I smile to myself as I carry it to the sink to fill up, and I turn it on.
Dirt drops onto her pristine white marble countertops.
I’m sure that’ll piss her off, but I guess it won’t matter, ‘cause I have a feeling only one of us is walking out that door tonight. The teapot warms up, and I know we have about twenty minutes until the water will be ready, so I walk back into the dining room where she sits.
The dining room is where Mrs. Jay played with the decor. She has a beautiful dark wood table and cushioned chairs with matching wood accents on them. In the center, there is a gray rug, and her walls are covered in artwork.
“Are we gonna pretend I don’t know why I’m here or…?” I ask, leaning against her wall.
“Get off my wall. You’re getting it dirty,” she snaps with a tired glare. I smile as I stop leaning on the wall and come to sit across from her at the dining table.
“I guess we are pretending, then.”
“I want some tea first, darling. We can get this show started after I’ve had my tea and once my boys get here.”
“Boys? Elliot and who?”
“Enyo.”
“Oh, Enyo,” I say, as his name brings a slew of thoughts to my head.
“You can’t have forgotten my Sons?” she asks in disbelief, and I shrug. Of course I know Enyo. I hadn’t thought about the ramifications with him after I kill his “Mother” tonight.
Will he care? Will he seek vengeance? He’s a wild card I should have considered, but honestly, it won’t change anything.
Elliot is enshrined in Mrs. Jay’s trap, and the only way to free him is to do the thing he can’t do.
Kill Mrs. Jay.
I’ll do anything for the people I love, and whether he likes it or not, he’s become one of those people. The selfish bastard.
Enyo may kill me, he’s definitely strong enough to do it, but Elliot will be free, so that isn’t a deal breaker for me.
“You don’t hate me for selling those Strays. Tell me, Diora, before my Sons get here. Tell me why you hate me.” Mrs. Jay asks, leaning closer from her spot across the table. I see the genuine curiosity in her eyes, and I wonder if she truly does not know.
Sure, seeing those Strays put a nasty taste in my mouth and a fire in my heart, but that wasn’t her only offense.
“I think you know, Mrs. Jay.”
“Please enlighten me, darling.”
“Your Son, Elliot.”
“What about my Son?”
“I love him.”
“Okay?” At this, I roll my eyes. I sigh and raise a brow as she leans back into her chair. She smirks. “Oh.”
“Yeah. I love him and you’ve hurt him.”
“I saved him. I save them all.”
“You took advantage. It’s fine, no need to lie.”
“Perception is all it is, dear. I save them, take advantage. It is all the same.”
“Sure,” I say, knowing that “perception” is what is killing her tonight.
The kettle rings, signaling it’s ready, and I get up from the chair to make our tea.
In the kitchen again, I take my weapon of choice out of my pocket.
Wrapped in a white napkin, a white angel trumpet lies on the counter next to the kettle.
I have ten petals. Completely lethal. Foxglove takes time, patience, care.
Angel trumpet is quick, painful, and in a hurry.
I won’t have time to waste with Mrs. Jay.
She’s an older lady, but quick and smart.
I can’t put this in her tea. She’ll know. It’s the only move I’ve played to her knowledge. I have to be smarter.
The front door opens, and two sets of footsteps come crashing in. “Where is she?” Elliot’s voice rings out, and I can hear the panic in his raised voice. The anger in his underlying notes. How did he know I was here?
“She’s fine,” Mrs. Jay says as Elliot comes crashing into the kitchen, swallowing my presence up with his body shadowing over mine.
“Did you eat or drink anything? Are you wounded?”
“No, I’m making her tea.”
“Why the fuck are you making her tea?” he asks.
“Because she asked me to.” His brow furrows as he looks over the counter.
“Let’s go.” Elliot pulls my hand away from the counter, but Mrs. Jay clicks her tongue and ticks her finger.
“No, no, darlings. We need to talk.”
“Let’s not do this here, Mother.” I hear Enyo’s voice, but he must be in the dining room with Mrs. Jay.
Meeting Elliot’s brown eyes, I softly shake my head no. This isn’t a time to run. I carefully grab the white trumpet from the counter, making sure it doesn’t touch my skin, and show him what I brought.
“This ends tonight,” I mouth. He shakes his head, but it doesn’t change anything. Setting down my poison, I gingerly bring his hand up to my lips and press a soft kiss to the back of his hand.
“You deserve a happy ending, Oliver,” I whisper against his hand. “I’m going to give it to you.”
“Diora, what’s taking so long?” Mrs. Jay snaps. “Everyone, meet me at the dining table.”
I quickly turn around, Elliot’s hands on me as I move. I grab the neat stack of napkins from Mrs. Jay’s counter and two cups of tea.
Elliot helps me with the other two cups as he strides into the room.
“Let’s not do this—”
“Stop, not until we sit,” Mrs. Jay snaps. Elliot’s eyes dart to me. I can feel the pressure of his gaze on the side of my head, but I can’t lose focus.
I hear him sigh. I set Mrs. Jay’s cup down in front of her and one in front of me.
She sits at the head of the table and directs me to sit to the left of her this time.
Enyo sits on her right. Elliot pays no mind to her as she tries to guide him with her hand to sit next to Enyo, but he sits next to me.
It’s the four of us again. Here in the same room. Angst and animosity brimming the air. Just like when she called us in after we took down her million dollar trafficking ring. This time, there are no guards, no Strays to hold any of us back.
It’s time to deal with our issues. I snort as the thought floats by. How did I get twisted up in this family affair?
“Diora, please,” she says, lifting her cup toward me. I nearly chuckle as I grab her cup, bringing it up to my nose, sniffing the warm black tea in her cup. I watch as Enyo’s eyes widen as I take a sip. They assumed I’d be so obvious in trying to kill Mother?
“Thank you, darling.” She gracefully takes her mug back and takes a sip of her own, smiling as she realizes there is truly no poison in her drink.
“Yes, of course,” I say, taking a sip of my own tea, looking at my dinner mates. “Anyone else?”
“No, thank you,” Enyo says while drinking his, as if to prove he… trusts me? I’m not sure how to interrupt Enyo Jay. He’s the one I’m most worried about.
“So, everyone knows?” Mrs. Jay asks with a slight frown on her face. I watch as her face wrinkles around her frown and her eyes dim as the topic comes up. It’s like she’s truly out of the loop at her own organization.
“No, we are the only ones who know about the trafficking. Well, us and the Society,” Elliot says. Her eyes go wide, and her head whips to Elliot in shock. “You thought you could do anything without the Society knowing?”
Her drink slips from her momentary lapse of control.
Almost sliding out of her hand, spilling on herself and the table.
She takes the napkin I’d set beside her and wipes her fingers before dabbing her lips and then the table.
“So, what are you going to do about this? This obviously still bothers the lot of you.”
“You were trafficking kids. Who would be okay with that?” Enyo asks, furrowing his brows.
“The buyers were fine with it.”
“Now you want to play a cute mother, really?” Enyo snaps back, and Elliot clears his throat.
“We were never good people, but morally, we’re different, and it’s time to separate.”
“And leave my Sons?” Mrs. Jay asks, and this is when I feel out of place.
“You’ve done it before.” Enyo scoffs with a faux amused on his face. I look over to Elliot, who watches Mrs. Jay like a hawk.
Mrs. Jay’s head snaps again, this time to Enyo. She tilts her head in question and smiles. “So, you know?”
“That you’re my birth mother who left me in a dumpster but then came back when I was fifteen to start your little killer organization? Yeah, I know.”
“Are you upset? Surprised?” she asks, like the heartless bitch she is. I scoff this time, but that’s when the realization hits me.
I’m not just killing Elliot’s tormentor. I’m killing Enyo’s mother. His real mother.
Shit.
It’s too late, though. The work is already in motion, and it’s far too late to stop it. Not that I think I would. I guess I’ll never know.
I watch her, as I always do. Her wrinkles are deeper than when I first met her four months ago.
Her eyes appear sunken in, despite the worry clouding them now.
Her fingers shake with each rise of her cup.
This last sip has her coughing. Her cheeks begin to grow a reddish flourish while she tries to sip down her drink.
I’d put a lot of angel trumpet on her napkin. Incredibly poisonous to the touch.
“What’s wrong with me?” she rasps, looking at me. Like she knows it was me. The only possibility being me. There being absolutely no way one of her Sons could try to poison her.
She’s right, of course. Knowing that she is Enyo’s mom, he couldn’t do it, and I couldn’t let Oliver kill another parent. Even one as evil as her.
I had to do it.
“I didn’t lace your drink with anything,” I murmur, continuing to sip mine.
She coughs, her hands gripping the table as her confusion settles in. Her brows furrow and her eyes close, probably as the photophobia starts to affect her.
Sweat dribbles at her forehead, and once I know she is too far gone for any of the boys to do anything, I speak.
“I crushed an angel trumpet in your napkin, poisonous to the touch, deadly by consumption.” I lick my lips as she falls back in her chair.
Her breathing slows and her skin appears dry on the backs of her hands and high points of her cheeks.
“You won’t hurt another kid, Mrs. Jay.” I shrug as she tries to glare at me. I watch as her eyes narrow and her nose twitches. I can’t help the glimmer of happiness I have covering my skin. “You can’t now.”
Mrs. Jay isn’t someone I ever thought I’d have the skill to kill. The fact that she’s dying in front of me, at my hand, is unreal. So unreal, that it seeds in my mind that maybe… she wanted to die.
“She has minutes left. If you have anything to say to her, say it now,” I murmur while drinking my tea.
“Sons,” she cries. I watch Enyo first. I watch as his shoulders remain stiff and squared as he watches his birth mother die.
I don’t find a sign of anger, regret, or vengeance from him.
In fact, I sense close to nothing. Nothing besides the tilt of his head.
The soft tilt to the left as he watches the mother he never truly knew die.
Elliot doesn’t watch Mrs. Jay. He watches me.
I think he knows this isn’t just about the trafficking.
I think a sliver of him knows I did this for him.
Like Juliet, Elliot is a part of my family.
A person I would do absolutely anything for, including killing the person he calls Mother, if it means he will have freedom.
His hand is resting on the back of my chair, and his eyes are glued to me.
“Diora.” My name falls off his lips and leaves him speechless. I watch as his brown eyes light as his newfound freedom washes over him.
I grab Elliot’s chin and pull him closer, gazing into his honey brown eyes as his Mother dies beside me. “I hope you know, when I say you’re mine, I mean it.” I kiss his cheek and lightly slap his face. Smiling. Mm. Protecting my man feels fucking amazing.
I hear Mrs. Jay’s head hit the table, but I don’t flinch or jerk away from Elliot. I don’t look at the new threat in the room that could have feelings about me killing his mom, despite the hate he seems to have for her.
“Well,” Enyo says, and I snap my attention to him. His buzz cut is slightly grown, and he rolls his lips as he tries to think of something to say.
I lick my lips and tuck a stray, frizzy hair strand behind my ear. I’m so tired. I’m so fucking tired.
“So, what do we do now?” Enyo asks me, raising his brows. His shoulders are loose and so is the rest of his body language, so I don’t sense a threat, but I can’t quite be sure.
“What?” I ask.
“What’s the rest of the plan?” Enyo asks, like I’m the slow one.
“Diora doesn’t think that far,” Elliot chuckles, shaking his head, but I find nothing amusing. “Let this be a message. Call the Strays in the clean up department. I’ll call the Society to let them know of the deceased member, and Diora…”
“I’m going to take a shower,” I say, walking upstairs.
Killing two people in one night is exhausting.