"No." My backpack drops to the ground as I shake my head, my hair swishing around my face. "No way."
"What did you say?" She turns to face me, her floral dress making her appear friendly and approachable. It's all a façade.
"I won't let you hurt anyone else." My spine straightens and calm washes over me—an acceptance of what I need to do.
Stop her.
Standing with the help of the table, her crinkly eyes narrow on me. She jabs a chubby finger in my direction. "You'll watch your tone when you're speaking to—"
Her words fall short, her eyes springing wide. I don't realize I've moved until I swing the paddle, colliding with her temple.
Thwack.
The sound is sickening. My whole body shakes as warm, wetness sprays over my face. A red stream paves a path down her cheek. Her skull is in an odd shape, one eye batting like a robot needing to reboot. Pulling my arm back, I hit her again.
Thwack.
A crunch sounds, and she falls with a thud to the tiles at my feet. Blood gushes from a slash in her temple, pooling around her like spilled milk. It expands so fast, I take a step back so it doesn't get on my sneaker.
Breathing heavily, I stare down at the sticky, crimson gore decorating her face.
There's no fear. Only exhilaration courses through my veins.
"Look at you now," I spit out. "You'll never hurt me or anyone else again, you evil fucking bitch." My muscles pull taunt. Tears blur my eyes. My teeth grind. "I fucking hate you!" Emotion churns, pouring out of me without control.
"June, what's going on?"
Shit.
Grandpa's footsteps sound on the stairs. I meet him at the top, and he looks up at me, confused. "Who’s screaming?" he asks, like he doesn't know I've finally cracked. He should be used to the sounds of my screams. All I see when I look at him is black coating my skin, infecting my pores, staining my soul. "Where's your grandma?"
He stops two steps from me, his hand on the railing, his eyes focused on my face.
"Is that blood?" He attempts to take another step, but I raise the paddle and bring the edge down on his head. The crack forces one of his eyes to bulge from the socket. It takes effort to tug the paddle free. A squelching sound fills my ears when I manage it. Rouge liquid pours down his face for a few terrifying seconds before he falls backwards, tumbling down the stairs, landing in a heap at the bottom, one leg twisted the wrong way, his arm pinned beneath his frame, the other splayed above his head.
Static fills my mind.
"Grandpa?" My feet carry me down the stairs. The thumping in my chest roars throughout my body. I kick him, but he doesn't move. The paddle drops from my grip, clanging to the concrete floor by his head. A dent straight down the center of his skull, oozing brain matter, mesmerizes me. One second, two, three…
Movement catches my eye, and I flinch, a cry catching in my throat when his fingers twitch. I look around the space, my eyes landing on their gun cabinet, the key left in the lock. I should have come down here years ago.
There's an old rifle, what looks like a film prop gun, and a small black handheld I take and aim at him. I kick his arm. He doesn't move. Leaning down, I check for a pulse at his wrist.
Nothing.
Blood creates a halo around him, and a disgusting smell wafts into the air, making me gag.
"Lily?" Zane's voice pulls me from my memories, my bones vibrating under my skin. A warm hand grasps mine, entwining our fingers. The sky is a shroud of black, embracing me, promising to keep the secret spoken out loud to another person.
"They wanted to foster a little girl." I close my eyes, squeezing them shut, trying to erase the images I found in boxes in that basement. "I didn't know they fostered before me…before mom. So many kids..." A sob catches in my throat. He drops my hand and pulls me toward him, wrapping me in his embrace. I cling to him, feeling the beat of his heart against mine, the warmth of his body soaking into me, thawing the numbness. "I killed them both—and I enjoyed it. They were evil.”
"Are they still in there?" he asks against my ear.
I pull away, frowning, "No. I had help getting rid of them." Ezekiel discovered the bodies when he was hiding out here with my sister Ruby. He didn't ask me questions. He made it look like their car veered off the road down a cliff edge into rocks, the engine exploding, bodies burning.
With a tense jaw, he asks, "So, who is it you want me to help you with?"
My stomach drops, the cold creeping back in, hardening my heart. The obscurity of the night cloaks me, whispering, “Kill the devil.”
I gulp past the rock in my throat. "Their priest."
CHAPTER
NINE
Zane/Chaos
Their priest. Her words ring like a bell clanging against each side of my skull, rattling my brain.
“They would bring him here.” She points to the front of the house. “There weren’t windows in my room.” Lead fills my boots. Every fiber of my being roars with hatred for these strangers.
“No one could hear me cry.”
Fuck. I grip her upper arms, my gaze boring deep into her haunted eyes. “You’re the only one who will hear him scream when I kill him.” Releasing her, I nod my head. “Okay?”
She throws her arms around my neck, jerking me back a step at the force. Before I can register what’s happening, her lips crash against mine, hard, punishing, perfect. Then, just as fast, she walks away, back to the truck, leaving me breathless.
Scars are forever, and we’re both littered with them, but maybe we can find healing together.
I jog back to the truck and climb in. “Where does he live?”
Her knuckles turn white on the steering wheel. She starts the engine and drives three minutes down the road in silence, pulling up across the street from a church. My mother was religious, but I could never find faith in anything. If there are gods, why do they allow us to suffer so brutally?
“He lives in a house adjacent to the church around the back.” She bites on her lip, picking at thread on her jeans.
“Alone?” I ask. Is it priests who have to remain celibate?
“I assume so. I’ve never seen anyone else come and go.”
“How often do you come here?”
“Too often.” She begins tapping her foot. “I’ve killed other people, Zane. We had club business, and it came as easy as pouring myself a drink. But him…” She covers her face with her hands. “Why can’t I just do it?”
“Because he fucking traumatized you and we have a natural flight instinct when faced with the perpetrator of that trauma.” I grab the bottle of Jack and twist the lid off, handing it to her. “I can’t be in the same room as my mother. My skin crawls and rage churns inside me,” I grit out. She can’t look at me either.
Taking the lid from my hand, she screws the cap back on and chucks the bottle into the backseat before climbing into my lap.
“What are you doing?” I ask, taken aback. Her thighs spread over mine, her pussy grinding down against my cock.
“Let’s do something for us. No one controls us.” She pants, grasping my face, capturing my lips in her teeth, biting down then sucking. Grabbing her hips, I kiss her back, sweeping my tongue into her mouth and tasting her. Her scent, sweet and mixed with floral notes, invades my senses. She’s all around me, intoxicating, then she’s gone, back in her seat, mouth red, cheeks flushed, chest heaving.