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“This is the last chance to change your mind,” Journey informs me. “It’s not gonna be pretty in there.”
I square my shoulders. “It wasn’t pretty when he murdered my mom and baby brother. If I survived that, I can survive this.”
“Damn right.”
He grabs my hand as he hits a button on the wall, and a door slides open, revealing the Nightmare Room. I’ve heard stories about it, but seeing it in person is more exciting than I anticipated.
“I shoulda known,” my father snaps, blood seeping from a cut on his lip.
His prison jumpsuit is stained red from several wounds on his legs, and if I’m not mistaken, there’s also black thread where he was stitched up right through his clothes.
“Jackyl did a pretty good job,” Journey comments.
“What was the point of fixing him up?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Have you ever had stitches without anesthetic?”
“No.”
“Trust me, it wasn’t a walk in the park.”
“Just do whatever it is you’re gonna do,” my father snaps. “Let’s get this over with.”
“I don’t fucking think so,” I bite out, closing the distance between us.
I wait for the voices to start yapping, for the fear to make me tremble, but neither happen. I glance over my shoulder at Journey, and he gives me a reassuring smile.
“You’ve got this,” he says.
“Fucking pussy,” Dad accuses. “Letting a bitch do a man’s job.”
Without giving it a second thought, I haul my arm back and thrust a punch to his gut. He groans, and his body sways as his feet barely touch the floor.
“I’ve got one question for you,Stone.”
“And what would that be?”
“Why?” I ask. “Why’d you kill them that night?”
“You really wanna know?” I nod, and he sneers. “Because I could. I’d just formed Wingless Angels MC, and a wife and kids were only gonna hold me back. You were supposed to die that night, too, but some nosy neighbor called the five-oh when they heard screaming.”
“You could’ve left Ryan alone!” I shout, an image of my baby brother popping into my head. I wish I could remember him with a smile on his face, but the only image my brain has held onto is the one of him under a blanket on the living room floor, blood pooled around his tiny body. “Did you know I thought he was my doll?” I ask. “When the police officer carried me out ofthe house, I looked over his shoulder and saw Mom. And then I saw Ryan, only I thought he was one of my baby dolls.”
“He was as useless as a doll.”
I take a deep breath, then another, and another. “He was a child,” I seethe. “We both were!”
“Wren?” I whirl around at Journey’s voice. “Here,” he says as he thrusts a long double-edged knife at me.
I shake my head. “Got a hammer?”
Journey twists to grab a hammer off the wall and then hands it to me. “Will that work?”
“Perfect.” I look at my father with disgust. “You’re gonna feel what they felt.”
“You’re forgetting one thing, Wren,” he taunts.
“What’s that?”
