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“I know you’re awake, son.”
My blood chills at the sound of that familiar voice. Then my heart accelerates, filling my veins with molten fury.
A current surges through my skin, delivering bolts of electricity. Muscles clenching, I open my eyes and lock gazes with a face I want to erase from existence.
My heart pounds. My skin breaks out in a cold sweat. He’s a little older than I remember, and the lower half of his face is covered with a cropped beard, but there’s no mistaking those cold, blue eyes. Father stands in the middle of the room, dressed in a navy-blue smoking jacket with black silk lapels, cosplaying the gentleman we both know he isn’t.
“Delta,” I grit out, the word tasting like acid.
Father’s lip curls in a derisive sneer. “You’ve gotten sloppy. Returning to an enemy location with your pants down.”
“Where are they?” I ask.
“Such hostility. I taught you to be more specific.”
“You didn’t teach me a fucking thing.”
His features fall in a mockery of disappointment. “That’s where you’re wrong. Your childhood conditioning, the rigorous training… even my elusiveness was all part of your education. Skills that were supposed to serve my purpose.”
“What the hell do you mean?”
“You were supposed to eliminate the leadership of the Moirai.” He brushes imaginary lint off his arm. “Create mayhem and take down my enemies so I could resume ownership of the firm I started. To think all it took to distract you was something sweet and wet.”
I grit my teeth. “Where are Amethyst and Camila?”
“You’ll see them soon.” He turns to a table, picks up a syringe, and flicks its barrel, loosening a drop of red fluid.
My throat dries. I’m no expert on chemicals, but the only drugs I’ve seen of that hue are propofol and Dr. Dixon’s blend of epinephrine. The first is a powerful anesthetic, the second a potent stimulant. In the hands of a man like Father, neither prospect is good news.
“What do you want from me?” I ask.
“Your complete ruin. Just as you engineered mine.” He advances on me with the syringe. “Once I’ve broken you into a loyal and obedient submissive, you will return everything you stole from me. With interest.”
I thrash within the bonds, the chair scraping against the concrete floor, but it only slams into a wall. It takes a second to realize this is the same device they used to electrocute Lizzie Bath.
Father plunges the needle into my neck, releasing liquid that crawls through my veins like icy fire. Muscles stiffening, I recoil.
“Good boy,” Father murmurs. “You were my greatest creation. The perfect blend of myself and your mother.”
“You didn’t know her,” I snarl.
Drawing back, he stares down at me, his head tilting. “Your birth mother. Not the woman who took you into her home. That was your aunt.”
This isn’t news. Mom already told me my birth mother died in childbirth. With a leap of logic, I can guess her association with Father wasn’t entirely romantic. The room spins. Reality distorts, blurring at the edges and stretching out of proportion. I fight against it, trying to cling to sanity, but Father’s words echo and warp until the words form a blur.
Time passes in a distorted haze of disjointed thoughts and images. Dismembered memories intertwine with broken fragments in the room. When my muscles tire of struggling,I throw my head backward and fixate on the lightbulb. Its filament flickers on and off, creating a haze resembling an evil eye.
Throughout this, his words reverberate through my head like a broken record. I hold on to the thought that Father might leave Camila and Amethyst intact.
The hours stretch like melting clocks, dripping wax into the chasm of my thoughts. After an eternity, the drugs fade, and my vision returns. I glance around the room, looking for some form of escape. The space is spartan and white, save for a screen hanging on the wall straight ahead.
Black cables lead from my chair to a power point beneath a metal table by the door, which is far beyond reach. There are no windows, and the only source of illumination comes from the dim light bulb hanging from the ceiling, casting long, twisted shadows.
That drug Father injected into me had a single purpose—to keep me bound and disoriented. But to what end? He could be shooting another movie with Amethyst or Camila, or arranging their grisly deaths.
Anguish washes through my veins like acid. How the hell were Father’s men able to sneak past my operatives and get so close to the church so soon after Dolly escaped with Camila?
Because the two men Amethyst castrated were merely bait. In my desperation to find out what happened to my sister, I’d become sloppy. I dropped my guard and became overconfident after so many victories against Father.
