SERAPHINE
I can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t think of anything but Samson being alive.
If he believes I’m connected to his family’s deaths, then he might finally carry out his threat to kill my brother. Samson could be interrogating Gabriel right now or making him suffer in revenge for his grief.
Thoughts like this swirl around in my head, adding to images of Dad ripping out Gabriel’s liver over and over in a Promethean punishment for Mom’s cheating. I lie as still as death, trying to erase my mind, but it’s like trying to fight the wind.
Leroi stands in the doorway of my bedroom. I can feel his eyes on me, but I refuse to acknowledge his presence. He was supposed to have killed the entire family and now the most psychotic of them still lives. I don’t know how I feel about him right now. He helped me escape from the basement and I want to be mad at him, but I can’t find it in myself to feel furious.
Samson was awful enough before I bit through his penis and made it rot. If Dad and Gregor hadn’t been there to control his anger, he would have tortured me slowly until I begged for death.
With a sigh, Leroi retreats from my room and shuts the door.
My eyes snap open, and I stare into the dark. Tomorrow, I need to convince Leroi to let me hunt Samson. Every moment Samson spends alive is a risk to Gabriel’s continued survival.
Hours pass, and the sky changes from black to indigo to blue before the morning sun shines in my eyes. I lie on my back, all traces of enjoyment from the nightclub forgotten, as I work out a way to get to Samson.
It’s difficult since Leroi has reverted into overprotective mode and scrubbed his home of weapons sharper than a table knife. The front door is locked, and the apartment is too high up for me to climb down from the balcony. He probably thinks I’ll try to escape to find Samson.
Being so dependent on Leroi makes my skin itch. He moves too slowly and makes too little progress. We should be out there, kicking down doors, smashing heads, and blowing up buildings to hunt down Samson, the guards who assaulted Mom, and whoever’s keeping Gabriel hostage.
The door opens, and Leroi fills the doorway, dressed for action in a black hoodie and dark jeans. I sit up, my heart pounding.
“We can’t just sit around waiting,” I say, my voice tight. “Samson is out there, probably torturing Gabriel. We need to find—”
“Come with me.” He disappears into the living room.
“Where are we going?” I scramble out of bed.
“I’ve tracked down one of your leads.” He strides to the front door. “He’s waiting for us downstairs.”
My heart skips several beats as I follow Leroi out of the apartment, down the elevator, and to the basement parking lot. He leads me outside to a courtyard lined with dumpsters, where an armored truck awaits, similar to the one he and Miko used to drive away from the mansion.
Leroi unlocks its side door and gestures for me to step inside. Its interior is dark, save for a stream of light coming in from an upper vent that reflects against walls and floors covered in a transparent plastic wrap.
A heavy-set man wearing blue boxers, a sleeveless shirt, and a black hood over his head sits tied to a chair in the back.
“Who is this?” I ask.
Leroi steps in behind me and shuts the door. “See for yourself.”
My pulse quickens with anticipation. I already know this isn’t Samson. The bound man is older, hairier, and fatter.
I snatch off the hood and stare into the unconscious face of the bastards who haunt my dreams. Julio Catania, the man who pinned Mom down to Dad’s desk, wrapped his meaty hands around her throat, and pounded into her until she fell limp.
My ears fill with the remembered shouts from that night, Mom’s cries for mercy, my bumbling cowardice, the way I sobbed into the phone, begging 911 for help.
“Where did you find him?” I whisper.
“It took a lot of digging and a few favors, but we tracked him down to a summer house that belonged to his sister,” Leroi says, his voice low. “I drove down and collected him while you were asleep.”
“Is he drugged?”
“I knocked him out with a punch,” Leroi replies.
Drawing back my arm, I deliver a slap so hard that it echoes across the enclosed space. Julio’s head snaps to the side and he grimaces.
“What the…” he slurs, his eyes squeezing shut.
I deliver another blow, this time the sting travels up to my elbow.
Julio glares at me, his eyes burning. I can already tell he doesn’t recognize me because he’s still calm. He doesn’t realize he won’t leave this truck alive. Yet.
“I’ve thought about you every day for the past five years.”
His eyes widen, confirming my suspicions. He doesn’t even look like he recalls what he did that terrible night. Maybe he’s lost track of the many women he’s assaulted and murdered.
“Who are you?” he asks.
“You don’t remember?” I lean closer, my blood set to boil.
The pulse between my ears pounds so hard that I can barely hear the man’s rapid breaths. Grinding my molars, I trace a finger down his cheek, enjoying how he recoils.
“Do you remember Evangeline?” I ask, my throat constricting.
Recognition flashes across Julio’s features, followed by wide-eyed horror. He struggles against his restraints and rocks back and forth, trying to knock aside his chair.
I bare my teeth. “I’ve thought about a hundred different ways to repay you for what you did to her.”
“It wasn’t me.” He shakes his head. “I was under orders. Frederic—”
“Is dead, and you’re here to take both sets of punishments.”
Julio’s gaze darts to Leroi, although I’m not sure whether it’s out of some sense of male solidarity or if he’s delusional and desperate. Leroi wouldn’t lift a finger to help him after all the trouble he went to tracking down the bastard rapists.
Leroi clears his throat. “You might consider bartering his life for information.”
My head whips around, and I glare at Leroi, who’s standing by a table in the truck’s corner. Is he taking Julio’s side?
He opens up a wooden box containing a display of knives, followed by a tool kit crammed full of orange-handled implements. “If Mr. Catania chooses not to redeem himself, there’s plenty here that will make him talk.”
I study Leroi’s features, wondering if this is some kind of game. Even if Julio handed me Gabriel’s address and the key to his cell, I would still give him a painful death. I shake off that thought. Leroi is probably reminding me not to kill that bastard before I extract some intel.
“What do you want to know?” Julio asks, his voice rising.
Leroi nods, giving me the go-ahead to start.
“Where’s Gabriel?” I ask.
His features fall slack. “Who?”
“Evangeline’s son,” I snap, my pulse pounding, my patience fraying into thin threads. “My brother. The man being used as a liver donor.”
Julio’s chest rises and falls like a set of bellows. “I swear to god, Frederic didn’t tell me. I thought he got that liver on the black market—”
“Liar.” I deliver another slap, this one hurting my hand even worse than the second.
Leroi clears his throat again, and it’s a reminder that I don’t need to use my hands. Not when I have two sets of weapons.
Turning on my heel, I walk to the table. Leroi steps aside, giving me the space to peruse the implements of torture.
If Julio can’t lead me to Gabriel or even Samson, then I’ll force him to tell me who might have that information. After that, I’ll slay the first of my demons.
