30. Persephone

Chapter 30

Persephone

A s soon as I'd come home from school, I headed straight for the bathroom.

"Are you okay?" Bruno asked from the other side of the closed door.

I braced my hands on the sink and breathed out. "I'm fine. You can go." I needed him gone. I didn't want to see or hear anyone else right now.

My hands shook as I turned on the faucet and let the water pour over my fingers. Although they were clean, I remembered the sight of the blood that had washed down the drain.

Trevor's blood.

He deserved more than I gave him. He was still alive, the only consolation to what a piece of shit he was.

I shut the water off and leaned against the sink, closing my eyes and breathing a set rhythm to calm myself.

One deep breath in. One long and slow breath out.

After I felt more like myself, I dried my hands off and faced my reflection. My dark hair seemed haphazard around my face, as if the wind had kicked it up and tangled the strands. My school cardigan, with the emblem stitched into the right breast pocket, taunted me. I looked down and stared at the section of white around the edge of the crest.

It was a droplet of Trevor's blood.

I grabbed toilet paper and ran it under the faucet, then scrubbed and scrubbed at that droplet. But all it did was smear and tinge it pink.

I closed my eyes and breathed in and out.

One long breath in. One long breath out.

Another in. Another out.

"Bruno," I said and opened my eyes, staring at myself in the mirror. I looked… calm.

"Yeah?"

I knew he hadn't moved from where he was at. He'd probably called Hades too, seeing me on the verge of freaking out.

"Can you get me a glass of water?" I was still looking at my reflection, knowing what I had to do. It was what I needed to do.

I could sense he hadn't moved yet, but then he told me he'd be right back and I heard his retreating footsteps. I was as silent as I could be as I opened the door, shut it again, and headed up the stairs and down the hall. I had one destination in mind—the one place I'd been told not to go.

I felt like I was committing some cardinal sin, that I was breaking the law, and any moment I'd be caught. But I didn't stop. I weaved around the corners, moved swiftly down the hallways.

Bruno would be heading back to the bathroom right about now, but it didn't matter because I was already standing on the other side of the closed door with my hand gripping the handle.

I expected it to be locked, but when I turned it and the door opened, surprise flickered through me.

The room was dark, the curtains drawn so not even the sunlight pierced inside. The scent that invaded my nose reminded me of a hospital. It smelled sterile, like bleach had been used to clean out the scent of death.

I could hear a whirring sound from an IV pole, and a beep beep beep that came from a heart monitor. I looked around, taking in the single dresser across from the four-poster bed, and a small closet tucked in a corner. The room was small, far tinier than any other room in the house I'd seen so far.

The IV pole was on one side of the bed, and I followed the tubing to a wrinkled hand. Then I dragged my gaze up a thin chest until I was staring into the face of a man I hadn't seen in so long.

Michael Cronus had never been a true grandfather in any sense of the word. I rarely saw him, but I'd known he'd been sick. I'd heard my parents discussing his declining health.

He lay on the far side of the bed, oxygen tubing placed in his nose, his focus trained on me. His chest rose and fell slowly, as if he struggled, the sound coming from him a wheeze.

His mouth moved as if he were trying to say something to me. I could see the twitching of his finger, like he wanted me to come closer. And I did that.

I stepped farther into the room and shivered. Why did it feel so much colder here? Horrid images of my grandfather and father beating Hades moved through my mind. It choked me up.

Michael had been so icy my entire life. He'd never given me a warm smile, never told me he loved me. I didn't spend time with him—not that I wanted to—but because he'd been so disinterested in me as a granddaughter that I wasn't even on his radar.

And I was his flesh and blood.

The things he'd done to Hades… my body instantly reacted, bile rising in my throat. I could have thrown up.

I moved closer, the hatred growing inside of me. I was shocked at how dark my thoughts were going.

He lay there unmoving, his milky white eyes trained on me as I stared at his decaying form.

"I know what you did," I whispered. It didn't make a difference whether he knew I was aware of the abuse or not, but the words had already spilled out. "I know what a piece of shit you are, you bastard. I know you feel no remorse. You're evil and lived your life as such. You'll die soon. All alone with nobody caring what happens to you." My throat grew tighter, and I gasped for air.

I found my hands already at the edge of my shirt, tightening around the material, as if I needed something to stabilize me. An anchor to keep me in this world.

The blood rushed through my ears, my pulse pounded in the base of my neck, and I couldn't look away from Michael even if a gun had been pointed to my head.

"This whole time I thought Hades was this horrible person. In reality, you created who and what he is. You and my father. You're the actual monsters."

Michael sounded like he was really having trouble breathing. And the heart monitor he was hooked up to beeped frantically as the rate increased.

Even if he could speak, I wouldn't have wanted to hear a word that came from his vile mouth.

I looked at the small bedside table that held medication bottles, syringes, and other medical paraphernalia. But that wasn't what had my heart skipping a beat or my stomach feeling like a rock was lodged in it.

It felt like someone had sucker punched me in the side of the head all over again. The room spun, and I reached out, gripping the banister of the bed.

Sitting there—the small sliver of daylight forcing its way through a part in the curtain and showing the shiny tri-colored wood—was my father's box. My knees buckled as I took a step toward it.

I moved forward until I stood right in front of the box and could reach down and pick it up. I held it in my hands. It was so heavy, heavier than I remembered. But for the weight in my palms, it seemed so much smaller now.

I closed my eyes as I pictured my father touching this very thing. But I didn't feel happiness or love anymore. I felt this acidic bile rise in my throat.

The man I'd loved—the one who wrapped me up in a cobalt wool blanket because it helped me sleep at night during storms—wasn't the man I looked up to.

He was a monster who beat his younger brother until his little body had been riddled with scars. He'd taken away Hades' innocence, and in its place created something else.

I squeezed my fingers tightly around the wood, this urge to tear it apart, to break it into a hundred different pieces running so strong in me I almost threw it against the wall.

My muscles tensed, my body ready to do just that. But I breathed out slowly and looked down at it, tracing the lock that was unlatched. It had always been locked.

My grandfather wheezed again, but all I could picture was him hitting Hades repeatedly, scarring Hades until he'd never be the same.

"I hate you," I whispered. "I hate my father." Tears fell in rivers down my cheeks, blurring my vision. "You both should wear the scars, not Hades."

I didn't realize I'd let the box fall from my grasp until I heard it hit the ground, and felt the pictures scatter around my feet.

My heart jumped into my throat as I stared down at what was a literal nightmare staring right back at me. With a shaky hand, I reached down and picked up several of them, my body breaking out in a cold sweat.

God . The air left me violently as I looked at picture after picture of Hades beaten, bloody, and… so young. A teenager who had dead, swollen and bruised eyes as he stared at the camera. And the men who alternated in each one posing with the man I loved… my father and grandfather.

They were grinning as they held him up by his hair, or crouched where he lay crumbled on the bloody ground. When the last picture fell from my hand, fluttering to the ground, I felt like I was having an out of body experience.

It was like they were hunters who'd just captured their prey, slaughtered it, and felt the sick need to pose with the corpse.

"Hades," I choked out.

I didn't know when or how I'd reached over and grabbed the spare pillow. And I didn't see myself lifting it and holding it above Michael.

I watched his eyes widen, his mouth moving wordlessly, and the sound of the heart monitor going crazy.

And then I was blinking rapidly, seeing myself pushing all my weight on the pillow right over Michael's face.

His body was lifeless beneath me, but still I couldn't move.

My face was wet, a steady stream of tears cascading down my cheeks. I kept hearing one word in my head, or maybe I was screaming it.

Why? Why? Why?

And then someone gently gripped my upper arms, pulling me back. They took the pillow from me, tossed it aside, and turned me around before pulling me into the hardness of a very male chest.

I inhaled deeply, smelling the unique scent that was all Hades. Dark and spicy and comforting. I cried harder.

I felt him tangle his hand in my hair, keeping my face pressed to his chest.

"Fuck, Bunny. I didn't want this for you." Anguish laced his voice. "Goddammit, sweetheart." He cupped either side of my head and pulled me back, tipping it so I was looking into his face.

He smoothed his thumbs across my cheeks, and that had me slowly finding my center. I was still crying, still felt the intense discomfort of what had just happened, but I felt anchored as he held me.

"Why?" I whispered that lone word, knowing he would understand what I meant, what I was asking. For long moments, he was silent.

His gaze moved over to Michael, and I closed my eyes. I killed somebody .

"Shhh. It's all right, baby." His voice was soft and soothing.

I realized I had said those words out loud.

"I kept him here for my perversion, to watch him suffer. To watch him die." His voice was monotone, void of emotion, and I opened my eyes to look at him. He still stared at Michael. "And I don't regret it."

My gaze went to the box on the ground that had held the Polaroids, and I felt that uncomfortable tightness in my chest once more.

"I always wondered what Zachariah and our father did with the pictures they took. It was when you mentioned the box that he cherished that I knew what was inside. I had my men look through all his belongings until they found it."

Although he watched me, there was this faraway expression in his eyes, as if he were thinking about those pictures.

"I looked at every single one of them, held each one in my hands, and was brought back to those moments when that pain was recorded. A living reminder of my soul being ripped out forever."

He brushed away the tears as they continued to fall.

"And then I set the box by the old bastard's bed, wanting him to see it, to know what was inside. I wanted him to know he'd never look at them again. He'd never have that pleasure or high."

He lowered his head and sent a dark look toward Michael's corpse. "It might not seem like much, but to him… to him I know it was agony. I know if he could've reached across and clutched those pictures to his chest, he would have."

"I'm so sorry." Those words weren't even enough to touch the surface of all the horrors he faced.

As everything cleared, the rushing in my head faded. I inhaled deeply to take in more of Hades' scent that washed away the smell of decay and antiseptic. I realized his face was beat to hell.

A small sound left me and I lifted my hands, touching the corner of his mouth, where his lip was busted. His eye was bruised, swollen, and he had a nasty cut at his temple.

He didn't even wince, did nothing but stare into my eyes. And then he shook his head slowly, leaning in to kiss me softly. "It's nothing. Nothing else matters."

He kept saying those words repeatedly until he pressed my face to his chest, his hand once more at the back of my head, holding me close to him.

"You're here with me. You're mine, and that's all I care about anymore. You're all I fucking care about."

"I killed him." Although I'd been shocked that I'd done what I'd done, I felt nothing but this deep, satisfied sensation. It was like turning that last page and finishing a book. "All these years you had to hang on to all of it. I'm so damn sorry that it made you hate yourself, to seek pain, to think you only had one option."

I pulled back and he let me, but had his hands on my waist, his fingers digging into my hips. "I killed him and I'm not even sorry I did it. I wish I could do it again."

"Baby. God, my sweet girl."

"I wish I could've been there. I would've protected you, Hades." He exhaled so sharply it was as if I'd knocked the breath right out of him. And then he leaned down, resting his forehead against mine.

"I love you. I love you so fucking much. I'm not worthy of having you, and I know you deserve so much better, but I'm too fucking selfish to ever let you leave me. I'd rip my heart out for you. I'd fucking serve it on a platter and let you see me take my last breath if it made you smile."

He cupped my cheeks and looked into my eyes.

"And I'll prove to you for the rest of my worthless fucking life that one day I will be worth your love. It might not be until I'm on my deathbed, but one day I'll prove it to you."

Although he wasn't crying, which was something I didn't even think he was capable of, he sounded choked up, and the anguish on his face was tangible. "Don't you see?" I rose on my toes and was the one to kiss him now.

We were both breathing so hard, the pressure in the room heightening to where I felt the hair on my arms stand on end. He held me tightly, closely, and I knew he'd keep his promise to never let me go.

"I'm yours," I whispered. "I'd much rather be in hell with you than in heaven with anyone else."