20. Hellena

20

HELLENA

B ang .

That word doesn't even come close to how loud the real thing is going off in your hand.

Or how hard the gun kicks.

Or how even the thought of using that tool of death has crippled me for the better part of eight years. Made me sick.

Maybe that's why I miss.

His head, anyway. A spray of blood mists away from his shoulder as Marco jerks at the last second, lunging toward me, slamming one hand around my neck. At the same time, the audience erupts in commotion out of the corner of my eye.

More gunfire fills the air. Screams and shouts.

My wedding is under attack.

My wedding is under attack!

But I've got bigger concerns.

"You fucking witch! How?!" Marco yells into my face.

"Let me go and I'll show you!" I shout in a strangled scream, struggling against his hand, dropping the gun in the process.

He's too strong.

Splotches blot the edges of my vision.

"Tell me where your father's stash is! Tell me how to access the Sinful's lair!"

"L-lair?!" I manage to cackle, a thread of blood spattering his hand from my split lip. "You're more deluded than I thought. Who told you there was one?"

To be honest, I thought there was one, too.

But.

I mean, I never explicitly said it to him…

"I will tear this place apart. Burn it to the ground, do you understand me—" his threat is cut short by a fist to his face from out of nowhere.

Then I'm down and gasping, clutching at my throat.

All around, people dash for cover, shouting. Fighting.

Staggering to the side, I catch a glimpse of a leather vest with a familiar insignia.

The Block. They came for me…

Which means?—

That vest is tackled to the ground by a raggedy, skeletal excuse for a human covered in tattered clothing, the remnants displaying a white-hooded death. One of Marco's men, one of the guys who was guarding the mansion, yanks the junkie off the biker, bashing his head in.

Only to get his knees taken out by the biker he just saved.

All of it happens in an instant.

As my senses clear, I stumble to my feet, remembering to look around for Marco, to make sure I'm safe.

"Hellena. You're safe ," a deeply familiar voice announces.

And I turn to see who rescued me.

My dreams incarnate. Wearing a tight black T-shirt, the lines of his tattoos running down the lengths of his forearms.

Black hair.

Stormy eyes.

Evan.

Posed impossibly still, staring down at his prey.

Gripping Marco by the hair with one hand. The other holding a blade to my stepfather's throat.

But that's not who spoke. No. The woman standing behind him, holding Sing's gun in her hands, aimed right at me.

The minute our eyes meet, she lowers it, rushing to me, opening her arms.

I almost fall for it.

But there's something off in her eyes. The tension in her stance.

"Aunt Rachelle," I mutter, thrusting out one arm to keep her at bay.

"My darling girl," she starts, until she sees my expression. My denial.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Rachelle?!" Marco barks, drawing the attention back to him.

"I'm delivering on a promise. Didn't I say I was going to bring you the Sinful as a wedding present? Well, here we are. In all of our fury." She lashes out, striking him across the face.

"Traitorous bitch!" he shouts in pain, spitting blood.

"You never deserved my allegiance, Marco. I am only loyal to the Seven."

"And the gold? The government assets?"

Rachelle stalks around him and the vacant, beautiful man holding him tightly.

"The gold dried up two hundred years ago, you fool. Even before the gold rush for the West Coast, the founders of this town tapped the mines dry. The rest is real, however. The government contacts, the multitude of files containing dirt on key individuals. But not. For. You."

"You need me. My men. You can't hold this place without me!" He squirms, fighting uselessly against Evan's grasp.

My Evan.

Who hasn't even so much as looked at me since they stormed in.

"Another miscalculation. You think that my children have been killing everyone they find? No. Every hour of every day, we turn another soul to the cause. Make another devotee. You did some of the work for me. And you brought me even more soldiers, ready to join us."

"You're a lunatic! I knew it! This won't stand, you conniving?—"

Three gunshots ring out above the press, drawing some attention from the immediate surroundings. She stands in the center of the stage among the madness, her hand raised high.

Rachelle steps forward, aiming the gun at Marco's head as she dips, scooping up the minister's microphone, abandoned when he fled.

"Vice is done!" she starts, her cry a clarion over the chaos. "My children have you outnumbered."

This time, more of the fighting stills. A hundred eyes look to the stage.

Even the wild-eyed Ghosts pause in their frantic assault, turning to hear their leader's voice. Her orders.

A stillness embraces the world around us.

"Hear me. This war is over. There was never any other outcome possible. The Seven, the Sinful, have always owned this place. That remains true. They never left. And I am here to reassert order."

"You're a fucking hack! And a liar. You are out of money and that's why you needed me!" Marco jerks away from Evan, dropping to his hands and knees. Rachelle waves one hand, keeping her attack dog from pursuing as Marco sags, blood pooling from the trickle spilling down his arm.

"He's right," I add quietly, shying away from her wrath as she turns on me. "You killed some of them. The rest are gone. There are no Seven, Rachelle."

"But I hold the power. Every one of their assets is mine or will be soon. They speak through me, the Herald, as they always have."

"My men?—"

"Are pragmatic. They see the cracks in your organization, Marco. That you're stretched just as thin as I am."

Marco pales, swallowing hard. "Hellena… don't let this happen. I know we have our differences. I know I am not a kind man. But I am a better option than this ."

I look between them.

At the paused battle around us.

And everyone in the world, in my world, looking at me for an answer. Like I'm the one who is supposed to make the call.

"Well, Hellena? Are you going to stop me?" Rachelle scoffs, shaking her head.

"I just want my friends to survive this. I want my town to live, Aunt Rachelle. I think that's what you want too."

"You're not wrong. But neither was Devonde. I see it now. Which is why I made them, my children. Why I let the town fester and rot in the wake of this flood instead of trying to help those sad, ignorant citizens. Sometimes, it's better to let a thing die than continue in its corruption."

"What are you saying? That you want Sanctum to die?"

"So that I can birth a new home. Yes."

She really is completely gone. I see it in the mumble of her lips. The distant look in her eyes.

"You have a choice to make. Every one of you. Keep fighting and die, or join us. It makes no difference to me. The war will get me what I want as quickly as capitulation will. But know that if you come to me willingly, I will not force Devotion on you. You can help us move on to greatness. And of course, I will make each and every one of you wealthier than you ever imagined."

"How?!" Marco shouts, his face sagging, haggard. "You're tapped out."

"No, Marco. I have enough to see this done. And unlike you, I won't hesitate to take what we need from other towns. Other cities. We will swarm the coast and not a government on the planet can stop us."

"Your army is unarmed." Marco chuckles, devolving into a coughing fit.

"Think again. Devonde inadvertently uncovered my ace in the hole when he destroyed the reservoir and flooded the town. A hidden stockpile of weapons and money sank to the bottom of the lake. I believe I have my brother to thank for that one." Her grin spreads as she looks at me.

"You found Damon's stash?" I balk, leaning into the surprise. Because this much I know. He had several hiding spots all over town.

His journal alluded to them but didn't say where they were.

It also said that they were decoys.

Huge shocker, my father using misdirection.

"I found a stash. And it's more than enough to get the ball rolling downhill." She raises her voice again over the speaker. "So, what will it be?"

Across the lawn, Marco's soldiers, Block bikers, my friends, all look at one another. At the wild maniacs surrounding them. The overwhelming odds.

And so many, too many, raise their weapons. Their fists.

"Anyone who would join me need only say the words. Swear yourself to the Herald. To the Seven." She repeats it. "To the Herald. To the Seven."

Silence meets her words at first. Wide-eyed stares. Fear.

Rachelle scans the crowd, a sneer spreading across her face.

Several seconds pass and her minions grow restless, start to get aggressive again, shouting her name. Threatening to attack.

"I told you. My people are loyal. No one will join you."

"Fine. If that's the case, then I'll flip the script."

Rachelle whirls on Marco, clawing her fingers into his shirt collar, yanking him back to his knees.

And jamming a bright yellow syringe into his neck.

"No!" Marco shrieks, thrashing in her grip.

I'm shaking, backing away from the horror show before me as he starts to thrash on the ground, blood smearing all over him and froth bubbling from his lips.

"I won't! I'd rather die!" Marco screams, fighting against whatever is happening inside his body.

"You won't die. But you'll wish you had. When you sit at my feet and make call after call, ordering your dealers and gunrunners in every city to swear themselves to me ."

Stumbling over the runner, I fall back, hitting the stage hard.

I need to do something. Anything.

Stop her. Run.

But I'm frozen to the spot.

Marco's seizure stills, his chest heaving.

I see the battle in his eyes still. His clenched teeth. But he's losing.

"Should I order him to kill himself for the cause, Angel?" Rachelle croons, circling the statue that is Evan. He barely responds, tilting his head as his empty eyes watch Marco wheezing at his feet.

"Whatever you think is best, Matron."

"You hate him, don't you?"

"I do," he says in monotone.

"Do you know why?"

"No."

"See, Marco? You won't lose everything about yourself. Just the ability to make decisions. Of course, Angel is a bit different. He doesn't remember anything. You will. And you won't be able to do a thing about it."

"F–Fuck you," he gurgles.

"Stop talking." She leans down, getting in his face. "Stop fighting."

He goes still, barely shaking.

I'm going to be sick. It's one thing to see the end result, the psychos who were already addicted to meth or crack or heroine before this all started. But to see someone lose themselves…

Someone I know.

Even someone as heinous as Marco.

It's just… evil.

"Kill me!" he grits out, his eyes rolling, twitching my way.

"You'd look to her for mercy, Marco? After what you did to her?"

"P–Please… Hellena…"

His eyes track the floor, to a gun sitting just out of his reach. Right near my foot.

Fingers on his hand that still work, the one not covered in blood from the gunshot wound, splay, reaching for me. Reaching for help.

My breath catches as my leg kicks out.

Like I'm not in control of my own muscles.

The gun skids into his reach.

In an explosion of movement, he snatches it, rising, aiming right for Rachelle's head.