32. Clara

CHAPTER 32

Clara

I know the moment I step into my uncle's territory by the chill that races down my spine. There are eyes in every shadow that watch me pass by. Any second now, the creatures behind those hungry gazes will pounce.

The shopping district that belongs to my uncle isn't as affluent as the ones under Thomas's rule, but there's a hominess to it that I might like under better circumstances. I see a man running off after his two dogs in a small park, listen to teenagers gossip outside the art house theater, and wish I had time to drop into a pop-up cafe for some breakfast. There's an empty space between a boutique and a mom-and-pop candy shop, and I imagine putting my paintings up in its dark windows.

If this were my territory, how would I run it differently from my uncle?

It's a foreign thought, but not an unpleasant one. Not anymore. I've lived my entire life without agency, a thing I've only recently begun fighting to reclaim. At first, I thought that if I could run far enough and fast enough, I could make a life for myself. Maybe that would have worked if my uncle was a different person, or I was, but it didn't. Now I'm taking the direct approach, and with that comes an entire new world of possibility.

I don't actually see any of my uncle's men, but I know they're there, following me as I walk past shops and shoppers. A narrow alley opens up between two buildings on my right, and I turn into it. The dark shape of a man appears at the far end, blocking my way out of the alley, but I don't stop walking until I'm an arm's length away. I know he belongs to my uncle.

"I'm ready to go back," I say, as if running away was actually just a casual outing.

The man, whose name is Garrett, looks down his nose at me. I gaze steadily back without blinking. His brow furrows, not really knowing what to do with feminine confidence. "This way," he says at last, and leads me to a parking lot behind the shopping district. A black car, nearly identical to the one Thomas burned, is waiting for us on the curb. I don't need three men to haul me inside this time. I step in on my own, and Garrett slams the door behind me.

I try not to watch the familiar streets pass me by, or I might lose my cool. Too soon, we pull up to the Speare estate. When Garrett stops the car at the gate and gets out, I take a quick breath, then another. My hands are trembling, but I clench them into fists to hide it.

Garrett wrenches open my door, and I step out, looking the old house up and down through the black iron gate as casually as I can. As if it would be any different from a week ago. The house my uncle purchased with money stolen from the Warwicks was built in the Greek Revival style, and is painted an unfortunate shade of blood red. Cypress trees peek out over the top of the red brick wall, lining the entire perimeter of the grounds, which are much larger than this front view would have a passerby believing. On the other side of the wall is a maze of overgrown wooded areas and outbuildings.

When I see who's waiting for Garrett and I at the gate, I almost let my relief show on my face. It's not my uncle, but Paul. He's focused on lighting a cigarette while the iron creaks open, as if I'm not here at all. I notice the scruff on his jaw is thicker than usual, the circles under his eyes darker. When he finally does look up at me, I wish he'd continued to ignore me. His washed out blue eyes are flat with disappointment in me.

"You shouldn't have come back, squirt," is all he says. Then he escorts me into my uncle's house.

Unlike the open, industrial style of the new Warwick house, my uncle's estate is stiflingly archaic. The dark red of the exterior is mirrored inside, made more oppressive by heavy curtains over every window and walnut wood paneling on every wall. It's too quiet in here, like everyone is moving through the world trying not to disturb the master of the house. The air itself feels thicker, heavier.

Or maybe that's just my heart, sinking with the knowledge that I'm walking right back into the mouth of the beast.

Paul leads me straight to my uncle's office, a cursed place that I've worked hard these last ten years to avoid. Men have been reduced to babbling, bleeding husks in front of me in that room. And then they became corpses, and every time, I would feel like a piece of my soul had died with them.

A foolish part of me hopes that Paul will come with me into the office, although that would ruin my plan before it even began. His presence is the only one that has ever been a comfort to me in this place. After my mother's death, at least.

But of course, despite my childish wish and my own better judgment, Paul only opens the door for me and waits. Our eyes meet before I pass the threshold. The scrunch of his brow is the only sign on his dispassionate face that he's uneasy about this meeting .

It reminds me of Thomas, and that bolsters me, makes me feel less alone. But at the same time, I think of Derrick Lindman, and how slippery every one of his smiles were at the banquet. Between the two of them, I have to find a middle ground, something achievable for me, or I won't succeed here.

I smile up at Paul, as innocent and charming as I know how to be, and he blinks at me. He's taken aback, although he won't show it. How can I smile, how can I be at ease, when I'm about to face off with a monster in the guise of a family member? I let him wonder and turn away, finally stepping into the office and closing the door behind me myself.

Uncle Morgan is already standing behind his desk, arms crossed tight over his scarecrow frame, waiting for me. It takes all my newfound determination to keep from quailing under his piercing gaze. I cross the floor toward him one step at a time, one decision at a time. I'm stepping on black marble tile here, not dark stained hardwood like the rest of the house. Easier to mop blood off of.

I stop behind the chair set up in front of Uncle's desk. He jerks his chin at it, and I sit, which is a relief for my wobbling knees.

And now that I'm seated and entirely at his mercy, Uncle doesn't stay silent a moment longer.

"You've got some fucking nerve," he spits. "You make me run all over planet earth for you, then you spit in my face in front of a crowd of people, and then you show up on my doorstep like you still expect me to feed and clothe you? Did you just get bored of that boy, huh? Or did he knock you up and kick you out so you're my problem again? That was probably his plan all along, and you fell for it, didn't you? You stupid bitch."

Despite my best efforts, I flush at the implication. It would be impossible for me to know if I were pregnant or not when Thomas and I only had sex for the first time barely a week ago. But my uncle's understanding of women and the reality of them are two very different things.

Not to mention, I can't imagine someone as thorough and steadfast as Thomas just abandoning me if… if I were actually-

I'm getting distracted. And my uncle is getting louder by the moment.

"- you really think I'm going to let you just go back to your room after this? Fuck no- you're going in a cell until you remember that blood is the only thing that matters. Your only loyalty is to me , you got that?"

If I were a man, my uncle would probably notice my hand go behind my back and tug something out of the back of my jeans. If I were a man- or maybe a woman like Iris for that matter, someone that they took seriously for her martial prowess and intelligence- my uncle's men might have searched me for weapons when they first brought me onto the estate. But I've lived the last ten years trying for my mother's sake to be a good girl in their eyes, no matter what damage it did to me.

I suppose I should consider all that effort to be worth this moment, because when I pull the gun out from behind my back, my uncle is startled into immediate silence.

"I came here to bargain with you, Uncle," I say steadily. "I want you to declare a truce with Thomas. A lasting one, this time."

Even if I'm only buying time for Thomas to destroy my uncle once and for all, I want to do a thorough job.

For a moment, I'm afraid I didn't speak out loud, because my uncle makes no reaction. He stares down the barrel of the gun in my hand like he's never seen one before in his life. Then his brow furrows, and his mouth twists into an incredulous snarl.

"What the fuck is this?" he growls. To my dismay, he doesn't sound afraid, only angry. "You can't shoot me. You'd have nothing without me! Did that fucking Warwick boy put you up to this? Fucking unbelievable. He's as gutless as his father-"

"He's not a boy," I hear myself say, "and he didn't want me to come here. I'm here because this is what I want."

"Oh-ho, you thought this up yourself?" he mocks. "You woke up one day and decided to threaten your own blood with a gun? I'm not scared of you, girl. So what happens next? Shoot me and you're not walking out of this room alive."

I think of Paul right outside the door. Would his loyalty to Uncle Morgan last beyond Uncle's death? I don't know, and I'm not shooting my uncle to test the theory.

The phone on the desk lets out a shrill ring, and I jump. Uncle flinches involuntarily, which gives me some hope that he's really afraid but unwilling to show it. Quicker than he can, I snatch the phone up and answer it, keeping the gun trained on its target.

Before I can decide if I should pretend to be a secretary for my uncle, the person on the other end speaks.

I instantly recognize the voice.

"Speare, the plan's changed. Warwick wants to move up the date of the raids. I told you that you came off too strong at the party. Honestly, what were you thinking-"

My shock is too much. The gun wavers in my hand, and my uncle sees it. He snatches at it, and when I try to jerk back, my finger squeezes the trigger.

It clicks harmlessly.

With a wrist-wrenching yank, my uncle gets the gun out of my hand. He points it back around at me, no hesitation, and pulls the trigger himself.

Click .

Grunting with frustration, my uncle checks the gun. Realizes it's unloaded. Ejects the magazine. Finds it empty.

Just like I knew it would be. Just like I knew it had to be, because in my uncle's home, among my uncle's men, I couldn't come in armed myself without expecting my own weapon to be used against me.

I'd hoped he'd be surprised by the sight of a gun in my hand, by the idea of his helpless, useless niece having the power to really hurt him. I'd hoped that his surprise would be enough that he'd agree to my demands. But Thomas's technique didn't translate so well. In my uncle's eyes, I'll always be a pathetic little girl he's been forced to shelter.

Which means it's time for my real plan to begin. Except, that plan was ruined before it even started, because the person Thomas put his trust in was never who he appeared to be.

Slowly, Uncle raises his eyes to meet mine. Wild fury has warped his face and made it blotchy with color. He swings the gun savagely, and the butt of it hits me so hard in the side of the face I topple out of my chair. The handset of the phone flies out of my hand, clatters against the marble. The person on the other end calls out of it.

"Hey- Speare! Are you there? What was that sound-"

I should try to get up, but the whole room is ringing like it's inside a bell, and I can't see straight. There's blood running from my temple and flooding my mouth from the inside of my cheek. The marble underneath me is so, so cold.

This is a bad place to be. The worst place to be. Men have died where I'm lying right now.

Get up get up get up-

Uncle must have recovered the handset, because I hear him say distantly, "I'll call you back." His feet come around the desk, and then he's standing over me, too tall to be real, too angry to survive .

"PAUL!" he barks, and I hear the door open behind me. "Get her in a cell."

No, I can't go in a cell. That might've been part of my plan, but not anymore. I have to get to Thomas, I have to warn him that his plan is going to fail.

Paul grips my arms and hauls me to my feet, firmly but not unkindly. I watch my uncle toss Thomas's decoy gun across the room in disgust, then sit back down at his desk to return his interrupted call.

To Derrick Lindman.