Chapter 26

“ C ecilia?”

Is it really her? A spark of hope ignites inside me. I barely dare believe she’s here in front of me, unhurt.

I shake my head to clear the haze, but it’s heavy, my chin lolling uselessly against my chest. She’s so beautiful and bright it’s almost blinding, like an angel in the darkness.

I croak her name again. My dry mouth feels like sandpaper, and a pounding headache throbs behind my temples. How long have I been out? Days? Weeks? Wait a minute? My eyes widen, and I squirm in the chair I’m tied to as I inspect the room, or rather, the wardrobe. “Where am I?”

I’m torn from my thoughts when Cecilia crouches in front of me and places her gentle hands on my knees with a tender look in her regretful eyes. “You need to be brave, Darian. Promise me that you’ll be brave.”

Her smooth fingers brush against my cheekbone when I fail to respond, and my attention flitters around the confined space.

She cradles my cheek in her palm and tilts her head slightly as she studies my face. “You were brave once. You can be brave again, for me.”

My eyes clash with hers. “Why am I in a wardrobe?”

Fear crawls over my clammy skin beneath my clothes, like countless little spiders with eight legs and pincers.

I thrash in my chair, suddenly overcome with the immediate need to escape. “I have to get out of here NOW. I can’t be here. I can’t ? —”

“Sshh,” Cecilia soothes. “Be brave, remember.” She’s closer now, leaning up on her knees and pressing her lips to my brow. “You’re not alone. I’m here with you.”

A bucket of icy water is poured over my head, and I shoot upright, spluttering and cursing as a sharp pain spreads out between my shoulder blades.

Within seconds, I’m shivering violently, my teeth are chattering, and I feel like I’ve been simultaneously doused in gasoline and set on fire and then dunked in a frozen lake.

“Good morning, princess.”

A closed fist flies out and punches me in the cheek.

CRACK.

My head whips to the side with such force stars circle me like a damn cartoon, but whoever my tormentor is, he’s not done. Another punch follows, this time in my gut, and I double over in my chair with a grunt.

My stomach rolls, nausea climbing up my throat, and he laughs as he grips my face, squishing my cheeks together with fingers that smell of unwashed cock and tobacco. “You don’t look like such a big shot now, pretty boy.”

“That’s enough,” a different voice says from the door. The man shoves me back and steps away, leering at Lauren on his way out, but she pays him no attention, arms crossed, as she stares at me just inside the door. “You look a little pale and cold, Delacroix.” Stepping deeper into the small walk-in wardrobe, she glances around. “How do you like the setting? Are you comfortable enough?”

“Drop the fucking act,” I growl, twisting my wrists against the restraints securing me to the chair. Lauren better pray I don’t find a way to escape, because she’ll be the first person I come for.

“Oh, baby…” She pouts as she walks up to me with a predatory gleam in her eyes and a sway in her hips that spells trouble, her unruly amber hair spilling over her shoulders.

When she reaches out to stroke my hair away from my brow, I flinch back, which makes her lips twitch with amusement. “So angry.”

“Fuck you!”

She hums and skims her fingers through my sopping strands. I can’t possibly lean back any farther. “How’s your back? I wanted to leave the arrow in, but Greta saw to it that they patched you up.”

“Quit the fucking small talk. Where’s Cecilia?”

“Cecilia?” Her fingers pause in my hair, and she studies my beat-up face and shivering, no doubt blue lips before cupping my chin and dipping down to stare into my eyes. “Cecilia is dead.”

I feel the blood drain from my face. “No…”

She’s lying. She has to be. There’s no way my wife is dead. I refuse to believe it.

Lauren fakes regret, her expression bleeding insincerity, and then she climbs onto my lap, hiking her short leather skirt up to her waist. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Darian, but your precious wife was murdered.” Leaning in, she trails her lips, sticky with lip gloss, across my cheek and whispers against the shell of my ear. “Murdered just like your mother.”

“You’re lying!” I struggle against the restraints, causing the ropes to cut into my skin.

Lauren moves back to study me. “You’re not going anywhere, baby. Not until I’m done with you.” Her words are accompanied by her hands fumbling with my belt, and I wish—oh, how I wish—I could wrap my fingers around her neck and squeeze until she’s dead.

“So this is why you have me tied to a chair? You’re in the mood for a little fumble in the dark?”

“Would it be so bad to have some fun?” she asks as she slowly pulls the zipper down while nibbling on her lip—a seductive tactic I’m sure works on a lot of guys. But not me. I’d rather join an orderly than touch this vile bitch.

“You’re an Elder, Darian. The son of Cyrus Delacroix. The Exodus is in your bloodline. You see, for decades, we’ve gone about this all wrong, attacking you on Reckoning night and making you pay in blood, but that’s like poking the bear with a needle pin. You just keep bouncing back like a virus, so it’s time to change tactics. Play a different game.” She leans in and sinks her teeth into my earlobe before sucking and licking. As she rolls her hips against me, she whispers, “What we need in our war is an heir.”

Every muscle in my body stiffens with dread, and she laughs a breathy, cruel sound. “Cat got your tongue, handsome?”

“How will an heir help you in your war against the Exodus?”

“You’re a smart man, Darian. Put two and two together. You know your world and the importance of bloodlines. An heir would be our greatest asset. Just think of all the resentment that would fester inside them and how we could use it to our advantage when they finally claim their place as an Elder. Especially when they find out their father raped their mother.”

I rear back, my jaw slack. “That’s your flawed plan?”

“Oh, come on, Darian,” she breathes, her voice tinged with suppressed laughter. “Don’t look at me like that. Sure, it’s a long-term plan, but they won’t see it coming.” She dips her hand inside my briefs, palming my dick, and much to my horror, it soon swells in her grip.

I break eye contact, clenching my jaw so hard that my teeth hurt.

“Oh, my! Cecilia said you have a big cock. For once, she wasn’t lying.”

“I’m telling you this now out of courtesy because you’re her friend. If you know what’s good for you, stop this now, or I swear I’ll kill you.”

“You won’t kill me, Darian,” she says, pushing my briefs down and freeing my cock. “You’ll stay tied to this chair until you’ve served your purpose, and then we’ll put a bullet in your brain and dispose of your body.”

Grinding my teeth, I give her an indignant look. “So you think you can just waltz right into the Exodus in eighteen years’ time and be welcomed with open arms?” I lean in closer and sneer. “They’ll eat you alive.”

“Maybe, but our child will have access to all that power, thanks to their bloodline and being the sole heir to the Delacroix fortune.” Releasing my dick, she taps her lip with her shiny blood-red nail and pretends to think. “Which is now combined with the van der Meer’s fortune, am I right? That’s why you made her marry you, isn’t it? Couldn’t let all that money go to waste.” Her eyes gleam when she looks at me again. “That’s a big fortune, handsome. Makes me horny.”

I grunt as she resumes stroking my length before shifting on my lap and placing me at her entrance.

“I promise you’ll enjoy it,” she purrs, smashing her lips to mine, but I refuse to kiss her back as I wriggle my wrists in a desperate last-ditch attempt to break free. Never did I think I would find myself here, tied to a damn chair, while my wife’s unhinged best friend assaults me. I don’t like to hurt women, but she better fucking run when I break free, because I’ll kill her so damn slowly, even the reaper will grow bored waiting.

A flaming pain sears through my wrists, but I continue to twist and pull, letting out a grunt as she bites down hard on my bottom lip, drawing blood. When she moves back, it drips down my chin.

She’s just about to sit on my dick when a different voice says, “Leave the poor man alone, Lauren.”

We both stiffen, and Lauren’s jade eyes harden. At the same time, relief floods through me, and I slump in the chair, resisting the urge to peek around Lauren to thank the intruder for their perfect timing.

“I’m a little busy here,” she says without taking her eyes off me.

“This isn’t how we handle things.” The newcomer’s voice is stern but motherly. “And it’s not what we’re about.”

That does it. Lauren huffs a breath, climbs off, and turns to face the old lady in the doorway, who stares back at her behind her walker with enough authority to let me know she’s in charge around here. She’s short, with puffy white hair and a silk orange scarf around her head, tied around her chin. Her long, pleated purple skirt swishes around her ankles as she shuffles deeper into the room. I blink when I spot the purple gems on her walker.

This is surreal. Maybe the arrow in my back somehow caused brain damage, too, or maybe I’m sleeping and dreaming up crazy women and elderly ladies with blinged-out walkers.

“Hello, Darian Delacroix,” she says, turning her attention to me and studying me from behind her frameless glasses perched low on her nose, seemingly unfazed by my now flaccid dick. “I haven’t seen you in a very long time, not since you were a wee bairn in diapers.”

My eyes flare at the Northern English saying for a small child. I haven’t been called a “wee bairn” since my granddad was alive. I still remember him puffing on his cigar on the armchair while squinting at me through a cloud of smoke, with one of his soft smiles reserved only for me. He could be a formidable man, but I worshipped the ground he walked on.

Every time he visited, he’d bring me candy, which made Mom roll her eyes. She’d take them away from me and glance at my granddad with a reluctant smile before telling me I’d get them back after dinner.

One rainy afternoon, Mommy sat me down to explain that Granddad had joined the angels in heaven, and I cried for weeks.

“Yes, I knew your granddaddy,” the lady says. “He was a good man behind that steel exterior.”

I’ve heard the stories of how my great-grandparents emigrated to England to escape, but no one ever leaves the Exodus. Once you’re in, the only way out is death. The Exodus caught up, and my granddad had no choice but to move back.

Greta turns her attention to Lauren and tips her chin in the direction of the door behind her. “Why don’t you see if the others need help with something? Let me have a chat with the young man.”

“Are you serious?” Lauren spits. “We can use him, Greta. He’s our best shot at revenge. Actual real revenge.”

“And you suppose stealing his sperm will further your agenda?”

“Not mine. The Antichrist’s.”

Greta’s face remains impassive. “Admittedly, we’ve all suffered great losses, but this isn’t the way. I won’t let you bring an innocent child into this war to be used like a weapon.”

Lauren turns red, her lips thinning as she glares at the old woman. “You think the Exodus shows mercy? They ruined us, Greta. Every one of us has suffered at their hands. We’ve all lost family members whose deaths were swept under the rug. Unless you’ve forgotten because of that dementia-ridden brain of yours, none of us have seen a speck of justice yet. The Exodus is stronger than ever, and we need to level up.”

“Get the poor boy dressed,” Greta orders sternly, ignoring her outburst.

Lauren glares at her for a moment, then makes an indignant sound before storming over to me and pulling my briefs and pants back up without meeting my gaze. When she’s done, she stomps out.

Sighing, Greta shuffles over to me, and seconds pass, maybe even minutes, while she studies me from head to toe, making me squirm. “I hear things,” she says finally.

My brows shoot up. “You…hear things?” I repeat.

“Telephone whispers, you could say, though more often than not, there’s some truth to rumors.”

“Okay? I’m clueless here, lady. Mind explaining what your point is?”

Her lavender smell scents the air as she leans over her walker and flicks my nose with her finger. “Rude boy!” She straightens up and gives me a disapproving look. “Don’t they teach your generation to respect your elders?”

That flick hurt. I wiggle my nose, wishing I could rub it. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“Don’t you ma’am me, boy! I might be eighty years young, but there’s life in these bones yet. Now…” She shuffles around, sits her butt on the walker, and rests her wrinkly hands on her thighs. “Rumor is that you’re one of the good ones.”

Now that makes me bark a laugh, but it soon dies when I see the serious expression on her face. This crazy lady isn’t joking.

“Me?” I ask. “A good guy? No, you’re mistaking me for someone else.”

Greta narrows her eyes. “Ain’t no other boy in the Exodus who’d dare marry the Bishop’s niece.”

I grow completely still. Greta smiles knowingly. “Don’t look so surprised.” Tapping her ear, she winks. “I hear things.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That girl isn’t just anybody, is she? She’s the Bishop’s niece. And she was promised to Dalton, the Bishop’s son, before she was born. But you know what happened, don’t you? Mr. van der Meer backtracked on the deal, so the Bishop murdered him in cold blood. The Bishop’s sister, Mrs. van der Meer, took Cecilia and ran, but they were hunted. It wasn’t a question of if the Exodus would catch up to them but when.”

Her wise eyes harden. “The Bishop’s son is a mean-spirited boy without a bone of empathy. He’s also prone to fits of rage, and Cecilia would’ve been in for a marriage from hell. That’s if she would have survived his beatings. But you found her first and stole her from under the Bishop’s nose, and it wasn’t about the money, was it? Darian Delacroix doesn’t need more pocket money. Nor was it a matter of pride like it is for the Bishop.”

“No, you had nothing to gain from this union except to silence your curiosity, maybe. But even so, if you married her to piss off the Bishop, you wouldn’t have kept her identity from the Exodus. You acted from the heart and cloaked your good intentions.”

My head shakes. She’s still talking, but her words sound echoey and far away. She’s wrong. The Bishop didn’t kill Cecilia’s father. He’s alive. I have him locked up in my basement.

But Cecilia said…

I squeeze my eyes shut as a blinding zap of pain assaults my skull.

“He died, Darian. Years ago.”

“No,” I say forcefully.

Greta falls silent, watching me peculiarly as I open my eyes.

I wince as another stab of pain steals my breath. “Her father isn’t dead. He’s alive.”

“Alive?” Greta sounds confused. “What do you mean, boy?”

“He’s not dead,” I say firmly, gauging her reaction. No one has ever believed me—not Sinclair, not Cecilia, not this lady. I even dragged Sinclair to the cellar, and he stared at van der Meer with the most bewildered expression, tinged with so much sadness, before he grabbed my shoulder and pulled me in for a hug, promising me that everything would be fine, that we would keep it a secret between us.

Greta looks at me like she’s trying to understand—as though I’m not making sense. Her features soften with realization, and she dips her chin to her chest.

“You know,” she says carefully, “I lost someone I loved too—my daughter. That sweet girl was the most precious thing in the world.” She lifts her teary eyes. “A loss like that damages you. Sometimes, we suppress the things that hurt. Or we imagine ways to change the past. I sure do. And sometimes, it feels very real.” Her voice softens. “On bleak days, I imagine I got my hands on the men who killed my daughter.”

“Is Cecilia dead?” I ask, changing the topic, afraid of the answer.

My instinct tells me Lauren lied to hurt me, but a niggle of doubt lingers, and now it’s all I can think about.

Greta’s brows rise to her hairline. “Dead? No, boy, she’s alive.”

Thank fuck. Slumping with relief, I blink back tears and jiggle my knee—as much as I can with my ankle tied to the chair.

I don’t know what I would have done if Lauren had told the truth. It shouldn’t surprise me how deeply Cecilia is buried in my soul and how much I’ve come to care about her in such a short period of time. Lately, I’ve found myself looking forward to her smiles, dry humor, and the angry flare in her eyes when she doesn’t get her way. I’d do anything to enter my house and find her throwing my artwork over the banister again or annoying me with her questionable taste in plants.

I flick my still-sopping hair out of my eyes, trying to control my chattering teeth. Greta notices. “I suppose we need to get you a warm blanket before you freeze to death.”

“Or you can untie me.”

“Not yet, boy. We’re not done talking. You’re still a flight risk until I know you can be trusted.” She stands up on her old, rickety legs just as Lauren appears in the doorway and says, “You’re needed in the office. It’s urgent.”

The old lady grabs hold of her blinged-out walker and makes her way to Lauren. “I’m watching you, young lady. If you touch the boy, I’ll find out.” She casts a glance at me, and then says, “Find him a warm blanket. He’s shivering.”

Lauren’s jaw tightens, her eyes flashing with anger. If looks could kill, Greta would be a heap of de-fleshed bones on the floor. She stays silent, waiting until Greta has left before turning her hard gaze on me. “What’s so special about Cecilia, huh?” Crossing her arms, she shrugs and walks closer. “She’s nothing special beneath all that money and prestigious bloodline.”

I don’t bother with a response because her question is absurd at best. Cecilia is the damn sun in my universe, and she doesn’t have to lure me in because I was hooked from the first moment I saw her polishing glasses in the cottage. The way she looked at me with her big eyes. I knew then that I had to have her, and I also knew I could never let the Bishop’s son sink his filthy claws into her and kill the fire in her bold eyes with his suffocating, cruel nature. Just the thought of him bruising her flawless skin with his fists made me want to go on a murder spree.

I didn’t understand my violent emotions where Cecilia was concerned then, and I still don’t. She’s an enigma. Lauren doesn’t hold a candle to her.

“Aren’t you at least a little bit tempted?” Lauren asks as she slides her leather skirt higher up her thighs to expose her bare pussy, but I don’t even spare the dark curls a cursory glance, my eyes on her face. “It can be our secret.”

“Cover yourself up,” I reply in my most dismissive tone.

She huffs and drops the skirt. “Fine. Be a bore.” As she inspects her nails, she says in a tone that raises my shackles, “So maybe I can’t touch you, but there are other ways to hurt you, Darian.”

“Yeah? What’s that? Good old waterboarding?” I’m back to trying to wriggle free of my restraints.

She looks up from her nails and scoffs. “Waterboarding? No, thank you. I like methods that are a bit more unorthodox.” With that, she turns on her heel and walks to the entrance, hand hovering on the light switch outside. “You shouldn’t have rejected me. Enjoy the dark, Darian. Try not to think of Mommy and Daddy too much.”

The doors slam shut, and the light goes out, flooding the room with darkness.

My heart nearly jumps out of my chest, beating so hard that I’m starting to feel dizzy, and I quickly turn my head when I hear screaming outside. My mom’s screaming. And masculine laughter. Lots of evil laughter.

I thrash in my chair, roaring so loud that my voice grows hoarse, but no one comes, and the screaming outside continues.

It’s in my head.

It’s all in my head…