Some days, she remembers me. On other days, she thinks I’m her sister, Mary-Beth. I look more like my aunt than my mother, so it makes sense. At least if she doesn’t remember me, she still thinks I’m someone who loves her. And that’s all I wish for her—that she never feels like no one loves her.
My mother used to walk into a room and all heads would turn her way, not just because of her beauty but also because of how she would present herself. Commanding. She was always so vibrant, outgoing, and a go-getter, as some would say. You wanted to know her—who she was, where she came from. Because of that, she never really kept a man around for long, having been married three times. She was always the one to leave, dragging me along with her. We’d lived in so many states that when we finally arrived in New York when I was fifteen, I knew I was never going to live anywhere else. She knew it too.
“You look beautiful today. I brought your favorite.” I pull out a small box of Lindt white chocolate. She looks at it eagerly but makes no attempt to greet me.
Today is one of those days.
I can tell just by looking at her that she’s lost right now, but that’s okay. Even if she’s lost, I am not. Green eyes, the same shade as mine, lock onto my face. She eyes me suspiciously but doesn’t tell me to leave. I sit across from her and start to open the box of chocolates.
“Dad used to buy you these for every birthday, Christmas, and basically any other holiday.” I laugh at the memory. He really loved her, and their marriage was beautiful. I believe if he were alive today, she wouldn’t be in here. I don’t mean that she wouldn’t have dementia, but Dad would have wanted to be the one caring for her. I also think she kept on giving guys chances in hopes of finding that same love she had with him. He would have given everything up to look after her, even if she had forgotten who he was, of that I am certain.
After unwrapping a piece of chocolate, I hand it to her. It’s one thing I know she will never turn down.
“I do like chocolate,” she says as she takes it from me and places it into her mouth. I nod and smile at her.
I wonder what she’d think of Arlo. She’d probably tell me to run the other way. I know that’s what my father would have said. He hated the idea of me dating at all.
“You do,” I say sadly. It’s hard to lose one parent, but it’s even harder to watch one deteriorate right in front of your eyes.
SIX
ARLO
“You’re more annoying than usual,” Soren grumbles from beside me. Today, we’re meeting up with a fellow Society member, who may or may not want to kill us. To be honest, we don’t really know. It’s been a few months since Reon joined one of our parties. Attendance is usually mandatory, but considering we put his wife, Lilith, whom we didn’t know was his wife at the time, into a hunt, let’s just say he still isn’t happy with us. Soren especially since it was his idea to add Lilith.
“Do you think he’ll walk in and try to kill you?” I ask Soren, who doesn’t even bother with a reply. Instead, he stares straight ahead at the door.
The Forsaken has been around for generations, and Soren is our Lord. There are rules to follow, which I usually respect because I love them, but Reon hates them and likes to push the boundaries when he shouldn’t. One of the consequences of breaking the Forsaken’s rules is death. They are meant to protect all members, and even though we are a fucked-up bunch, we at least respect that part of our Society.
We both turn as Reon walks in, dressed in his usual business attire. He eyes both of us before his tattooed hands clasp the back of a chair, and he pulls it out.
“It’s been a long time,” Soren says, and Reon glances at me before he focuses back on Soren.
“I see you had to bring your lap dog to have a meeting with me,” Reon sneers.
“We both know I’m no one’s lap dog. If I recall correctly, you are Lilith’s lap dog. Don’t think we aren’t aware that you still take her for hunts without anyone’s permission,” I say.
I regret what happened the night we hunted his wife. What Soren did is very much against our code. But he is our Lord, and he has the right to change any policies in place. And he did, for Reon. Not so much for Lilith. He tried to make it right by offering her a hunt. It was the very same one he put her in, hoping that Reon would kill her. If Soren had had his way, Reon would be married to his crazy sister, and trust me, he did try to push them together. But Reon refused, which caused the rift between them in the first place when he said he wanted to be with someone else.
Reon sits back in his seat and smirks at us.
“And what do either of you intend to do about it?” Reon interjects.
“Boston is getting a little jealous.” I smile at him, and his eyes narrow. Boston is also a member of the Forsaken Society. Each member of the Society is powerful, but Boston is a different type. Where Soren is a media mogul, and Reon is a pilot who arranges a lot of very illegal cargo, Boston appears to be more normal on the outside than us. He’s a detective, right at the top. And while I appreciate Boston’s thirst to kill in the hunt, I also understand he does it because he can’t kill those he arrests. So sometimes, when he gets leads, he will go himself, collect the person, and lock them up in his own private cell, then offer that person for the hunt. Usually, the people being hunted are picked by Soren, but on the odd occasion, he gets Boston to assist.
The Forsaken doesn’t consume all our time though. We hunt twice a year, and we are all required to attend.
“He’ll survive. How are the sessions going with my wife?” Reon directs his question to me. Before they were married, she was one of my patients, then the hunt happened, and she stopped. But recently, she came back. Despite my sometimes hatred for Reon, I do like his wife and her fucked-up way of thinking. If she were a man, she would be in the Forsaken.
“You know my conversations are confidential.” I grin at him.
One of the many perks of doing my job…
Secrets.
And I hold a lot of them.
Some secrets are so fucked up I should report them. Luckily for those with secrets, I’m equally as fucked up. Plus, it’s what keeps me in demand. I have had mayors tell me how they have accidentally killed a prostitute they were fucking, and actors tell me how they cheat on their wives. And so the list goes on.
