Jace was around the back loading up our suitcases, since we weren’t sure how long we’d be away. I could tell it was bothering Billie to leave the others for a week or so, and I let out a long breath. “Maybe you guys should come visit midweek, depending on the schedule. I’ll let you know after we’ve convinced the old bastard to help us.”
Everyone’s faces brightened then. “That’s a great idea,” Jace said, reappearing at Billie’s window to lean in for his own kiss. “I think we’d all feel better if we could stay for a night or two later in the week.”
It went against every instinct I had to put my loved ones in the same vicinity as that bastard. It was bad enough Billie was here, but she’d flat out refused to let me go without her. And my weak ass wanted her there too.
“Okay, I’ll let you know,” I said, starting the car and shifting it into drive. “We’ll call when we get there.”
“Love you,” Billie called through the window. The boys all leaned in for one more kiss, and then it was time to go.
The drive there was fairly quiet as we held hands and listened to music and Billie let me have my thoughts in peace. The security car stayed behind us, and we encountered very little traffic on the drive.
Part of me wished some disaster had closed the road so I didn’t have to go through with this, but I knew that I’d have found a way around it, no matter what. I had to do this for my family… and myself. This closure had been a long fucking time coming.
When we reached the hospital, the security stayed in the waiting area with Billie while I went off to speak with the doctor, the same Townsend asshole as last time. “We just need you to sign off on the consent form,” he said when we were in his office, as he shoved a clipboard in my face.
Technically, there should be a whole lot more involved in the process. Psych evaluations, counselling sessions, in depth discussions about the lengthy hospital stay and recovery that would follow. But apparently the Townsend Community hospital was cutting corners to save time. Well… tough shit.
“I need to speak with my grandfather first,” I said bluntly, ignoring the clipboard, even as he shook it.
The doctor’s jaw ticked and his suddenly brittle smile did a piss-poor job of covering his anger. A seamless transition for one brainwashed loser. Every single person in this cursed town was under Jeremiah’s control, so the slip from professionalism was no shock. “There’s no need for that. What would talking to him do?”
My smile was not a nice once. “That’s none of your fucking business. Now, organize the meeting, or I’ll take my compatible liver with me out the fucking door and let yourleaderwither and die.”
Not that I wouldn’t put it past these assholes to try and ambush me and take the liver anyway, but hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. I wasn’t asking for a lot, after all.
Well, not from this fuckwit of a doctor.
The doctor muttered something before tossing the consent form on his desk. “Come with me,” he grumbled, walking out the door without looking back.
I followed because I needed this dealt with. Pulling out my phone, I checked in with Billie on the way, and she texted back that she was still safe and sound, surrounded by men in suits.
Good. Hopefully no one would approach her while they still needed something from me. My grandfather would ensure our safety for as long as it took to get his liver. After that, of course, we’d all be fair game.
As the doctor led me down the hall, I mentally prepared myself for this meeting. It wasn’t my grandfather, but my mother who had me the most worried. She was the one who’d hurt me, and it was her face that had kept me awake many nights, the anger and pain eating me alive.
When we reached the end of the corridor, the doctor opened a set of double doors, and we entered a hospital room at least four times the size of any hospital room I’d seen before. It was almost set up like a fancy hotel, with a king-sized bed, couches and tables in the corner, and a small kitchenette.
Was I surprised to see Jeremiah Townsend dying in the lap of luxury? Not even a little.
He was propped up in the bed, wires and drips attached to him, the monitors around him beeping as they did whatever they were doing to keep that old asshole alive.
His beady eyes locked on me, and there was no surprise on his face. Clearly the doctor’s job had been to try and dissuade me from seeing him, but Jeremiah knew me better than that.
“Make it quick; he’s quite frail,” the doctor snapped as he stepped aside.
I turned back and looked at him. “Get the fuck out of this room or the deal is off.”
He bristled across every feature, but glanced toward the bed, then nodded stiffly. “Do not touch him,” he warned before he left the room, closing the door behind him.
And now I was alone with the evilest human I’d ever known, and considering the last few months, that was saying a fucking lot.
“Son,” Jeremiah said softly, and my own morbid curiosity forced me to look at him again. Not just look, but step closer, until I had no choice but to see him clearly.
“Don’t call me that,” I said without inflection, determined not to let him know the turmoil inside me.
I examined him for a few seconds, surprised at how frail and small he actually looked. In my memory he was larger than life, the epitome of fear itself, and yet here he lay… dying, with just wisps of white hair on his head. His skin was a sickly yellow that I could only assume indicated acute liver failure. His face was reasonably unlined for an eighty-year-old—having a decent plastic surgeon in your cult helped with that—but he still looked old.
Old and sick. Weak.
