“Not if I get to you first.”
He scoffs. “I’m not the one tied to a chair, am I?”
“Well, unlike you, I have people who care about me. If they find me, you’ll regret the day you were born.”
“Oh, I already do. Our bitch of a mother gave us up for cash. Luckily, we found someone who wanted us. Although,”—he taps his chin—“he didn’t want you, now did he?”
When I say nothing, my mind trying to piece everything he just fed me together, he adds, “You know, for years, I didn’t even know I had a brother hidden below the house. You were a dirty little secret for a very long time.”
My mind swims, and I find myself growing nauseous. “But Emma found the hatch in the pantry, and she dared me to go down there. That’s when I saw you. Digging like a fucking rat at the walls. It was pathetic. And then I meet you again, and I find out you’re still underground. Seems you liked it. Maybe you weren’t held prisoner all those years after all. Maybe you stayed because youlikedit down there.”
“I didn’t.”
He cocks his head and then picks up his boba and takes another long sip, almost contemplating that. But it seems Henry has no conscience.
I mean, neither do I most days. But I do have people I love. And I will murder for them.
I have. I’ll continue to do so.
Henry has no one he cares about but himself. And maybe his sister, but I’m not even sure that’s the case.
“Oh, and just so you know, that tracker your dog put in you? We took it out. He won’t be coming for you. They tried, but they failed. You’re gonna die here. Very painfully.”
He grins at me, and I feel my body shudder, but I still manage a wry smile.
“Oh, goodie. I have always loved pain.”
That makes his grin falter.
“You’re a sick fuck.”
“Better than a loser like you. At least I have hobbies. What were yours again? Hm, that’s right, you don’t have any. You’re not good at anything. Nothing.”
“Fuck you. My hobby is taking down the Costellos. And more specifically, finding you and fucking you over.”
“Why?”
“Oh, you’ll find out. I promise. He’s on his way.”
“Who?”
He pats my cheek and then leans down, his eyes meeting mine. “Your father.”
My father.
I didn’t even know I had one; my past was a mystery. But as I think about it, everything falls into place. Fragments from my dreams start to materialize in my mind as Henry stands across from me and sips at that unending drink.
The woman who appeared in my dreams must have been my mother, and the shadow lurking over me, always watching, the one I deemed as Death, must have been the man who sired me.
Who knew he was still alive?
I was under the impression—the delusion, maybe—that he was dead. Or at least missed me.
But no, he’s the one who hurt me. All this time, it was him.
“Henry,” I ask after a long pause. “Since I’m gonna die, can you answer some questions?”
“You do know my real name, right? And yours too? You know, I had to prod for that. For a long time, Dad just called you a thing, a rat, a bastard.”
