The dick drags me toward the door, remaining silent, letting my questions go unanswered.
Another memory resurfaces in my mind. Oh fuck.
Doug is dead.
I watched some fuckface in a black cloak kill him on the road right after they ambushed the ambulance carrying my pretty little dollface.
His death will devastate Mom and Ashley.
I have no more time to think those thoughts because the door is opened, and I’m dragged out into a large wide rectangular room.
Jase, Bree, and Pamela are all tied to chairs, the latter looking like she’s taken a savage beating. Shock is etched upon all their faces, but I only feel relief when my eyes lock on my stepsister. Ashley appears unharmed with no new injuries to report. She is unrestrained and lying on a comfy recliner chair as she stares at me with her mouth hanging open.
Loud clapping rings out in the large room as the guard manhandles me across the space. I want to shove the dick away, but I honestly don’t think my legs will carry me unsupported. My limbs are weak and floppy thanks to whatever drugs are still in my system. I eyeball the weirdo clapping. I don’t know who he is, but there is a look of familiarity about him.
He’s tall and broad with dirty-blond hair slicked back off his face. The custom-fit designer suit he’s wearing looks out of place in this room. The high-ceilinged windowless room is made entirely of stone. Several banners hang off the walls, and lit candles illuminate the space, casting eerie shadows every place they touch. An icy draft and a musky scent waft through the air.
“Welcome.” The unfamiliar man grabs my upper arms, yanking me from the guard. He slides one arm around my shoulder, squeezing it and grinning at me as if we’re long-lost friends. He turns me to face the others. “I’d like you to meet Blade Salinger. The true and rightful heir to the Pride & Wrath Luminary.”
Shocked silence rings out around the room until Pamela breaks it.
“No way.” Her assessing eyes rake over me from head to foot. “It can’t be.”
The prick stuck to my side scoffs. “Come now, Pamela. You’re not blind. Look behind the vile piercings and body ink, and you’ll see he’s the spitting image of his father. It’s like looking at Clint Salinger reincarnated.”
I muster the strength to push the prick off me, grabbing the top of a nearby chair to steady myself. My eyes land on the lifeless body on the floor, and I grip the chair tighter.
Fucking hell.
Julia is riddled with bullets and lying in a pool of her own blood. I don’t know who this prick is, but he’s clearly dangerous and not to be underestimated. Lifting my head, I stare straight at the dude. “I don’t know who you are, but you’re either crazy or misinformed. My name is Ares Haynes. My father was Andrew Haynes, and he died serving his country when I was a baby.”
He stares at me, and I get the sense he’s looking for the lies behind my words. I don’t know why he thinks I’m this Blade dude or that Clint Salinger is my father when neither of those things are true.
The prick chuckles. “Wow. Your mother’s deviousness knows no bounds. I’m quite impressed.”
“Are you saying you think Hera is Daphne Salinger?” Disbelief oozes from Pamela Stewart’s face as the words leave her lips. “Rhett, she can’t be. They look nothing alike.”
“It’s amazing what cosmetic surgery can do,” Rhett replies. “Drop twenty pounds, add in some hair dye and colored contacts, and you can literally recreate yourself.”
“You’re delusional,” I snap, lunging for the guy.
The guard yanks me back before I make contact, wrapping a meaty arm around my neck and constricting my air supply. Slamming my head back, I crack my skull against his, yelping as pain rattles around my brain.
“Stop.” Ashley’s voice sounds stronger than she looks. “Fighting is pointless. Just listen to what he has to say.” She looks up at Rhett. “What did you do to him? He looks dead on his feet. Please let him sit.”
“He’ll be fine.” The man dismisses her concern, turning the chair at his side around. “Strap him down.”
It’s not in my nature to go down without a fight, but Ashley’s pleading eyes are the only thing that could make me willingly sit still while the man binds my arms and legs to the chair with rope. “Are you okay?” I rasp, drilling a look at Ashley. “Did they hurt you?”
“I’m okay. They didn’t hurt me.”
“Ashley is my daughter,” the prick in the suit says. “She’s a Carter, and she has Manford blood from Pamela’s side.”
My eyes startle wide as I stare at my dollface. She subtly nods, and I’m gobsmacked. What the actual fuck is happening here? What is this place, who is this man, and what the fuck does it have to do with me?Isthis connected to my father? Is that why Mom always told me to lie if I was asked about him?
“It is not my intention to hurt her or anyone in this room,” he adds, pulling me out of my head.
“How do you explain that then?” I ask, biting back a wince as I jerk my head in Pamela’s direction. “I doubt she just fell onto your fist.”
