“Why would I ever think otherwise? You and dad never gave any indication that I should doubt my surname.” I retort.
Her mouth twists at the mention of dad, like the idea of him is repulsive to her.
Who the hell is this woman?I begin to question every interaction they ever had. She never looked at my dad,herhusband, with anything but adoration. Her cries and look of devastation on the day she received the news of his disappearance are burned into my memory. How could she fake that?
“Let’s not mentionthatman. My duty to him is over. His purpose was fulfilled.”
My throat tightens at her words, and there is a foreboding feeling stirring in my gut. I hesitate but find my voice, “What do you mean fulfilled his purpose? He’s your husband.”
“He almost fucked this all up, but luckily-,” she trails off like her last words were only meant to be heard by her. My heart begins to race, pounding like a stampeding herd of elephants. Sweat starts to build on my upper lip, a telltale sign of what’s to come. I gulp in a lungful of air, trying to stave off this dreaded feeling, but the dots appear. Each blink brings on double the number than just seconds before.
My neck wheels left at the same time the crack of a hand connects with my cheek.
“Oh no you don’t, you little shit. We don’t have time for your bullshit panic attacks,” she snarls.
The smack stuns me breathless momentarily.
“You always were an attention-seeking little brat. Your dad goes missing, and you develop theseattacks. Well, that stops now. We have too much to do and no time for your selfishness.”
Selfishness?Is she kidding me?
Rearing my arm back, I throw my fist, punching her in her hateful mouth.I hope I fuck up her perfect smile.
She shrieks, falling backward on her ass, one heel falling askew.
Two men rush into the room, and I instantly recognize who they are: the men that raped Sam.
I scurry back into the wall, fearful of what they’ll do. My anger made me forget my predicament.
“You were always an impulsive bitch,” she huffs, holding herself up, stopping the two goons from further entering the room.
Standing, she rights herself, putting her heel back on and brushing the butt of her pants. Now she has a reason to dust her suit. I smirk at that small win. Once she’s situated her clothing, she lifts her thumb to her mouth, wiping at the trail of blood from her bottom lip.
“You’re lucky we need you to accomplish this plan, or I would’ve killed you by now,” she snaps.
Her words strike my heart with the precision of a sniper, directly through the center of the organ lying to the left of my chest, causing a stuttering beat before it stalls, killing the last of my love for the woman before me.
Closing my eyes, I try to reconcile that I might be an orphan– a missing father and a dead-to-me mother.
“Again, you heartless hag, what the fuck are you talking about?” I demand, meeting the green eyes that match my sister with the cold gray of my own.
At the thought of Jamie, my stomach sinks. What will I tell her and the boys?Fuck!How do I broach such a subject?By first getting out of here! Focus!I remind myself. I can’t tell them shit if I never make it out of here. I cut off that thought process immediately. I’ll be getting out of here and with Sam.
“Right, you don’t know anything, do you? Well, let’s fix that, shall we.” She begins to pace the room, now far out of my reach. It’s smart on her part. I might risk her wrath for an opportunity to deck her again.
“I’d give you the whole long drawn out history of the five original families of Edgewood and their arrival to this country and settling in the English colonies, but it’s dreadfully boring. Let’s skip to about a generation or two ago when your father’s father, your grandfather if you will, started to get wind of our plan.”
She walks toward the table embedded in the wall, presumably tired of pacing, and takes a seat, crossing her legs before she continues. “You see, my family, the Lockwoods quickly recognized that chaos ensues with men in charge. A plan was hatched generations ago, long before you or me, to seat a woman of both original bloodlines at the helm under the Filiae Bellonae.” Her gaze connects with mine before she says everything I’ve dreaded since this horrible story began, “And you are that woman, my dear sweetdaughter.”
I can’t blend this version of the woman before me with my mother. She’s worn so many faces. First, she was the nurturer, the one who was our constant when Dad would be out on missions. Then, she was unreliable, drugs and alcohol dictating her actions, forcing me to become what she once was. Now. Now, she’s something unrecognizable, leading some fucked up version of a hostile takeover.
“I won’t do it,” I exclaim, returning her hard stare with one of my own.
She throws her head back, exposing her throat as she laughs hysterically before abruptly stopping, her face morphing, lips drawing tight as her eyes narrow and her brows arch. It’s like watching someone possessed.
Ignoring my rebuff, she sighs and states, “Here’s how this will work. You’ll take your place as the rightful head of the Bradford line and win the spot as the heirs’ wife, giving me what I sacrificed my life and body for. Do you understand me, you ungrateful b-?”
Her words cut off as the door she entered opens, smacking against the wall. A short, stout woman stumbles in, rushing in her direction.
