We reach the manor soon enough, there’s a lot of men still working on the repairs. The place took a massive hit during the shooting, and it’s going to take them at least a few days to fix everything, given that there are twenty of them working on the house.
“Jesus,” Blair sighs when she spots the state of the front yard. “Do I want to know how many people were here?”
I chuckle. “Nope. Not any of your concerns.”
Blair reaches for her seatbelt, and I swat her hand away, unbuckling her myself. It’s one of the thingsIdo for her, so she’s not allowed to do it on her own. She rolls her eyes with a soft snort, but doesn’t comment on it. I’m quick to leave the car, and reach her side, opening the passenger door for her.
She steps out, and heads for the house immediately. She opens the door, stepping inside. The main priority was to clean up everything on the bottom floor, and although all the dead bodies and blood are gone, it’s only been two days. It’s impossible to get everything fixed in such a short amount of time.
“Where’s everyone?”
“Top floor,” I respond, and she heads up the stairs, greeting everyone she sees with a small smile. The top floor is Mom and Dad’s space, with their own living room, kitchen, massive bedroom, a few spare ones, and a couple of bathrooms. Do they use the living room and the kitchen? Almost never, but this is when those come in handy.
Blair doesn’t make it three steps into the living room before she’s squished into a tight hug by Mom. Blair’s hands are trembling when she returns the hug, holding Mom tightly. The two are silent, holding each other. It’s no secret that Blair has come to see my mother as her own, but I don’t think she realizes that from the moment I introduced her to my parents, they started seeing her as their own too.
“Sweetheart,” Mom mutters softly, then pulls back. “Are you okay?”
Blair’s eyes are swollen with tears, but she nods nonetheless. “I’m okay. Are you okay?”
Mom chuckles. “I’m perfect now.”
They are silently talking now, only looking at each other with looks I could never understand. Mom is holding Blair’s bloodied hands in her own, squeezing them tightly. Blair smiles, and Mom leans in, kissing her cheek, ignoring the stains of blood.
“I’m proud of you, Blair.”
“Thank you,” she croaks out, the tears falling down her cheeks. Mom wipes them away with her thumbs, and I’m itching in the spot to hug her and shield her away. My hands are twitching by my sides, because why does Mom get to wipe her tears and not me?
Mom steps aside, and the moment Blair sees Hudson, she freezes. For a moment, I’m almost positive even the tears on her face solidify, rooted to the ground. He offers her a soft smile, but she’s not buying it.
In an instant, she approaches him and with utmost strength, knees him in the stomach. He groans, doubling over in pain, looking at Blair through the agony, holding his stomach.
“What the hell was that for?”
“For faking your death,” she grits out. “What was the fucking point in that?!”
He shrugs. “To pull the Ghost out of Arlo, and make sure he reached his full potential.”
“There were other ways to do that,” Blair scoffs.
“Oh, sure, but were they as brilliant as this? No.”
Blair can’t keep it in anymore, and she bursts into a small fit of giggles. Dad pulls her into a hug, kissing the top of her head. Blair all but melts into the touch, and I know that although her mother was a fucking monster, what she truly yearns for is a paternal figure in her life. I’m so fucking grateful Hudson can be that for her.
My eyes narrow in suspicion when Blair pulls back, and I tilt my head to the side. Why the fuck is blood dripping down her stomach? My own sinks, churning and twisting.
“Blair, what the fuck is that?”
THIRTY-ONE
Freya is standing in front of me in her white lab coat, pulling on a pair of gloves. She snaps the latex against her skin, and I wince. Her expression doesn’t change, however, and she continues to stare at me as if I’m the stupidest person alive.
“You’re my bitch now,” she says. “Lift up your hoodie.”
I sigh, listening to her orders.
Freya groans. “And your shirt, dumbass.”
“Fine, fine,” I scoff, and lift up my shirt. Arlo is right behind me, staring at the back of my head. Chills spread all over mybody, and although he’s not outright saying it, I can sense the judgment in his stare.
