I’m not upset with him for not telling me. After everything, I would’ve been overwhelmed to know that he’s been keeping my biological father hostage. I would’ve wanted to confront him the moment I returned to Arlo, but that would’ve been a mistake. I wasn’t ready.
Hell, I don’t think I’m ready now. Yet, something’s different. Arlo’s not here to protect and shield me from the harm, and I’m forced to put on my big girl pants and deal with all of this on my own. I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing just yet.
“You know,” Kaya speaks, not stopping to look at me. “Your father is the monster that created all of this. You get the chance to be the last thing he sees before he dies, Blair. Make sure it’s a good one.”
I suck in a sharp breath, the gun in my hand weighing heavily. Kaya gave me one of her favorite ones, because for some reason, she prefers knives just like Noelle. The two have a lot in common, even though it might not be noticeable at first glance.
“Don’t worry. I have no intentions of wasting any of this.”
“Can you do it?”
“Can I do what?”
“Can you kill him?”
“Yes,” I respond, not missing a beat.
Kaya stops, then turns to look at me. Her face is illuminated by the soft glow of the lamps, eyes as sharp as ever. “We all think we can do something until we face the situation. When push comes to shove, will you be able to shove as hard as possible?”
“Yes,” determination and confidence lace my tongue. “I have to. Because this might be the only opportunity to get some answers.’’
“Don’t expect too much,” she advises. “Men like Alexander are often as sly as snakes. There’s a chance he’d ratherdie than give you the answers. What are you going to do then?”
“I’ll kill him,” I respond. “I’m past the point of needing closure. I want answers, yes, but if he refuses to give any, I won’t dwell on it too much. It’ll piss me off, but it’s nothing that I won’t be able to get over.”
“Good,” Kaya nods, then continues walking.
All around are doors that lead to what I’m assuming are prison-like cells. All the doors are closed, and an eerie feeling surrounds me. The lights start flickering, and an awful smell hits my nose. It’s between spoiled milk, rotten meat, and what I can only think is blood.
“Man, they need to hire cleaners for this place,” Kaya’s nose scrunches in disgust.
We stop in front of the last door that’s directly facing the entrance of the basement. On the side is tinted glass, and Kaya walks over, pressing a small button on the side. The dark glass turns translucent, and I see him inside.
For a moment, I don’t know what to do or say.
Alexander is tied to a chair with chains. His hands are bound together by metal cuffs, right in front of him, and he looks terrible. He’s conscious, though he’s staring off into the distance. His eyes are dead, as if he’s lost all will to live.
Good.
That’s the exact same look I’ve had for years. The desire to see another day was diminishing with each passing day, and there was no one to help me. Until I helped myself and killed my mother and stepfather. A speck of satisfaction blooms in my chest at the sight of him in such a terrible condition, and a smile tugs on the corner of my lips.
“They’ve been feeding him, I’m assuming.”
Kaya nods, eyes glued to Alexander. Something flashes in her eyes, and I keep silent. There’s darkness in Kaya’s gaze, the hatred visible. It’s not directed specifically toward him, more liketoward any men like him. The sheer hostility radiates off her, and I’m surprised she’s keeping herself in check.
“Yes,” she responds, voice calm and steady. “Just enough for him not to die.”
“I’m going in.”
Kaya nods, and I grab the door handle. I take a deep breath, eyes closing for a couple of moments as I brace myself. I exhale, then push the door open, step inside, and let it slam behind me.
His attention snaps to me, and a look of surprise washes over him. He doesn’t speak; he just stares at me. I lean back against the door, arms folded in front of my chest, the gun neatly in my hand, ready to be used.
“Well, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
The man’s expression changes at least five times in a span of half a minute. His mouth opens, as if he wants to speak, then he closes it shut. He glances at the gun, seemingly thinking of what the odds are of him leaving this place alive.
“You,” he utters, looking back at me.
