Now, it all made sense. The Sons had protected him. Theywere more powerful than the police and had high government officials on their side. Given the vice president was here, I was certain both men were Sons.
These were men who had committed crimes and murder with impunity, and I came along and ruined that. I’d proven them wrong—that they could get penalized for their crimes—and now, I’d face the consequences for that.
I took a moment to look at each mask around me.
They were Sons. I knew it.
But which Sons?
Enzo? Brooks? Nico?
Goose bumps prickled across my skin at the thought of Enzo being here.
Was that their plan all along?
To make me a Fawn, get me down here, and kill me?
I hunched forward, nausea roiling in my stomach and up my throat, and spit out bile at the thought of Enzo turning on me.
No.
He was a man who’d kill for me. Notkillme.
Right?
I glared at my mother. Much like my father, the hatred had aged her.
Two years had passed since the last time I had seen her. That encounter was brief, and we didn’t speak. She tended to ignore me while my stepfather handled all our communication.
I’d always wondered why they still took care of me. Everything made sense now. They wanted to keep me alive, waiting for the day my father could get revenge on me.
“How could you?” I cried out to her as tears rolled down my stinging cheeks. “You were—youare—supposed to protect me.”
“Why?” she asked, as if genuinely confused.
“Because you’re my mother!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, fighting against the restraints.
She jutted her hip out. “So?”
The men gave her space as she came closer. She maintained adistance, as if worried she’d get some contagious disease if she came too close.
Her voice was as tender as the day she’d sung that lullaby to me. “I’m here to rid the world of evil, and you are evil.” She rubbed her belly. “You robbed me of having another precious baby and then had my husband locked away to rot in prison because you’re a selfish bitch.”
My head snapped sideways when she hit me in the face.
It wasn’t a slap like my father’s. It was a full-on punch.
“Enough!” My father rubbed his hands and wet his dry lips. “No more speeches. No more letting her breathe for a second longer. It’s time.”
“It’s time,” the men in masks echoed.
My mother and stepfather stepped back.
A shrill gasp escaped me when my father tensed his shoulders and pulled a knife from his jeans. I held in a breath and accepted my fate, refusing to plead for my life. That’d only give him satisfaction.
I only hoped he’d make it quick, but given his personality, I didn’t expect it. He’d prolong it for dramatic effect and because he was a hateful, violent asshole.
He’d give me the slow death that he truly deserved.
