Page 104 of Rot In Knotty Pieces

I shake my head because I can’t see it. “It makes absolutely no sense. Too fast?”

“He’s worried you’re going to vanish. How many of the Nightingales has he got back? What is happening that he is rushing? Something is going on, and his attention is divided. So, the question is…who is he? And who is missing that he is hunting for so badly?”

I stare at the alphas who stare back at me.

That’s information Raven has. But…I can help with some of it.

“You want to unmask him?”

“Oh, yes. Unmask him, hurt him, kill him. In that order.”

The sheer arrogance of it boggles my mind. I want to argue with them, tell them it won’t work, tell them that they will only succeed in getting themselves killed.

“It’s our only chance to be free,” Raven whispers in the chamber. The sound of her voice echoes into all the parts of us.

Freedom.

Not a dream of freedom but actual freedom. I won’t have to kill. Or hurt anyone. No more fear. A home, a family.

The yearning almost brings me to my knees.

“I want that,” I whisper. “I want all of that. Let’s do it.”

Blaze puts a hand on mine and squeezes. “Then hop in the car and let’s go find ourselves a swanky hotel to go and stay in, something with lots of cameras and noise.”

I almost ask why, but I’m distracted by the idea of fighting back. Raven’s been carrying this fight alone for so long, dragging us unwillingly with her, but this time, now it’s different. For the various reasons we all have, we all want to escape.

Not out of fear but out of a heart wish.

Family, freedom, the pack, love, the future, for ourselves.

“Okay, every detail. Jay. Tell us everything you know about the asshole known as Father,” Roseland says calmly in the voice I’m sure he uses when he’s talking to victims and getting statements.

“He wears a bird skull mask with not a single slither of skin showing. His gloves are expensive leather, they are soft, but he loves getting them bloody, pushing them into wounds.”

“Does he ever bite or use his nails?”

“No. Never. The bird skull is a raven, and it comes out from his face, but the black material is impenetrable and is skin-tight. I can’t see the shape of his face or his eyes, they are covered, too.”

Roseland makes a sound.

“Is there anything distinctive about the feel of the material or maybe a smell that is around when he comes close?” Roseland asks softly.

I close my eyes. “Yes, he always smells like disinfectant, but under that, there is this faint scent like rotting leaf litter.”

“Good job. Now, how does he move? Big steps, hand movements, stooped over?”

“He stands really tall with good posture; his shoulders are always back. His walk is tall and with confident steps, like he expects people to get out of his way. When he crouches, he rests his fingertips on the floor, but not his hand. In fact, he touches nothing with his whole hand, just his fingertips. He has three weapons. His brass knuckles, his whip, which is a steel rod wrapped in leather, that’s what he beat us with, mostly. And he has a cat-o'-nine-tails that has metal balls on the ends, but he generally gives that to Brian or another of his trusted seconds to use.”

That doesn’t make the alphas happy at all, but Roseland doesn’t react.

“Good. That’s really good information,” he murmurs, writing it down. “Now, how does he speak?”

“Slowly, he enunciates things properly, like he’s trying to speak proper English, but it doesn’t come naturally.”

“Accent?”

“Yes!” I shout. “But it’s not there until he gets really angry; it's like it slips in and its thick. Instead of saying ‘my’ he says ‘may’. It’s a strange accent because I haven’t heard it around here before. He drags the vowel sounds out, too. Father keeps his arms still, and when he uses them, it’s very elegant and fancy. He doesn’t talk with his hands, he uses them for emphasis.”