Page 34 of Unhallowed

“Doing what?” She asks, but I shake my head with a non-answer. I can’t divulge the jobs we do. Not to mention the shame I feel. Being in charge of weapons distribution and trades, drugs, the black market. Human trafficking with the cartel. “What about Killian? Will he respect my decision?”

“Angel.” I close my eyes and lean in until my forehead meets hers. “If Killian wants to take you and enforce your marriage…there’s nothing I can do. The Fellowship will approve. ”

My eyes flash open and I see the pain on her face, but also so many questions flitting through it. “So what now?”

“Wehopethat Killian respects this, because if not…I’ll fucking kill him myself.”

“Killhim?” She squeaks out. “You’d do that?”

“I’d do anything for you.”

And I mean that. I’d kill, maim, run away. Anything to keep her. The thing is, I have a feeling Killian would do the same too. Not because he loves her, but to prove a point.

Fuck him for that.

She’s not a fucking toy, and I’m not playing this damn game with him.

The conversation I had with Draven yesterday pissed me off even more than I already was. Part of me feels that he’s right about Killian letting us go because he appeased him, but it doesn’t make me less pissed off. I could see it in Killian’s eyes that he wanted us both, but the way he was vulnerable for Draven…whimpering and looking at him with crumbling walls made me understand that this reaches far beyond me. There’s something between them that they don’t want me to understand, and Draven can say whatever he wants but I’m not stupid. Iknow. I can feel it. He wants Killian the same way Killian wants him, and I don’t know that I can compete. Not when they know things about each other that I never will. But I don’t see myself having many options considering my circumstances, and I’d rather be with him than Killian.

Fuck my life.

I need to find a way out of this.

My only entertainment so far has been looking up recipes and attempting to make them. They have all failed because I don’t remember much about being in a kitchen. It’s been a very long time since I even attempted to cook before this, but even though I know I should stick to sandwiches until Drav explains how to do this shit, I still find myself grabbing pancake mix and a pan. This is the one thing I remember how to cook, and maybe with some practice I won’t mess them up. If I’m lucky, they will be edible…enough.

I’ve already preheated the pan and put the mix into a glass container, all that’s left is water according to the instructions. I grab a measuring cup and fill it with tap water, then dump it into the mix and start stirring, knocking mix onto the counter with the force of it.

I try to breathe in slowly through my nose, trying to cool the fire inside of me, but no matter how much I try to use coping skills, I cannot fucking achieve it. I just want to break everything and go back to the basement. I want to be that girl again—the one who idolized Draven before everything went to shit.

Remember, no clumps.

I stir the batter some more until there’s no clumps and it’s slightly bubbling. This is the only meal I made with my mother before she died, which is when I was seven. I was adopted by my new family when I was nine, but the truth is I never belonged, and they knew it. Shit, I knew it before they did. I was never going to be what they wanted, and I was so scared they would give me back that I tried so hard for them. Until I couldn’t anymore.

My adoptive parents soon realized I’d never be religious like them, that even the thought of learning about their God was repulsive to me. My mother had never forced it upon me, but these people made me breathe Bible verses as if my life depended on it. I still managed to get a few things I wanted though, even from that fucking basement. One of my sisters came down every once in a while and talked to me. She wasn’t exactly what she pretended to be, and she told me all about her boyfriends, the drugs she was using, and she cussed a lot when she talked. I guess I learned a thing or two from her, especially when she brought beer with her and…other things. Kim didn’t come often enough though, and if she were ever caught she would’ve never admitted to why she was down there: because we were friends. At least I thought so, until she stopped coming too.

And that’s my biggest fear when it comes to Draven. Will he leave me too? Will he tire of the games with Killian and hand me over?

I’d fucking kill him.

Stab him.

Shoot him.

Fucking smother him.

I don’t care. I don’t care.

I don’t care—At least that’s what I’m trying to tell the voices in my head, trying to convince them. But even they know it’s not true.

I’m supposed to be his favorite person, the one he confides in, the one he trusts. But apparently that’s Killian. I know Draven is keeping secrets, and he doesn’t want to fucking give them to me. He won’t offer them up as readily as Killian, and curiosity killed the cat. I’m the damn cat, and I want answers. Now that’s a huge problem for me because I want nothing to do with my—husband. But here I am sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong and demanding that they feed me information. Except I was told when I became part ofThe Family, I would know more.

And so far I know nothing more.

Nothing.

I take a ladle to the batter and fill it up, then after spraying the pan I drop it in. It’s not a perfect circle, but it’s good enough for me. Drav will probably laugh at me about it, but I don’t care. I’d say it’s a pretty fair first attempt. He told me I didn’t need to do this—cook—that someone would come every day and bring fresh meals for us. But I feel useless, like I don’t know how to do anything for myself, and I need to learn how. What if one day I don’t have him to fall back on? What if one day I disappear and leave them behind so I don’t have to deal with this anymore?

Run away.

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