Page 80 of Eden's Joker

Because this is no longer a rescue mission. He knows that because he’s seen the photo too. They all have. This is now a revenge mission. And we are very good at those.

“The sooner the better,” I say. “Let me know when we ride.”

Then I turn and walk out of the room, into the darkness under the stars. There are no emotions in my heart, and only one thought in my head: My daughter is dead. I can’t move beyond that. Because beyond that thought lies only madness.

And I need my mind to destroy the monster who took her from me.

42

Eden

War is in the air. Even locked in the big house atop the hill, I can sense it. And I’d have to be blind and stupid not to know that all those men down there aren’t getting ready for battle.

And there’s only one war that matters to Tyler and me.

The one against my family.

I’ve been doing all I can to ignore it, the way I’ve been ignoring every battle my dad and his brothers rode out on in the last year or so. There was no other choice but to ignore it and hope for the best. I’ve been trying to do that here too. But between the sheer number of men assembling here and the impassable terrain leading to this town, I don’t think this is a battle my family can win.

And I can’t live without my family.

Night is falling fast and the torches and fires that light up the town below during the night are going up. Tyler will be coming to have dinner with me soon. Whatever else he has going on, he always comes so we can have dinner at nightfall. Sometimes he stays afterwards. Sometimes he rushes back out.

I’ve showered and washed my hair, put on one of the dresses I haven’t worn yet—the silver one I was abducted in. No underwear, because whoever packed my stuff didn’t pack any, and no shoes.

My palms are sweaty, and my stomach is twisted in such knots I probably won’t be able to eat at all. I’m going to make my final bid for my family’s lives tonight, for the end of the war, for our lives—mine and Tyler’s—because I don’t see how we survive this battle intact.

But it’s probably going to go about as well as all my other attempts have gone so far.

I watch him ride up the hill, the cloud of dust behind him sparkling orange in the light of all the fires. The time for prepping is over, now I must just do.

He smiles as he watches me descend the wide staircase into the foyer. He always smiles at me these days. But his eyes are also always troubled, dark, frozen… like deep night in deep winter, not even the moon shining.

“You dressed up,” he says, eying me appreciatively, that fire his gaze always wakes in me rising and growinghotter.

“I did,” I say as I reach him and interlace my arm with his. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”

“Me too,” he says. “Just not so much for food.”

The club women that bring the food have already come and gone. I’ve tried to speak to them when they come, but they either call me names or flat out ignore me.

The dining room smells delicious—some sort of mushroom soup, a pot roast, and potatoes. I think I can even smell something chocolaty for dessert, but that must be coming from the kitchen.

We sit at one end of the polished table, him at the head, me to his right. I serve the soup for both of us and offer him the basket of freshly baked bread rolls.

“You’re quite the housewife,” he says. “I think I’ll keep you.”

I set the basket down hard and look at him. This is as good an opening as any.

“Is that what you really want?”

He looks confused, the spoonful of soup he was bringing to his mouth suspended and dripping into the bowl. “Yes, that’s what I want.”

Simple enough answer to a simple question. But my question was far from simple.

“The war will make that impossible,” I say. “One way or another.”

His eyes are full of lightning as he stares at me. “Let’s make the best of the time we have then. Your words, not mine.”

---