Page 22 of Beloved Sacrifice

Instead, Barton had pulled a gun, shot Weston, Pet, and the male submissive Elroy had brought in that night. Then they’d set the building on fire and walked out.

Rose turned to look out the window, folding her arms across her stomach, almost hugging herself. “They found two bodies—a man and a woman.”

“They had another sub, a man, with them that night. I was able to crawl out.”

Pain, pain everywhere. He’d curled on his side, taking hard, gasping breaths. He stared at the wide, sightless eyes of Lynn—his parents’ beloved submissive. At least he’d thought she was beloved, but they’d shot her, and the other man with her, as if they were nothing.

His own father had shot him. Everyone knew that Barton was his biological father—they looked too much alike for it to be Elroy. Barton had held the gun. Pulled the trigger.

Fire burned and roared. The ceiling was no longer visible—a thick layer of smoke rolled above him. He could still breathe, but barely. He knew he was dying, but the fire terrified him. He didn’t want to feel his flesh burning.

So he started to crawl toward the balcony doors. They were slightly open, probably to let in the cool night air. Lynn would have done that—opened the doors, prepped the bar with clean crystal glasses and a decanted bottle of red wine, along with an ice bucket and a bottle of Crown Royal. Then she’d strip naked and wait by the door, kneeling with her legs spread, ready to obey.

But now she lay naked, blood running out of the hole in her chest.

He half crawled to the balcony doors, keeping his right hand pressed over the hole in his chest and dragging in great labored breaths, coughing up blood every few feet. Shoving open the door, he was inches from making it onto the balcony when the ceiling collapsed. He curled up on his left side. Burning drywall fell on his head and neck, while a flaming ceiling beam fell and shattered his right leg.

Cold. In those first few seconds, his burning flesh had actually felt painfully cold, and he’d been reminded that in Dante’s Inferno, hell was burning cold, not hot. Then he smelled it—hair burning as his head caught fire, and then searing flesh, which smelled like cooking fat.

He felt a pop, and then liquid was running over his nose.

He couldn’t scream, couldn’t move. Pain.

Pain that shot adrenaline through him, his mind trying to give his body the strength to get away. He made one useless attempt to push himself out onto the balcony, but he barely moved.

Yet, that saved his life. He didn’t know it at the time, but he’d been followed, and his followers, watching from the street, saw the movement amid the fire. They’d climbed the outside of the building and gotten him out before the firetrucks made it. They’d loaded him—half, if not mostly dead—into their car, and taken him to a secure facility.

With third- and fourth-degree burns on most of the right side of his body, a missing eye and shattered knee, plus a collapsed lung from the bullet wound, as soon as he was out of surgery he’d been placed in a medically induced coma and transported to a hospital in Canada, where he’d been beyond the reach of the Trinity Masters and the purists.

“It wasn’t your body?”

“No.”

Rose’s head snapped around, eyes widening. “But then they know. They know you’re alive.”

Weston shook his head. “No, it took me a while to piece it together, but my parents made sure that only two bodies were found.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It does if you factor in that it would be easier for my parents if I went missing than if I was dead. They bribed everyone who was there that night, got them to report that there were only two bodies.”

“But there were only two bodies.”

“You know how they operate. Everyone involved got an envelope with cash and a letter. The letter told them that the only bodies that should be reported were the woman and the older male.”

“How would they know which one was the older male?”

“Easy enough to tell from the bones and teeth.”

Rose shook her head again. “But there were only two bodies. Wouldn’t someone have said something?”

He snorted. “Who would they say it to? The notes and cash didn’t come with a return address. The people who rescued me were the ones who figured out most of this, as I was…not in good shape.”

“So your parents send out these letters and cash bribes, then all the reports say there were only two bodies, and they just assume their bribery worked?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure they don’t know?”

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