Page 80 of The Heir

“Mom,” I whispered, a cold dose of fear racing from my toes to my throat where it felt like I’d suddenly choke on my own spit.

I’d never seen my mother disheveled. She looked like some frumpy, middle-aged, thing rather than the ever youthful, former biker beauty queen turned cop that I’d always known her to be.

Her gaze fixed on me.

“Do you have your things?” she whispered.

“Mom, I can’t leave–” She shot off that chair and slapped the words out of my mouth.

“You have to,” she ground out, her eyes were glistening and wide, like Aunt Joplin’s used to get when she had her manic episodes.

“You look like her,” I whispered, refusing to bring a hand up to the sting she’d induced.

Her brows subtly shifted.

“Joplin,” I loudly declared. “You look like Joplin, in the midst of one of her fuckin’ episodes. Get it together, Jesus.”

She tore in a breath and swung again, but I caught her wrist.

“You will die here, Blaze Anthony. Do you hear me?” she exploded, “Do you want to fucking die over stupid, biker bullshit?”

“Die? Like dead, dead? Or like you let me believe Aunt Joplin was dead? I’m gonna need you to clarify, Crystal, because shit’s getting a little confusing lately, and the only thing that is clear, is that I’ve been lied to. By you. For some time now. I don’t care if you did it because you wanted to protect me, or because you didn’t think I could handle it. I don’t care. I want the truth. While we’re facing the truth, here is a little for you to swallow– Demetri Valentino is dead. He’s dead, okay. You fucking killed him. You and your fed friends. Now, if it’s okay with you, can the rest of us live a little?”

She started to shake, and remained still for a moment, her eyes softening from rage to deep blue pools of pain.

“Goddamn it, Mom. You have to stop. You have–” I let go of her and stepped away, running a hand through my hair. “It’s one thing for you to try and do this to me, but you do it to Karlotti, too. She’s going to end up a helpless, little mouse. Is that what you want, Mom? You want her to squeak and run from every shadow?”

She started to cry, and I felt like the world’s biggest asshole, but I’d made up my mind. I wanted to know my father, I didn’t have to live this life forever, but I could join for the year I was here.

“I’m going to become a Disciple. They’re gonna give me a patch.”

Her hand shot to her mouth, and she gave me her back.

“Just for a year and then me and March are gonna follow–”

“You don’t patch in for a year, Blaze. Don’t you get it–?” She whipped back around, her face a mask of disbelief. “You don’t even know what you’re talking about–In for a year.You can’t hand them back a fucking patch after a year, Blaze. It doesn’t work like that.”

I huffed and smiled, “Well, I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t ever told anything about our former life. My father’s way of life.”

“Your father wanted out–” she whispered.

“No, he didn’t.” I called her bluff. “You wanted him out.”

The color drained from her face, and she backed up a few paces.

“Get out,” she hissed.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Marchella

I stared into my stepmother’s vanity mirror, admiring the woman in the reflection. The pink and wine hues Izzy had decorated my eyelids with were blended perfectly with the midnight liner, creating a smokey look with a hint of wings. My lashes were long, curled, and painted to perfection with black mascara.

The color combo made my eyes dramatically pop. She’d slid a little blush on my cheeks and contoured places I didn’t even know a woman was supposed to contour. I’m pretty sure she would have tried to spread that foundation clean down my tits if I hadn’t stopped her. I had my mother’s fair complexion and had chosen a nude shade of lipstick.

“I– I don’t–” I stammered, when my gaze dropped to the contraption Izzy had helped me into.

It came up and tied behind my neck like a swimsuit and cut around my breasts in a similar fashion. Tiny chains were draped from side to side and along the midriff seam. Fringes and chains hung over the top of my belly, but I was otherwise naked from under-tit to panty line.

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