Page 199 of Black Bird

Decclan almost choked. His freedom for his queen. It went against everything he stood for, and yet—and yet … “You’re insane.”

A slow, devious smile crept across her mouth. “I became insane … with long intervals of horrible sanity.”

He looked at Kane, who stood proudly behind her, and then back at her unmoving face. “And if I decline?”

“Then I’ll find out which ones are better suited, and you become just as much an enemy as she is. I’m gonna kill her either way. You can help me and live a better life … or die with someone who will never love you. Your choice.”

So many thoughts flooded his mind, and Decclan found himself staring at an interesting crack in the street. Kane stepped in front of him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Decc …” He clenched his jaw, and slowly raised his face to him. Kane offered a slight smile. “Two hundred years, man. If nothing’s changed in all that time, then it never will. Nobody needs that much fucking power. That night in the port, you begged me to save your life. To savehers… you said you weren’t ready to die.”

“I wasn’t. I’m still not.”

“Then don’t. Golive, Decclan. You and Devin could go back to Dublin. You could start over. Live in the light? Sing, and drink whiskey without constantly checking your watch …” Kane dropped his hand and took hold of his mate. He wasn’t wrong. And there was no use hating the guy for shit he couldn’t have helped. None of them had ever been given a choice. This woman was handing him a golden ticket, and the only thing stopping him from taking it was the idea of something that would never be.

“If I swear you my loyalty … are you trying to take her place? Or are you telling me that we can freely walk away?”

Sarah held out her hand. “Help me take her down, and you can do whatever you want. I’m no queen. I’m just a girl that’s died twice for the sake of being left thefuckalone.”

Decclan sighed deeply and shook her hand.

“You have my word. Tell me your plan.”

CHAPTER 36

THE TIES THAT BIND

Her nose burned, and she felt so many different things in the pit of her stomach that she couldn’t tell if she was beginning to finally starve, shit, or throw up whatever was left. Wren had exhausted the last of her options when she went after Conrad with that piece of glass. Of all the stupid fucking things …

Through the haze of what she could make out now, she sawthatmoment with perfect clarity. The meaty sound of his flesh ripping open when she’d swiped that jagged edge across his ear. How it missed his face and eye. How it slipped out of her hand like it was covered in fucking butter. She’d been so dumbfounded by the mere failure of it all that whatever fight had been left in her just vanished. He took her down so easily then. If only she’d taken Rhaena up on her offers to go hit some bags.

She didn’t know for certain how long she’d been down here in this shit hole, but it had been long enough to drain the last of her will. Wren’s arms hung from a set of metal cuffs on a chain that looked like props from a slasher movie. She supposed there was no use cracking on the leathery senator’s antics now. It seemed he’d won. Even if he ended up getting what he wanted from Sarah, Wren knew she’d probably die down here. What a way to go.

Her mouth stung as she tried to move it beneath the duct tape that had trapped strands of her hair. They tickled her nose and parts of her swollen face, and she couldn’t even scratch it. Fuck drowning or burning alive. This was by far the worst way to die. She’d rather have her fingernails slowly ripped out one by one … or maybe some teeth removed, than literally itch to death. Her ankles were tied, and her back rested against the wall as she slumped her shoulders and accepted defeat. Warm tears started to trickle down her cheeks, and her swollen eye barely opened. Her chest sputtered with broken sobs, and she silently prayed that if God was listening, he’d take her now, and put her out of her misery. She didn’t wanna stick around for the finale. She could only hope that Rhaena and Athan would help Sarah give this asshole what he deserved when she was gone.

Wren startled when the door to the basement opened, and heavy footsteps started down the rickety stairs. Conrad appeared, panicked, and disheveled, with the regular tan bandages plastered in heaps around his ear. She stifled her laugh as he started towards her.

“Good. You’re awake. I’m sure you’re a lot more uncomfortable now. I’m gonna make this easy for you, bitch. You have two options. Either you can play nice, keep your mouth shut and your hands to yourself …” He pulled a polished revolver from his pocket and pulled back the hammer. Wren backed herself against the wall. “Or, I can kill you right here and now. Forgive me, but I’m pressed for time. What’s it gonna be?”

Shuffling from upstairs sounded, and she could hear Gretchen talking to someone. “Where is she!” She knew that voice. That wasn’t Kane. That was— “Wren!”

Dear God … Brent.

Wren screamed hoarsely, making very little progress past the tape on her mouth, and Conrad squatted over her, pressing the gun to her forehead. Wren shook, quieting as her good eye focused on the bullets he could so easily empty into her skull. He held a finger to his mouth, and then started untying her ankles, keeping the gun pressed against her so hard that it hurt. He unhooked a latch, and her arms fell, still bound, but free, at least from the wall. He raised up, keeping the gun pointed at her and hauled her up by the short chain between the cuffs.

“You make a sound … I’ll blow your fucking head off. You understand?” Conrad whispered, spitting on her face as he spoke. Wren nodded, squeezing her eyes shut as Brent stormed through the upper floor. Conrad took her under the stairs, and behind an enormous hot water heater where a small door was hidden. He creaked it open and pulled a long chain that fired an old light bulb to life, revealing a narrow set of steps that led to God only knew where. He jerked her forward and Wren stumbled, nearly tripping up the dusty stairs. “Move,” he whispered, stabbing her spine with the barrel of his gun.

The small space seemed endless and got darker the farther up they went. Wren could barely feel her legs by the time they’d made it to another small door. Conrad pressed himself against her back and grabbed the chain between her wrists with one hand, reaching over her shoulder with the other, and turning the knob. It opened onto a stone patio in the back of the mansion, and she nearly wept when she felt the cold air on her face. He forced her forward and shut the door behind them.

She’d been that close to her freedom this entire time …

Brent slammed door after door, looking for Wren, his father, or both. Gretchen hadn’t stopped him—nor did she follow him. He raced back down the stairs to find her standing in the darkened dining room, staring out the large windows with her arms crossed in front of her. Something wasn’t right about her. He braced a palm on the dining room doorway, nearly out of breath from his run through the large house.

“Where is he? Where has he kept her? I know she’s here.” Brent looked around, suddenly noticing the lack of security that was usually all over the house. “Where are all the security personnel?” She didn’tacknowledge him. Instead, she continued to silently peer out the window. “Gretchen!”

The shadows of the windowpanes moved across her face as she turned it towards him, pale moonlight painting her like a ghost. She tilted her head towards the window before staring back out of it. Brent slowly trudged towards her, and when he turned his head …

“Oh my God,” he breathed, turning and unlocking the back door to the patio where Conrad jerked Wren by a chain. He startled as Brent ran out, turning towards him, and pointing his gun at Wren’s head. “Wren! Let her go, Dad! What the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, son. Not until I get what I need.”

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