Page 68 of The Truths We Burn

It takes me a few moments to really hear what he is trying to tell me.

I’m confused why this has something to do with me, why they are telling me this. A part of me is happy that he’s dead—it’s the least he deserves.

I open the folder, flinching a bit at the pictures. You think you’re desensitized to enough things that death won’t bother you until you see what certain people are capable of.

Greg’s body is on the rotten wooden floor, perfectly laid out even though his limbs are not attached to his torso. Legs, arms, thighs, head, it’s all sliced into sections.

I cringe at the eyes, how they are just empty sockets with dark red splotches, completely gouged from the sockets.

More than the gruesome state of the body, I notice how methodical it all is.

It’s cut pristinely, not hacked off or chopped with an axe. They look almost surgical. And there isn’t any blood; the body is almost white.

They took their time, and they knew what they were doing, minus the trauma to the eyes, which look to be done with aggression.

It’s then all of it clicks together.

I shift my eyes to my father.

“They found out, didn’t they?”

He doesn’t say anything, only stares at me with eyes that are swelling up with fear. The wider they become, the more they resemble growing fruit that is ripe for the picking.

My tongue tingles with anticipation, my body unable to stop the grin that spreads across my lips.

I bet he’s spent every second looking over his shoulder. Heart pounding, hands sweating with anticipation. The waiting is killing him, constantly wondering when they are going to take their pound of flesh from his body.

Nothing is more enjoyable than watching a man who always thought of himself as a wolf become the scared, frightened lamb in the pasture.

Real wolves are coming for him now.

“Oh, you really are fucked,”I add, laughing almost joyfully.

“Yes, we believe your friends have found out about the organization, and that has posed a problem for us.”Cain looks like he wants to begin discussing the logistics of what he needs from me, but I don’t let him get that far.

“No.” I shake my head, chuckling. “They found out what you did to Rose. There is nothing I can do to help any of you now. Silas Hawthorne is not just some heartbroken boyfriend. He will slaughter anyone who had a fraction of involvement, and his friends will be right behind him.” I roll my tongue across my bottom lip, meeting my father’s gaze.“You killed the wrong twin, Dad.”

A flare of hope kindles in my stomach, knowing that even though I can’t do anything inside of this place, there’s someone out there getting justice for my sister.

Silas knew. He knew Rosie, and she wouldn’t have just overdosed, and now he could prove it.

“No one would have blinked if you’d picked me. Easton would have been married to Rose. You still would have got your money from the Sinclairs. Mom wouldn’t have left your sorry ass. You would never have been in this position had you just picked me,” I continue, the heat in my voice building.

Jealousy cures in the pit of my stomach, envious that I can’t help them give him his due.

That I can’t be the one that ends the man who’d given me life.

“Now you’ve got hounds from hell coming for your throat, Dad. And they aren’t going to stop, no matter what you do.” I look over at Cain, driving my point home. “Not until everyone who hurt Rose is dead.”

They both stare at me, one scared of the death he knows will be coming for him soon and the other warily, not knowing if my words are truthful or a bluff.

“Good luck,” I finish, stepping back from the table so I can ask my nurse to take me back to my room for the day. There is nothing else that needed to be said.

“Not so fast, Sage,” Cain speaks, “They won’t be killing anyone else. Because you’re going to help us put them behind bars.”

I shake my head. “Oh, you think?”

They must be fucking stupid to think I would help stop them. They’re doing the job I wish I was doing.

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