Page 18 of Unholy

Or has this been Dalton all along, as I’ve suspected?

And recently, my best friend was held up in the hospital because of them.

We have always known about rebel groups trying to destroy The Exiled and all the work we’ve done. I’ve always dismissed them. Ignored any reasoning they’ve tried to project on why we are “evil.”

Since Cecilia, though, I get it. The Antichrist has presented hard evidence that cannot be ignored. Hell Fire Night has always been sold as a rite of passage, an initiation for the upcoming generation.

But it’s all for show.

Brad, the King, and his merry men wanted the purest bloodlines taking over. Killing those in their way. Andthosepeople being our own members. Fellow Dukes and Duchesses, parents of the children who would one day initiate.

Children were left orphaned. For the sake of purity.

Those children include my brother by choice D and his wife.

Dalton is Cecilia’s cousin.

Speaking of, my eyes widen with excitement; his car is within sight.

I slam down on the accelerator in order to pass him, and as I do, I grip the handbrake and pull it. The car spins, and my tires squeal against the hard pavement as the car turns sharply to cuthim off. He brakes just before the front end of his vehicle crushes the side of the Bugatti I’ve borrowed.

I follow, stopping but not getting out. Instead, I observe his tantrum.

D’s face is bright red as his chest heaves. He is yelling, but I tend to tune out my dear friend when he’s entered this state. Waving at him politely, I tell him, “I think I’ll stay right here, thank you,” knowing I’m only agitating him further.

Storming off, he isn't missing for long.

Nope, he comes back even more pissed. How exciting, he has his gun pointed at me. “Get out of the car, Sinclair,” he shouts like it’s an added scare tactic to make me obey him.

Chuckling to myself, he can be so dramatic. I wait briefly just to see how far he will go. Looking over once more, his eyes are bulging out of his head.

Best get to it then.

Opening the door, I get out. I grab my suit jacket on the way and stand; I adjust it and my slacks before walking around the car. My smirk remains. It keeps me from bursting out in laughter.

Leisurely, I come to stand before him. He’s like a ravaged animal.

Down boy.

“What good are you to your woman if you’re dead?”

He isn’t amused by my question. He is acting on impulse, not logic.

“We are nearly there. What is wrong with you?”

“I’ve always admired you for being strategic. But when are you going to use some common fucking sense?” I throw back at him. At the same time, I’m stepping closer to him. Before I’m able to finish speaking, I’m on D, trying to disarm him. As I swipe his pistol, he stumbles to the ground from being completely caught off guard.

Before I can slap him around a little, a vibration goes off in my pocket. Jumping to my feet, I don’t bother assisting Delacroix up. I’ll let him wallow a moment longer. As I see the message on my phone, my heart drops and my face pales. I can feel my body slouch forward as I watch in disbelief.

Graphic photos and videos of Cecilia are staring back at me. She’s naked, bloodied, and bruised with a message informing me,

UNKNOWN

Times Up.

The fuck it is.

Faintly you can see she’s encaged like a goddamn animal.

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