Page 29 of Unholy

Snapping my fingers, I try to remember. “How does that Gwen Stefani song go again? This shit needs a warrant, W-A-R-R-A-N-T,” I riddle, only further pissing Fredericks off.

I also have D on an open line acting as my attorney. “For fucks sake.”

He is still at the hospital with Cecilia, and she won’t be released for a few more days. Until then, her room is locked down, and he isn’t leaving her side, rightfully so. It isn’t safe for us anymore. A civil war has been declared, sides chosen, and only one can win. And I can fucking promise it will be our side.

“Get a warrant or proof of cause and we will gladly let you in. Until then, Chief, you will remain on the outside of Sinclair’s gates,” D interrupts my thoughts with his legalities. We went to Harvard together, both graduating with law degrees. As much as I joke around, I know my shit too, but it’s never wise to represent yourself, so we often act as each other's council, when needed.

“Piggies need a snack.” Fantastic, Elijah’s here. I know he wants so desperately to play and soon he can, but now—now is not the fucking time to be trolling these assholes.

Then honking follows loudly from behind me. Greta.

The shitstorm keeps getting better. “Kindly move, so my guest can leave,” I shout at the chief, who is still parked outside my gate.

“This isn’t over, Sinclair,” he hollers back.

I wave as he gets back into his car. “Looking forward to it.”

13

RYLEE

I’m alone in my room, sitting on the edge of the bed with the lights off. The silence is tranquil while I reflect on the last couple of days.

Greta’s never spoken about my birth father before. I had no idea... which makes me wonder, does Dalton? Things are too uneasy now to risk fleeing and going back to the comfort of my own room. Cecilia is still in the hospital, and I could end up in a casket, like my mom.

Tears well in my eyes. I blink once to give them the opportunity to escape down my cheeks. At first, this arrangement was an unexpected gift. I latched on to it so I could avenge my mother and kill The Exiled in their sleep under their own roofs.

Now what?

What is my purpose?

Someone knocks on my door, but I don’t move or speak. It doesn’t matter because the door gingerly opens, a sliver of light peeks through the crack, and a tall shadow appears. Nathaniel.

Clearing his throat, he asks, “May I?”.

“It’s your house,” I answer curtly. It’s rude. He hasn’t done anything, but I don’t know how else to act. I’m mad and frustrated, and... I don’t know how to process this.

Then a thought occurs to me, I’ve been here for days and missed sessions. “What do my clients think?”

He is somber in response, likely as exhausted as I am, but his game face is better than mine. This is the life Nathaniel grew up in. “Greta told them you had a family emergency out of town.”

Nodding, my gaze focuses before me.

“Did you know?” I know the answer but need to hear it from his mouth to my ears.

“Yes.”

“When?”

He takes a single step forward. I can hear his fingers brushing through his hair, something I’ve noticed he does when he doesn’t want to respond but has to. “I had Rogers do a workup on you after the first night you came here. Only you, me, D, and Greta know. And I’ll make damn sure it stays that way, I swear it, Rylee.” His voice is revealing. Pain and fear. He’s being vulnerable in front of me again. A tactic or genuine, I’m not sure yet.

“I will keep you safe. He won’t get to you,” he promises.

My bloodline technically makes me Queen of The Exiled. I’m older than Dalton, barely, but it still puts me at risk. If he finds out, or already knows about our connection, I’m dead.

It’s why Greta was so adamant about keeping me here.

“I know this isn’t ideal, but nothing happens by accident. We are always where we should be.” Nathaniel pauses before continuing. “I also know what I am about to ask is rather inappropriate, but could you please remove the spikes from around my cock? Walking bow-legged in front of the chief of police was rather uncomfortable.”

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