Page 88 of The Devil's Chaos

“Mommy!” I cried out, reaching toward her with outstretched arms. But Sergei held me back, his grip unyielding.

“Let her go, Sergei,” my father’s voice was cold and commanding. “She needs to see what happens when you betray me.”

Sergei hesitated momentarily before finally setting me down on the ground. I stumbled toward the back of the car and crawled into the back with my mother. I wrapped my arms around her, clinging to her, feeling the familiar safety of her embrace.

“Mommy. You’re bleeding,” I turned to look back at my father and Sergei, who made no effort to help her. I couldn’t understand why no one was helping her. “Daddy, Mommy needs help. She’s bleeding.”

My father’s expression was unreadable as he met my stare. I pressed my hands against her stomach, the source of the blood. The harder I pushed, the more the hot crimson blood seeped through my fingers, covering my hands and dripping onto the floor.

My mother’s hands trembled as she reached out for me. “My love, I’m so…sorry.”

“This is your fault, Maria,” my father’s voice said menacingly.

“Abel, please don’t make her watch this,” my mother pleaded. “She’s just a little girl.”

“It’s time she learns what it means to betray a Benson. You’ve kept her sheltered too long.”

He nodded to Sergei, who closed the liftgate door. I watched them walk around and get into the front and middle seats, where one of the guards kept their gun pointed at my mother. My father’s driver drove us farther away from the city and into the country. I kept my hands pressed tight against my mother’s wound and curled into her body, trying to keep her warm. Her skin felt so cold, and her body trembled.

“It’s going to be okay, my love,” she whispered against my forehead as the car drove farther into the countryside.

As the sun began to set, we stopped by a large red barn in the middle of an open field. A quaint white farmhouse stood close by, with an old blue truck parked in front of it.

The liftgate opened, and I held onto my mother for dear life.

“Let’s go, Haven,” my father’s cold voice ordered me.

“Where are we, Daddy?” I asked, looking up at him with tears in my eyes.

“Get out of the car, now!” he yelled, sending chills down my spine.

I stayed rooted to my spot, crossing my arms in defiance. He nodded toward Sergei, and I was lifted from the car like a rag doll. I squirmed, trying to get away from him, but his grip was too strong.

“Mommy! Mommy, help!”

The barn door opened, and the cold, stale air hit us as we stepped inside. I looked around, taking in the damp hay and the shadowy corners. It was dark and smelled of mold, decay, and an overpowering stench of pig manure. Sergei carried me toward a wooden pen, and I peeked over the wooden fence to see several big pigs rustling around in the mud before he set me down.

“Bring her over here,” my father instructed another one of his bodyguards. He carried my mother’s limp body toward the gate. Her trembling body shook harder as she struggled to breathe, and her face was now ghostly pale, her eyes wide with terror. Shestruggled to stand, and I reached out to help her, but her body slumped to the ground.

“Mommy?” I whispered, tears streaming down my face. Her cold fingers brushed against mine, and I held on, not wanting to let go.

“What did you think you were doing, Maria? Did you really think you could escape with my only daughter? My child?

“What are you doing to her?” I looked toward my father, who stared at my mother with a stare I had never witnessed before. His light blue eyes were darker, devoid of emotion.

There was nothing there, and I was terrified.

My father nodded toward his bodyguards, and I watched as they walked over to my mother and picked her up underneath her armpits. I could see the blood that had soaked through the fabric of her once pristine blue dress, and my heart ached as I watched my father approach her with a long, thin knife. I held my breath, fearing what was about to happen, but unable to tear my eyes away.

“Mommy? What’s happening?”

“Abel, please don’t make her watch this. If you ever loved me, please grant me this,” my mother begged, tears running down her pale cheeks, her skin a dusky color and sweat covering her brow.

Her voice made my stomach drop. The desperation and fear dripping off her lips starkly contrasted with the calm, soothing voice I knew. My father moved the knife swiftly and with purpose, slicing into the flesh of my mother’s stomach. Blood gushed out in a torrent, splattering all over him.

My mother’s screams echoed through the barn as she begged him to stop.

But he didn’t.

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