Page 12 of All Saints Day
I close my eyes, my fingers brushing over the crescent moon of bite marks on the heel of my right hand.
They gave me something to try to blur the connection of my mating bond, along with suppressants that would inhibit me from being able to manipulate Frank or any of my other alphacaptors with my sigma scent and feminine wiles—but I’ve been running out, per Frank’s earlier admission.
Down the line of the bond, I can feel the others brush against my mind—all of them rushing to soothe me, to glean as much information as they can from this rare glimpse into my own private hell.
As much as I’m tempted to take Susan’s offer, to free myself from this pit of despair—even if it means I’m ferried from this prison to a gilded cage where I will be allowed to spill the blood of the man who killed my parents as my final act of free will—I know I could never live without my mates.
An ugly laugh bubbles up from deep in my gut as she makes the offer.
At one point, this offer would have been all I ever wanted. Now that I’ve found my fated mates, and been heartbreakingly separated from them—I cannot find any joy in the prospect of choosing the path of revenge over one that leads me home to Quentin, Cazimer, Sébastien, and Dennis.
“I suppose I should stop assuming you show loyalty to anyone, Susan,” I bite out, not giving her an answer.
“Louise, I don’t know how else to say this—” she sighs dramatically, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “I’m obviously here to play ‘good cop’ before the big dogs send in Frank again,” she pouts, laying the white linen over her lap. “You’ve spent too long being taciturn and difficult—we need to see some cooperation, or I’m not going to be able to keep you safe for much longer.” She shakes her head sadly. “The window is closing for me to get you what you want. If you just give us a few names, answer a few questions truthfully—I could have you sleeping somewhere comfortable tonight, the White Knight delivered to your sunlit terrace blindfolded with your own private firing squad—or perhaps just a six shooter for yourself; to put him out of his misery,” she pleads with me. “Otherwise, they’re going to start forcing the issue.”
For the first time in our time together, I lookupward at the dome of dark glass overhead, acknowledging those watching from observation—live, somewhere deep in the compound—and those poor unfortunate souls in the future that might watch this recording.
“I bet you think that this is pretty cut and dry,” I say, looking directly into the black mirrored reflection before locking eyes with Susan once more. “That I should take the deal, go live like some pampered princess—squeeze out a few babies and either live with them like some kind of fractured Stepford wife or live out my days in luxurious solitude?” I shake my head at her as Susan Lowry lifts her chin, unwilling to let me wound her pride. “That I would just abandon my bonded mates?” I scoff incredulously.
Susan gives a lazy shrug.
“You have to understand Louise,” she sighs with exasperation, her patience thinning as she explains as if to a small child, “I could give two shits about Philip,” she sneers her husband’s name, turning slightly so I can see the bonding bite high on her neck behind her left ear. “I bonded an alpha and had my complete disappointment of a son with him in order to get the goddamn administration off my back about mandatory reproductive leave,” Susan explains with cold finality.
I think about Philip, the way he held Susan’s waist so delicately at her retirement party. How much love and pride glowed on his face as everyone toasted to her successes. Then I think of Josh, Susan’s far-from-a-failure only child—the beloved chair of the Alexandria Academy music department and high school symphony’s dedicated conductor. I had always liked Joshua Lowry, the sweet, unassuming beta. To hear him cast down so cruelly by his own mother only makes me hate Susan more.
“Oh, I understand,” I growl under my breath. “You’re a fucking monster who never deserved Phil or Joshy,” I spit before adding, “I can’t believe I ever thought I wanted to be like you.”
I’m surprised to see tears welling in Susan’s eyes—to hear the sniffle and the crack in her voice before she responds.
“One day you’ll understand that I’ve given you everything Iwished my useless beta mother could have given me.” She swallows down unspent tears as she stands from her seat and smooths the front of her skirt.
Some foolish part of me hates seeing her hurt like this, knowing I’ve twisted the knife. The other part of me wonders if this is just another layer of her deception—another manipulation.
Unceremoniously, one of her lackeys dumps me out of the armchair onto the floor as his compatriots clear away the food along with the rest of our impromptu brunch setup.
“Have fun with your next appointment, Louise.” She smiles through her pooling tears. “The next time I see you will be the last. I hope you’ve figured things out by then.” She shrugs and turns away from me—disappearing through the heavy metal door along with her machine gun toting minion, leaving me to wait for Frank’s return.
Chapter 6
Frank
Isit in the bathtub in the shitty motel my bosses have me holed up in, the window open, little moths fluttering against the musty screen—their papery wings beating furiously as they try to press inside, toward the warm, damp air.
“You’re dropping ash everywhere,” Michael tuts from his place on the toilet seat, a worn Yale t-shirt stretched over his muscular chest and shoulders—one of his bare feet propped at the edge of the tub.
Doing my best to ignore him, I take another swig from the bottle of whiskey in my left hand, tapping my cigarette on the edge of an empty beer can balanced in the windowsill—my hands dripping sudsy bathwater into the open sill.
Maybe if I can get stinking-blind drunk, Lowry and the higher-ups won’t be able to tap me for the interrogation after Susan ‘softens’ Louise up.
“Keep that up and she’s bound to end up with him,” Michael warns me sternly, sitting upright, hands on his knees as if he might actually get up and start shaking me.
He’s right, of course—but Michael’s also dead, and I don’t wanna hear his lip right now, so I take another oblivion-seeking-slug of liquor and close my eyes tight, hoping Mike will be gone when I open them.
“C’mon, man, this isn’t working—we should be thinking of aplan to get us out of here, you, me and Louise,” he snaps, losing patience with me.
“‘We’? Yeah, okay. Sure.”
I scoff as I toss the butt of my cigarette into the empty beer can and place the bottle of Jack on the tile floor beside the bathtub. I slip beneath the water—the bubble bath wrapping me in warm, wet silence for as long as I can stand holding my breath.
