Page 27 of Savage Possession
“Look.” She points to a mix of numbers and letters painted on the side of each barrel. “It matches these.” She shows it to me and Reaper when we come to stand at her side. “And this.” She points to initials painted on top of the lid of each barrel and then to a far right column on the paper. “These two things together mean something, but I don’t know what.”
“It means you are messing with business that you don’t need to meddle in.”
All three of us whirl at the sound of a man’s gruff voice. We level our weapons on an older man who steps out from behind an old cypress draped with trailing Spanish moss, his weathered face half-hidden in shadow as though he, too, were part of the ancient tree’s secrets. Or about to die for them.
“Malcom Fontaine, I presume.” I don't give any thought to the double-barreled shotgun he has pointed at my chest. As long as it stays there and not on Isa. Instinct has me wanting to stepin front of her, but that could make the wild-eyed man trigger happy.
“Father? What are you doing?”
“I told your mother when you were born you were meant for great things, child. I plan on making that prediction come true. You are coming back with me.”
Isa steps into me and places her hand on my lower back. “No. I’m not coming with you. What you need to do is stop whatever this is.”
“Drugs, sweet angel. Your father is getting into the drug running business.”
“What?” I don’t have to look at Isa to hear the disbelief in her voice.
“It’s all money. It doesn’t matter how it’s made as long as progress is being made.”
Fontaine steps over various thick roots and comes to stand on the dirt road that led us this deep into the bayou.
“Not another step closer or you’re going to find out if you can shoot faster than me.”
Fontaine’s dark eyes seem to gleam the idea of ending me. “It’s not that I wanted you to get saddled with a worthless piece of crap like Grudge, but it’s for the money and that fixes everything. You’ll see.”
The older man is so consumed by his greed and illusion of obtaining massive power, he’s not hearing himself speak.
“I’m not going with you, father. I am not going to be a pawn in your game.”
“Listen to your daughter, Fontaine.” Reaper steps forward, drawing Fontaine’s attention, his voice low and steady as it slices through the humid air. “Using this place as a checkpoint, or any other like it, won’t last. You know we’ll find every last one of them, and we will shut you down.” Reaper’s gaze never wavers from Fontaine as he rattles off the list of ingredients stamped on the barrels, each word a calculated knife cutting through Fontaine’s pride.
“We know what you are doing. It ends now.” Then Reaper asks the question that’s been festering in my gut since we got here. “Where are your labs, Fontaine? Give us what we need to stop Euphoria from killing more people, and we don’t end you right here. Simple choice—one or the other.”
That’s when Isa steps out from behind me, her petite body nearly lost against the towering cypress and the shroud of silver moss. My heart damn near stops. One twitch of Fontaine’s finger and she could be gone. I want to pull her back, to shield her behind me, but I know—fuck, I know—I have to let her do this.
Her eyes glisten like shards of blue glass under the thin shafts of early morning sunlight breaking through the canopy. Her voice trembles but carries enough conviction to make a monster pause. “Father, whatever you are after, it’s not worth it. Think back to Mom. The good times we shared. All the family holidays. The happiness we had as a family. Don’t tarnish her memory with whatever Grudge is pushing you to do. How long before you serve your purpose and they kill you?”
Fontaine’s jaw twitches, the shotgun shaking faintly in his hands. “They need me. And as long as I breathe, I’ll do everything in my power to poison humanity just like it poisoned me. So they are not using me, I’m using them.”
Tears spill down Isa’s cheeks, streaking through her freckles, and it takes monumental control over every violent instinct inside me not to end the man who dares make her cry.
“Isa,” I whisper, pleading, praying she can hear what I really mean.
She turns her head just enough for me to catch the steel in her trembling chin. “It’s okay, Ash. My father isn’t going to kill me.”
The old man lifts the gun, but I see his finger doesn’t move to the trigger. He keeps it resting on the guard like some invisible thread tethering him to this side of the veil.
“Dad, look at me.” The plea in Isa’s voice cracks me in half. I want to storm forward, rip the weapon from his hands, but I choke down the urge. This is her moment.
“Put the gun down and talk to me. What you’re doing won’t bring Mom back. She’s gone. But you still have me. Don’t throw me away. You have two choices. Live or die. Reaper, Venom, Ash—they’ll end you without hesitation. Or… you can help us.”
As she speaks, Isa walks closer, each step threading fire across my skin. My heart thunders so hard it feels like the fucking thing might blast out of my chest. Beside me, Venom and Reaper hold steady, iron in their hands, discipline coiled tight, but I see their respect for her bravery.
My woman is so damn brave.
“Give me the gun, Dad. Please.” Her small hand, delicate but unflinching, closes over the barrel of the shotgun. She lowers it inch by inch, her voice breaking on the last words. “Please, Dad.”
And then it happens. Something inside Fontaine crumbles. His knees buckle, his shoulders shake, and the shotgun thudsuselessly to the dirt. Tears run down his face as he collapses against Isa, clutching at her like the broken man he is.
