Page 76 of Victorious: Part 3
Maverick snaps his head to me like he’s as confused as I am.
My throat is closing up as memories flood back.She taught Sadie and me the words to “Love Me Tender.” She’d put on her best dress and pretend we were at Graceland when we played in the living room. She made Elvis magical for us, made us believe in love that was ‘all shook up’ and dreams that could come true.
That’s why I married Clover the way I did.
In Vegas by an Elvis impersonator.
Because Mom always said that’s howreal loveshould be celebrated, with music, joy, and a little bit of rebellion.
Mom steps into the light, wearing a prison uniform, but carries herself with authority. Keys dangle from her belt, and several of the women in the cells shrink back when they see her.
“Hello, Wesley,” she says, using my real name like a weapon against me. “You’ve grown up. Shame you’re still the same weak little boy I remember.”
“I thought…” my voice cracks like a teenager’s. “I thought you were dead. When the Serpents were killed, you weren’t there. I assumed—”
“You assumedwrong.” Her laugh is as bitter as betrayal. “I was already here by then. Already building something better than thatpatheticmotorcycle club your father wasted his life on.”
Maverick shifts beside me, his hand moving instinctively toward his weapon.
But I hold up a hand to stop him.
This is my mother.
My family.
There has to be a way to reach her.
“Mom, what happened to you? The drugs, the addiction? I know Dad’s death was hard, but this?” I gesture around the chamber. “Thisisn’tyou.”
“Isn’t it?”She takes a step closer, something predatory in her movements. “You never really knew me, Wesley. None of you did. I was trapped in that life, playing house, pretending to be happy while your father threw away every opportunity we had. And don’t call me, Mom. I’m not your mother anymore. Call me Layla.”
Furrowing my brows, I let out a scoff as her words hit harder than I thought they could. “He loved you, in his own way. We loved you…me and Sadie!”
“Love?”She spits the word like it tastes foul. “Love is weakness. Love is what kept me chained to a man who chose his club over his family every single day. Love is what made me waste the best years of my life raising ungrateful children who reminded me of everything I’d lost. Of the wonderful life I lost.”
The words hit me like physical blows.
Every childhood memory of her singing lullabies, making breakfast, kissing scraped knees…
Was it all fake?
Was she always this cold beneath the surface?
“You left us,” I say, anger starting to burn through the shock. “You chose drugs over your children. Sadie was just a kid, and you abandoned her. Your own daughter. She used to sit by the window waiting for you to come home, singing those Elvis songs you taught her. She still hums them when she’s nervous.”
“I liberated myself,” Layla corrects. “And look whatI’vebuilt here. These women…” she gestures toward the cells, “… they’re creating the future. Perfect children, trained from birth, free from the weakness that ruined my generation.”
“Perfect children thatyou’vebuilt?” My stomach turns as the full horror of what she’s saying sinks in. “Jesus, Mom! You’re talking about the breeding programs. Forced pregnancy. That’s not liberation, that’s slavery.”
“It’s evolution.” Her eyes gleam with fanatic fervor. “Javier showed me the truth. Showed me how to turn my pain into power. These girls birth the next generation of perfection, and I make sure they’re trained properly from day one… and I’mnotyour mother, Wesley!”
I let out a disappointed scoff. If Mom really is part of this nightmare, Christ, what’s that going to do to Sadie? My sister worshiped her, spent years believing Mom would come back. How do I tell her that the woman who used to sing to us is now part of a breeding program for assassins?
We used to idolize Mom. We thought she was the most amazing person in our world.
How the fuck did that woman become this?
Become Layla.
