Page 128 of He Sees You
"Is there any other kind worth having?"
We gather our weapons—guns, knives, the tools of our new trade as a married couple.
Juliette will drive separately, coordinate with Thalia's network for the rescue.
We'll handle the killing.
As we leave the Lockwood estate, I look back at the ruined ballroom, the candles still flickering in the windows like eyes.
The house seems to breathe, seems to know that tonight, its legacy of horror dies with Sterling and his associates.
"No looking back," Celeste says, taking my hand. Her black ring is cold against my skin. "Only forward, into whatever darkness we create."
"Together," I agree.
"Forever," she confirms.
And we drive into the night, newly wed, armed for slaughter, ready to paint our wedding night in the blood of men who sell children.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Celeste
My wedding dress trails through fresh snow as Cain forces my father into the back of our truck at gunpoint.
The fabric, once Patricia's pride, is now dusty with the Lockwood estate's decay, spotted with candle wax and a few drops of blood from our violent kiss.
It's no longer pristine, but it's more beautiful for being broken in.
"This is kidnapping," Sterling slurs, still drunk but sobering fast with Cain's gun pressed to his ribs.
"This is you facilitating your last transaction," Cain corrects. "You're going to be there. You're going to make sure everything runs smoothly. And then we're going to dismantle your empire piece by piece."
"Celeste, please?—"
"Get in the truck, Dad." My voice is steady, cold. "Or we release everything right now. Every document, every photo, every proof of your crimes goes live in thirty seconds. Imagine that, your reputation being ruined."
He climbs in.
What choice does he have?
I sit in the passenger seat, gun heavy in my lap.
Behind us, Sterling makes broken sounds that might be prayers or apologies.
I don't care which.
The drive to the cabin takes forty minutes through mountain roads glazed with ice.
No one speaks.
The only sounds are Sterling's ragged breathing and the whisper of snow against windshield.
My phone shows 1:15 AM. The shipment arrives at 2:00.
"They'll know something's wrong," Sterling says suddenly. "The buyers always arrive after the girls are secured. If they see you?—"
"Then you'll convince them everything is fine," I say without turning around. "You've been lying for thirty years. One more night shouldn't be hard."
