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I don’t let my emotions show on my face. Keeping neutral, I question, “What about my mother?”
“She will understand. We cannot go against his wishes,” he insists, dismissing my concern.
As Maxton speaks, I am picturing the many ways I could kill him right here, in his own office. Bashing his skull against the wall repetitively until pieces of his brain are stuck on his fancy wallpaper. Hold him down against the desk, mouth wrapping around the edge, while I stand on it. Then I would take my black steel-toed boot and step on the crown of his head until I heard his jaw break. But I wouldn’t stop, I would keep going. The pain would cause him to pass out. As he lay on the ground, I would wait for him to wake up again, the pain would be excruciating, I imagine. I would take my number one choice, my baseball bat, and beat the living shit out of his head with it. How I desperately want to bash this motherfucker’s head in. I have never liked him, and I’m sure I am the only one who sees through his shit. Everyone else who follows him is brainwashed and fooled by his charm. At this point, he could tell them he was just spoken to, that they must burn themselves alive, and they would fucking do it.
The restraint I have on myself right now is something he should appreciate.
Although just because I have restraint doesn’t mean I am fucking happy about this.
“She is your daughter,” I state, pointing out the obvious, which he seems to be ignoring.
He doesn’t respond.
I cannot be bothered with his bullshit games right now. Getting up, I walk around him without saying a word before leaving. I am going to take what is fucking owed to me.
Chapter 7
Elijah
Ihaven’t slept yet.
My blood is boiling as I speed down the dark backroads of Blackwood. My bright headlights are the only bit of light back here until the sun starts rising any minute now. Switching gears, my ignition roars louder as my speed increases. My dark hair is hanging over my forehead, and my nostrils flare with rage as my eyes focus on my destination ahead of me, The Chapel.
Blackwood is a small coastal town in North Carolina, which The Chapel has taken advantage of. The Chapel is located within one of the alcoves of the large rocky cliffs lining the coast. The cave’s entrance is inland and has rooms branching out. If you walk straight through the long, dark and cold cave, it will take you to the sandy beach and ocean.
The locals don’t come near this spot. My stepfather is widely known for running these parts.
I am positive most think he is absolutely unhinged, a notorious cult leader. The ones who don’t are members, followers of him, and The Chapel. And once you're in, good luck getting out alive.
Over the years, people have whispered, and rumors have spread. Some are true, but they can never be proven.
When I get a name, good luck catching me. It will never fucking happen. So when someone goes missing, the town knows what has most likely happened. The police have learned to keep their distance. I was given one of their names once after they got too nosey into The Chapel’s business.
Master claimed he was told, ‘They must be taught a lesson.’
The bodies are never found. How they are disposed of isn’t up to us. Master tells us what has been decided and that is what we do.
It is convenient that we have an ocean nearby.
Do I believe his bullshit? No absolutely not, but I don’t have enough energy to give a fuck. I get to do something I enjoy and I am the only one who has these privileges.
But that isn’t the point. It doesn’t fucking matter. This time I got two names. One to kill. One promised to me. Not to fucking him. I got them both out clean. No one has a fucking clue. I killed her mom in front of her—not that it bothered me, but it clearly upset her.
She wasn’t supposed to be upset!
If that motherfucker thinks he is going back on his promise, to take what’s owed to me and what is mine. He is seriously more delusional than I thought.
Pulling up to The Chapel now, I noticed a few other cars are here as I shift gears and slam on the brakes. My car's tail end swings as my tires try to grip the loose gravel. It barely comes to a stop before I turn off the ignition and bolt out with my wooden baseball bat in hand, my vision is tunneled. I am here to do one thing, claim what is mine. She will never be fucking his. That’s his goddamn daughter, for fuck’s sake. I will not let him touch her.
Only ever me. Mine!
The thought makes my blood boil and my skin itch with fury.
My mind is forcing me to picture it. Him caressing her face with his fingers. Naked, she cringes but can’t stop her nipples from hardening, it’s cold in the caves. Rain will try to look away, but that doesn’t put him off her. He grips her face, forcing her to look at him. He is seething as his other hand cracks against her skin. Her lip quivers—the reaction he craves. Then he forces two fingers between her lips, demanding her to suck them. Her eyes look up at him, pleading, hoping he will stop, but he won’t. He can’t.
A loud roar erupts from within me. My grip around the baseball bat tightens, and my fist is clenched as my knuckles whitten.
He will never touch her.
