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When I was eight years old…
Killian came crashing into my bedroom, his chest heavy and his scrawny body tight. As if he had something to say. I wanted to tell him to spit it out because I wanted to go back and check on Mommy, but I knew Killian and the type of boy he was.
He was a bad, bad boy. Papa didn’t like me around him.
“You weirdo. Get out of the house.”
“Killian,” I whispered, fighting a whimper. “I can’t. My mom, she’s sick and needs me.”
Killian walked up to me, closer and closer, clutching his shirt in his hand. “Did I fucking ask?”
I flinched at the use of a curse word.
“Why?” I backed up until my head smacked against the kitchen counter.
“Because one, it’s my fucking house, and two, my mom needs you. Now.”
I sighed. I hated being told what to do, especially from Killian, but Papa always said that I had to do what the Corneliis wanted. That they saved him and our family. Whatever that meant.
“Fine. I’ll go and tell my mom.” I rushed upstairs where my mom was lying asleep on the bed, wires and drains hanging out of her. Her pale skin was getting worse with each day, as death slowly sucked the life from her body. My lips trembled.
I would not cry. I would not cry. I would never cry.
Forcing the tears back down, I squeezed Mama’s hand. “I will be back. I promise.” I scribbled a note and left it on her bedside table so that if she woke and I wasn’t there, she wouldn’t panic. Papa was at work until late tonight, so I knew that she would freak out.
“Hurry up. This is fucking important!” Killian yelled from the door, shocking me out of my slumber.
I shook off the emotion from seeing my mom the way she was and followed him down the stairs and out of the house.
“You fucking owe me since you live on my property.”
I looked back at the pool house that we lived in on his parents’ property. I knew this. I knew all of this. My papa worked for Mr. Cornelii and my mama used to be their cook before she got sick. She would also make sure that the grounds were kept up to standard and the cleaning too. That hasn’t been the case for some time.
A black limo pulls to a stop, rounding the fountain. Why would a ten-year-old be wanting me to get into a limo?
“Get in,” Killian grumbled, shoving me into the car. We weren’t the only ones in the back. King and Keaton were there too.
“Why am I here?” I asked, confused.
“Because it’s King’s birthday party and we all have to be there.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want to come. I thought you said your mom wanted me?”
Killian smirked at me, for the first time ever. Not a scowl or a snarl, a smirk. It was alarming how uncomfortable that made me feel. “I don’t give a shit what you want.”
That night, my mother died. I wasn’t there to watch her take her final breath. I wasn’t there to kiss her warm cheeks one last time.
I wasn’t there.
Because of Killian.
Because he’s a stupid trickster who likes playing games.
Because of the stupid Brothers of Kiznitch.
When I was eight-years-old…
My father packed up a suitcase, shoved us into a beat-up Honda, and drove us away from the property I once called home. My home housed my enemy, but at least I always knew where he was. I was raised in this house, conditioned to endure the cruelty of Killian Cornelii. I didn’t know any other way.
“Papa!” I yelled when his frantic eyes wouldn’t hold still for longer than a few seconds. “What’s happening?”
I would never cry.
Not ever.
Not when my mom passed.
Not when my father looked as though the Devil was chasing us.
Never.
He swerved onto the freeway, sweat dripping from his temples.
“Papa, you’re scaring me…”
My father looked over at me, finally, with tired eyes. “They found out, Zaika,” Papa said. I never liked my name. I thought it was weird.
“Found what out?”
He shook his head, going back to the road. “You’re strong, Zaika. I have so much I need to tell you. So much.” He reached into his pocket, narrowly missing a bus. He hit dial on the phone. “Hope?” He cleared his throat. “It’s time. I know she’s not! She’s too young, but I don’t have a choice.” Silence, with a woman yelling in the background. “Hope, we will be at the meet in a few hours.” He hung up the phone and squeezed my leg. “Everything is going to be fine, because you’re strong. Just like your mother. Nothing like me.” He exhaled. “Your mother and I have not been honest with you, Zaika. We—” He struggled to say before turning to face me. “Your mom and I have been working for other people as well as the Corneliis.”
