Page 137 of Trapped Truth

“How do you know about Gracie?” Ember’s head snaps up.

“Losing her was a blow to operations.” Angela doesn’t continue right away, peeking up at my girl. “How is she?”

After a beat, Ember’s shoulders loosen. “Safe.”

“I’m glad. She’s a sweet one.”

“Why are you helping him?” I interject, almost too sickened to spit the words out.

“I hardly have much of a choice. You of all people should know that survival demands our whole soul, ugly bits and all. If I’d refused, I doubt I would’ve been kept alive for long. Especially at my age.”

As much as I hate the position she’s been thrust into, I can understand her situation. I did plenty for my father that turned my stomach on a daily basis. For years, that was my sole method of survival.

“If I’d known about you…” Fighting back a torrent of despair, I vehemently shake my head. “None of it would’ve happened.”

“Please don’t blame yourself, son.”

I’m too enraged to correct her this time. After all, I am her son.

“I looked for you,” I grit out. “Years of searches, investigations, looking for answers to the questions that have haunted me my whole life. In the end, I had to presume you were dead.”

Her jewelled eyes glisten, the blue hue intensifying. “Perhaps it’s best you didn’t find me.”

“I would’ve kept you safe.”

“No one could keep me safe, not even you. I’m glad you’ve had a life without me, Blaine. However torrid or imperfect. I was barely an adult myself; I couldn’t have given you anything. Not even a real home.”

“I refuse to condone what he did.” My fingertips rub at a phantom pain that skates across the scar on my face.

“You don’t have to. But know that for every missed birthday, I thought of you. My darling angel boy. I never stopped dreaming about who you had become.”

My scalp tightens and skin turns clammy, overwhelmed by pent-up emotions that can’t be organised so easily. I dreamed about her too. For years, in fact. Nightmares too. For over thirty years, I’ve waited to look into her eyes and hear her voice.

“I’m so sorry.” Her voice drops to a strained croak.

“I should be the one apologising.”

“Don’t even think about it. I won’t hear it.”

“Look what he’s done to you! To both of us!”

“And that’s precisely why I’m here.”

“What do you know?” Ember rests a hand on my shaking leg.

As she adjusts her hair, the sleeves on Angela’s blouse roll upward. The flash of mottled skin douses my vision crimson-red. She has inch-wide scarring on both wrists, a perfect brand of handcuffs, seemingly forced on her year after year.

At the twist of her arm, tiny, notched letters grow clear too. The tattoo ink is faded but still tarnished in the top right corner of her wrist. Three numbers—371. Another designation etched into place without consent.

“Since returning here… Nolan’s grown reckless.” She tugs the sleeve of her blouse, hiding the scars from sight. “Rageful. Nolan benefitted from his partner’s passing, but there are only so many assets that can be sold off to fund his expansion here.”

“He’s burning through funds faster than he can replenish.” Azrael speaks up, still hovering over us in an eternal fighting stance.

“So what?” I glower at him. “Worried you won’t get paid?”

“I don’t give a fuck about my paycheck, kid. Madden’s ranks are primed to collapse. Since the explosion, many have already deserted their posts, fearing an all-out war that none of us will survive.”

“He’s gone too far.” Face pinched, Angela expels a gust of air.