Page 132 of The Dearly Departed

I’ve been shot.

“He’s dying! Oh God!”

I look up, and there she is.

Anna. Lisey. Analise.

Standing in a wedding dress, soaked with my blood.

And I smile and say, “At least we finally got what we wanted.”

A groan ripped through my throat as I came to. My head ached horribly, the pain reaching through my skull and causing my brain to throb, and I reached up to touch the spot where I'd been hit, half expecting to find the blood and brain matter from the nightmare, only to panic when I realized the mask was no longer in place.

"Fuck," I mumbled with a gasp, opening my eyes and immediately slamming them shut at the bright light streaming in through a window.

I was in Gerald's office, I quickly realized, lying on one of his leather sofas. And, as it would appear, I was alone for the moment.

Where the fuck is my mask? And who took it off of me? Who’s seen my face?

I slowly sat up, keeping my eyes closed as I tested my capabilities. I didn't feel dizzy or nauseous, but the sensitivity to light and the splitting headache suggested I still likely suffered a mild concussion from when whoever the fuck had struck me in the head.

Carefully, I rose to my feet, pressing a hand to my pounding forehead as I cracked one eye open, just enough to guide my way around the office to the desk. There was nothing on the surface but an open laptop and my mask lying on the keyboard.

I picked up the mask, then tugged it on, and when it was securely in place, I squinted my eyes and took a closer look at the laptop screen. And if the concussion alone wasn't enough to make my stomach roll, the image displayed there certainly was.

Because on the screen was a dark, gritty video, and in it, both of my brothers were bound and gagged, their wrists chained above their heads. There was no sound, and there was no telling if the video was live. But in that moment, someone—a man wearing a hood, his face hidden from view—took a swinging punch at Shawn's chin, knocking his head back with the blow.

Rage coursed through my bones with such tremendous force that I brought both fists down onto the keyboard, breaking it and sending keys flying like scattered chess pieces.

"Was it worth it?"

I looked up to see Gerald standing in the doorway, a grim expression on his face.

"We had a deal," I said, crossing the room quickly to grab the lapels of his crisp tuxedo. "You piece of shit, we had a fucking deal!"

He cocked his head, unperturbed by my outburst. "Tell me, my boy … was shoving your tongue down my stepdaughter's throat on her wedding day part of that deal? Because, correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t remember that being in the fine print."

I was seething, ready to snap his fat neck at this very moment, but his words gave me pause, and he could sense my reluctance.

"I know everything, Abraham," he said with a condescending smirk. "So … surprise."

"Let them go," I demanded, my tone weakened by the truth that I had fucked up. "They have nothing to do with any of this shit. Just let them go. Please."

He shrugged with painful nonchalance. "As much as I love hearing you beg, I decided … maybe I want them too, since you seem to have a problem with keeping your hands to yourself. You're a liability, kiddo. No self-control. Maybe Isaac or Shawny boy will prove to be a better asset."

"No," I protested, shaking my head. "I'm telling you right now, Ike is a loose fucking cannon, and Shawn is scared. He’s emotional. You'll never get what you want out of them. Let them go, and I swear to God, I will play by the fucking rules from now on."

He narrowed his beady little eyes with interest. "No more canoodling with Analise?" He wrinkled his nose and shook his head and added, "Your stepsister, Abraham. For fuck’s sake.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and instead said, "I will keep my distance from her."

"So, no more secret rendezvous?"

"No more."

"And you will do what I say, when I say to do it?"

Without hesitation, I replied, "Yes."