Page 105 of The Devil

“About fucking time you pick up your phone!”

Cassian. It’s fucking Cassian. I need to tell him to get Amal. I need to tell him before I run out of charge or that boat runs us over because it sure as fuck looks like it’s about to.

“Tell your fucking brother to put his fucking gun down before one of my men takes him out!” Cassian barks before I can speak.

Sev and I exchange a glance.

“Where the fuck are you?” I yell into the phone.

“Right in front of you.”

35

AMAL

My knees begin to wobble and finally, finally, I’m understanding. It’s like all of this, everything, it finally hits. Those drawings in my mother’s diary. The name Fairbairn. I’d thought I was searching for my father, but it was her name. My name. And somehow, we’re tied to this thing, this Secret Society.

Jet.

Jet is gone.

They killed him. Did they do it to get to me? Or would they have killed him anyway. And Severin who had nothing to do with any of it. Is he dead too?

I recall my mother’s journal entries. The pregnancy. Me. Unwanted.

Was she made to stand where I’m standing now? I glance at that photo and I know she was. I know she stood in exactly the same place wearing exactly the same dress.

He’d raped her.

The man, her husband? He’d raped her.

When I’d thought I was Malek’s daughter it was bad enough. Finding this out? Understanding what kind of men these men are? It makes me no less a monster.

What did I hope to find when I set out to find my family? A safe place for Daniel. This is no safe place.

The priest lights the final candle on the altar. Hundreds of flames burn within the chapel, golden light flickering over ancient stone and polished wood, making shadows dance in every corner. The scents of melting wax and incense seep into everything and burn my throat. I imagine the other women in red, my ancestors, standing where I am now, seeing the same masks in the golden glow of candles. Feeling the same terror I’m feeling now.

“What is this. Tell me what the hell this is!” I hear myself asking, wanting to demand answers but too afraid, my voice a croak, my panic obvious. At least I can understand. At least I can know why they had to die.

Jameson points to the photograph. “Liliana Fairbairn. We did not know she was with child when she… left us. But your DNA proves it.”

“I told you. Look at her. She’s a Fairbairn,” the priest says. “They all have the same eyes.”

“DNA?” I ask, confused.

“At the restaurant.” Of course. The iced tea, the glass the waiter had swiped away as soon as I’d sipped from it. “We needed to be certain and now that we are, well, all will be as it should have been.”

His cryptic words send terror through me.

Jameson turns to the priest. “Has Master Robertson arrived? He’ll perform the binding ceremony.”

“I’m married. I’m already married,” I say.

“Your husband is dead. At the bottom of the sea by now,” Jameson says. “Our boat signaled the pickup a few minutes ago. The crew are headed back.”

“I don’t believe you. I don’t.” I twist in the soldier’s grip, trying to free myself.

My gaze catches on the man in the photo beside my mother. Faceless. Masked.