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“I’ll wait! So get your hands off me.” Wyatt ripped his arms away. He looked ready to fight…anyone at that point before finally sitting down in the chairs across from me, running his hands through his brown hair. It was lighter, but not by much, than Ethan’s. Glancing up at me, he frowned.
“You’re the insane woman joining this family?” he asked.
“You’re the insane man who left?”
“I’m not insane.” He shook his head and pointed around the hospital. “Do you know how many times we’ve come to this hospital? This whole suite was designed not for high profile people, but us. Why? Because over and over again this family gets itself into shit so deep t
here is no avoiding this place…or the morgue. Normal people don’t live this way.”
“Yea.” I nodded, thinking about how I too wanted to be normal so many years ago.
“You don’t seem like the usual devoted worshiper,” he muttered, his eyes narrowing in on me.
“What?”
“Those fools.” He pointed to both Greyson and…Toby, I think. Both of whom didn’t even bother looking at him. “The idiots who would die for people in this family just because—”
“That idiot.” I pointed to Greyson. “He’s the one who found your grandmother and brought her out before…before it could have been much worse. I’m not a devoted worshiper like you said, but at the very least don’t call him an idiot. He’s a hero.”
He glanced back at Greyson, who still didn’t look at him, remaining kind of like those guards with funny hats in London…just without the funny hats.
“Greyson, apparently I owe you one.”
“Our supreme leader has told us not to acknowledge you, so you may keep your favor,” Greyson said like a robot, and I laughed.
I take it back! Nope, definitely not like the London Guards.
“Still as petty as always.” He snickered, shaking his head. Then he focused on me. “If you aren’t one of the followers, where are you from?”
“You don’t know?” I frowned at that.
“Don’t take it personally.” He leaned back into his seat. “I do my best to avoid any talk about the Irish, or the Italians, or any that involves this family.”
“I’m from Boston,” I said and his eyebrows came together in confusion.
“Boston, Massachusetts?”
“Born and raised,” I said with pride.
I could tell he was torn between asking more and not wanting to get involved, as he said, with this family.
“I have a question for you, as your future sister-in-law.”
“I make no promises I’ll answer, but you can ask.”
“I want normal too,” I said, so he knew I wasn’t trying to attack him. “I’ve always wanted normal. I wanted my mom to do my hair for prom. My dad to walk me down to aisle. To graduate from Boston U with a degree in Biochemistry and Pharmaceutical Science and become famous for creating lifesaving medicine. Have a house with a porch so I could watch it rain or snow, with a pet, most likely a dog because my dad was allergic to cats. Maybe a Russell terrier?”
“Is there a question in all of this?” He smiled. I was sure he liked the thought of it.
“Yea.” I nodded. “What do you do when you become a victim?”
“What?”
“What do you do when you become a victim?” I asked him again. “You called me insane for joining this family. But I never dreamed my life would be like this. But my mother was murdered. Then my father was murdered. Then I was lied to, conned, and then I lost seven years of my life because not one person had my back. Not my family. Not the police nor the courts. No one. Your family didn’t do that to me. Life did. What am I supposed to do? Wait for karma? Wait for justice? Two hundred women were in my cell block, who all wanted normal and something went wrong. Many of them by their own hands…far too many by the hands of others. If it were someone else, some other family that controlled instead of the Callahans, you’d be in that church too. No one would have carried your grandmother out. So tell me? What do you do? Because from what I’ve seen if you aren’t the victimizer…you’re the victim.”
He shook his head, rising to his feet. “You’ll fit in well, Ivy.”
“You’re leaving?”
