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It had to stop.
“You look just like her.” I jerked back in surprise as he smiled at me, a smile from his death mask. “At least you’re not a slut like her.”
“My mom wasn’t a slut,” I whispered shakily.
“She was. Even her own fucking brother thought so.”
He sneered at me with so much hate from within that battered face of his that I knew his cruelty went bone deep.
I’d met him on dozens of occasions, but how he looked at me now was so different than those other times.
Was this the real him? With his mask gone and the act no more?
He jerked when Conor worked his horrors on him, and my brother-in-law snapped, “You don’t speak unless it’s to answer a question.”
Finn moved into me, not touching but close enough that I felt his warmth. “Your mom was not a whore, sweetheart.”
“She was a lying, filthy slag,” Michael roared before Conor zapped him. “Betrayed… her… people,” he stuttered on a scream.
Flinching at the sight, my mouth almost trembled before I firmed it. “Is Elizabeth Davidson a part of the ECD?”
He was quiet. Too quiet.
An electrical charge surged to life that made me feel like my hair was about to stand on end.
It went on for so long that I started to cry as his body twisted and morphed, bones and muscles straining.
Michael’s scream pierced my ears and would, I knew, haunt my nightmares until the day I died.
“YES!” he screeched, a second before he fell silent.
I stared at his stillness with horror, wondering if he was dead, then Conor murmured, “That’s the first time he’s admitted that.”
The First Lady was involved with a bunch of terrorists.
My life had turned into a Dean Koontz novel.
“He’s not going to last long, Finn,” Conor continued, “I know you wanted me to keep him alive, but—”
“Let him die.” I pushed back against Finn’s hold before I stared up at him and whispered, “Take me home.”
And as we stepped outside of the house of horrors behind me, that was when I puked.
