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“We don’t enjoy the process,” Uncle Henry insisted, though from the look on Margaret’s face, that wasn’t true of everyone. “Only the outcome we’re working toward.”
My father nodded. “It has to be done for the good of everyone in this country. Sacrifices must be made to set the energies among us on the right course.”
Suddenly the supernatural-sounding books in the library made a lot more sense. Where had the generations of Maliks before them first gotten these crazy ideas? What had convinced them to keep acting on them?
It didn’t matter. The people in front of me had been carrying out their horrific legacy their whole lives. I could see from the flash of determination in my father’s eyes that they had no intention of stopping even with my discovery of it.
But I had to try anyway.
Bile had risen in the back of my throat. I swallowed it down and fixed him with my firmest stare. “You’re an educated man. Can’t you hear how ridiculous this sounds? How could killing children possibly have any impact on whether other random people commit more crimes?”
“You’ll understand,” Damien said. “I promise you, once we bring you into the rituals, you’ll see how it all connects. It is an honor, being chosen to carry out this divine calling—”
I couldn’t stand to listen to him anymore. I took another step forward, and Aunt Mabel flinched. “I’m never going to understand, and I’m sure as hell never going to be a part of this psychotic cult of yours. I’m going to ask you again. Where. Is. Garrison?”
My father’s brow furrowed, and I expected him to dodge the question again, continuing this stupid game of not knowing what I meant. But at the same moment, a clanging sound reverberated from the direction of the barn. My gaze shot straight to the other building.
From this angle, I couldn’t help noticing another, smaller structure tucked next to the barn. A big brick chimney with a wrought-iron belly… A furnace.
The nausea gripping my stomach expanded up through my chest. Ash. Calcium levels in the soil. Signs of bodily remains.
Just like that, I knew that furnace was where they burned the results of their “offerings.” That was why no murders had been reported—no bodies had ever been found.
And then the Maliks took a little of the ash and scattered it in their garden back home to fertilize their precious flowers of justice. My gut lurched, and I thought I might actually vomit.
But the sound had come from the barn itself. Was that where they’d locked Garrison away? What state had they left him in?
The urgency of my worry drowned out my queasiness. Turning away from the house, I set off toward the barn with the rest of the crew at my heels.
It seemed the Maliks didn’t like that. They all poured down the steps, hustling to get between us and the barn.
“You’ve gone far enough,” Grandpa Bo said in a growl.
My father’s gaze flicked over the men with me again. “We can’t have strangers poking around in our most private and sacred business. We can’t have them knowing what we do here.”
Margaret snickered. “You gave them a death sentence.”
Who did she think she was? I ignored her, glowering at Damien. This confrontation was going to end in death, but I wanted to make sure that Garrison’s life was no longer on the line before blood got spilled… if I could.
“You don’t want to start this fight,” I warned him.
A tremor ran through him, but then his expression set with determination. “There are only two options now that you’ve come this far, Rachel. Either you accept your role as part of the family—or we can’t let you leave here alive.”
“I think she’s already made her position perfectly clear,” Uncle Henry said with a flash of dark metal as his hand leapt up.
Julius saw it too. Before my uncle even took aim, the crew’s commander blasted him away, a clean shot through the center of his forehead. And then the scene erupted into total chaos worthy of the crew’s name.
The rest of the family charged us, whipping out guns and knives, from little paring blades to blocky cleavers. Most of them threw themselves at the men, aiming to close the distance before the crew could take any easy shots.
My father lunged at me.
Shots boomed and grunts and groans filled the air all around me. I didn’t have time to look and see who was responsible for which sounds. Damien snatched at my hair, and I had to dodge faster than I expected to escape his grasp—which sent me colliding with one of my uncles. I whirled around, and a boot slammed into my calves. My legs buckled.
I landed on my hands and knees and immediately rolled to the side. As I sprang back onto my feet, my father barreled into me, knocking me back to the ground.
When he loomed over me, there was a moment when I could have shot him. I still had a pistol clutched in my hand. But my damn heart stuttered, I hesitated for a split-second, and the next instant he was kicking the gun from my fingers.
He shoved me down with a knee on my abdomen and the muzzle of his own gun pressed to my forehead. My pulse lurched for a totally different reason. But it seemed Damien Malik wasn’t all that keen to kill the daughter he’d only just discovered was still alive.
