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Dalton’s eyes flick to mine, horror rocking across his features when he sees the blood splattered across my face. He didn’t expect to see me again—and certainly not like this. But before I even get a chance to process everything that’s going down, Hartley Scott raises his gun and puts a single bullet between Nikolai’s eyes, right here in front of his wife and children.
Chapter 29
SAWYER
The ice clinks in the bottom of my glass, and I throw back what’s left of my whiskey before reaching over and replacing it with the bottle.
Today my father was executed. I could have handled it. I was prepared for it. Hell, I thought Cara was prepared for it. But the way she broke, the way she threw herself at him, desperate to save him—it fucking killed me.
She’s my twin sister. We shared a womb. It’s my job to protect her from the hardships of life and shelter her from this messed-up world we belong to. I promised my father that I would watch over her. I made a solemn vow to myself. But today, I failed.
It’s well past two in the morning, and I’ve sat here on Zade’s couch for three long hours, staring at the bottom of my glass. Following the execution, I went home with Mom and Cara. Zade gave her a day to grieve before he’ll inevitably lock her back in his spare room.
A part of me wishes I didn’t go. I should have just come straight back here afterward. The way Mom and Cara clung to me, burdening me with their grief. It was the right thing to do, but it was too much. I’d give up everything in a heartbeat if it meant taking their pain, so I sat there and took it all, letting it weigh down on me.
I’m the man of the family now. It’s my duty to protect them, even if it means protecting them from themselves.
Mom tried to keep herself composed. She’s been preparing for this since the second Dad was thrown in the cells. She knew it was coming, but Cara was a fucking mess. She hoped and prayed and dreamed that this was all a misunderstanding. She believes in the sanctity of The Circle and had faith that they would let him go. But that bullet . . . fuck.
I don’t know what killed me more—the sound of the bullet penetrating my father’s skull or the agonized scream that tore from my twin sister’s mouth.
Mom got drunk and then, despite the dangers, took a few sleeping pills and went to bed. But Cara, she sobbed for hours on end, every last cry darkening my already black soul and leaving a stain on my heart. I’ll never forget the sound of her cries. It’ll fuel my need for change. Hell, it’ll fuel my need to get sweet vengeance.
My father should not have died today.
Despite everything he did, despite the long-standing traditions of Empire, my father’s loyalty to the cause and the brotherhood of The Circle should have been valued. He should have been spared. But fucking Hartley Scott—he was far too eager to pull the trigger. He ran the show and created a narrative, painting my father as a callous, selfish man. While we have certainly had our differences over the years, he was a good father.
Lifting the bottle of whiskey to my lips, I take a deep pull, desperately needing the alcohol to dull my senses. As I slam it back to the coffee table, I notice Oakley standing across the penthouse, her broken stare locked on me.
I look away, unable to handle it. “I don’t want your pity,” I warn her.
She pushes off the wall and strides toward me, her eyes locked so heavily on mine that it makes me want to fucking scream. She’s too much, too good for this world, and the closer we get to the ritual, the closer I come to losing the last shred of humanity left inside me.
Oakley walks right into me, her knee pressing against the couch cushion before climbing onto my lap and straddling me, Easton’s old shirt bunching around her waist. She rests her hand against my shoulder before reaching back for the whiskey and taking a pull of her own. “Do you think I’m the type of woman to insult you with pity?”
I press my lips together, knowing she’s damn right.
My hands fall to her hips, my fingers digging into her creamy skin, desperate to feel something. “You should have run faster,” I tell her before shaking my head, replaying what Zade told me after my father was executed, the words only now coming back to me. “What were you even doing down in those cells? You could have saved yourself.”
Her gaze falls from mine, and I realize that we’re all missing something here—everyone apart from Zade that is. After all, he knew to go looking for her in the cells. Had it been anyone else, we would have searched for her out on the street.
