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I stand up. “We’re finished here. I can’t stand to look at you for another minute.”
She glances back at the man with the bag who steps out of the shadows. I replace the chair at the dining table, which is only a few steps away because the house is so small.
“What do you mean, we’re finished?” she asks, gaze on that man as she makes to stand. One of the soldiers at her back lays his big hand on her shoulder, keeping her seated.
“I mean you and I are finished. But your punishment has just begun.” This brings me no joy. Not that I expected it to. No, it feels like it did when I hurt the innocents, even knowing she is as far from innocent as anyone can be. Hell, she is the catalyst of it all.
“And what is that, son?” she asks, teeth tight together as she tries to appear angry and not frightened.
“You’ll live here, in the house you were so desperate to escape.”
“It’s uninhabitable—”
“Repairs have begun. You will have the bare minimum. You will be under constant guard. You will be alone.”
“Prison.”
“And no one will know where you are.”
At that she swallows. “You can’t do this. You won’t.”
“I can. I am.”
“How long?”
“For the rest of your life. I thought that was self-explanatory.”
“Santos, I…”
“I’m not finished.” I nod to the man with the bag. He sets it on the coffee table, sending dust motes into the air. He unzips it, and I know it takes all she has not to peer into it because a black duffel is never a good sign, is it?
I wait until she meets my eyes again to speak.
“You’re a conniving, slithering thing. A snake. Although a snake is only acting on the instinct to survive. A snake is not evil,” I say, feeling sick for the words. “You’ve hurt so many, taken too much. Even Caius, you’ve damaged beyond repair.”
“I—”
I shake my head and she quiets. “But you are my mother still. And I am merciful, still, in spite of the Commander.” I turn to the man. “I want her knocked out during the procedure. Make sure there are antibiotics. I don’t want infection. But no painkillers. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Santos!” My mother is on her feet, the hand on her shoulder the only thing holding her back.
I turn to her.
“What are you going to do?”
“You’ll wear the tongue of a serpent. For all the lies you’ve told, for all the damage you’ve done.”
She blanches but waits. I’m not finished and she knows it.
“And you will lose the hand that began this.”
“Wh… What?”
I step toward her but find I don’t want to be too close. “But you will live. Not like so many others who are long dead.”
Her face loses the last of its color.
