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Tonight, we right wrongs, choking what little life our enemies have left. We’ll skewer those who tried to break us and hurt you in the process.
Everything is in place, and we’ve rehashed the details down to the second. This is the night we’ve been working towards since I had to choose to save O.
Teagan’s been working tirelessly with Lev to deactivate the chip in Owen’s arm, and as long as nothing gets fucked up, you’ll be back in our arms. After you nut punch each of us, I’m sure, but I’d let you do it a thousand times if it guarantees we get you back.
Owen will be forced to do and say things to gain Samantha’s trust. It’s the only to get him close enough for Teagan to work her magic.
We need you to know that we’ll confess all our fuck ups. I’ll be the first and last at your feet, begging forgiveness. I have much to atone for—we all do.
We’re sorry for whatever you’re forced to endure at this farce of a party. We tried to get the Council to excuse you, but they said it would be more suspicious if they allowed you to break the rules of the contract. We just need you to hold on just a little bit longer.
We’re coming for you, Ariah—you and our babies.
Song: Coming Home -Skylar Grey
Wes
Ireread the last line through watery eyes, then snap Wes’s journal closed.
They were always coming for me. I know they said it, but it is so hard to trust with all that’s happening.
Clearing my throat, I grab a tissue from the box on my desk and wipe my face. I know without looking that I’m a blotchy mess. Seeing what they planned compared to what actually happened that night will forever be burned into my memory.
Even after my conversations with Owen and Lev, part of me is still raw. I want to argue that there had to be another way. One where Owen didn’t need to pretend or be that close to Samantha, but that’s selfish. I’d be the first to tell him he was foolish if he didn’t do what was needed.
I open my laptop and type Senator Matthew Baker’s name into the search bar. I need to know the man who’s been trying to destroy my family. The smug bastard’s face pops up on the screen. Site after site sings his praises.
“Youngest Senator in the country.”
“Baker’s on the fast track to the White House.”
Matthew Baker’s rags-to-riches story would be impressive if he hadn’t done so on the backs of people around him. I stare at the latest picture of him. He’s standing alongside his new wife, Samantha “Cunt Face” Davenport, or I guess it’s actually Baker now. Her smile is just as fake as it’s always been, but there’s something in her eyes I’ve never seen. Fear. Samantha’s glacial blue eyes appear haunted.
“Good. I hope you’re a miserable bitch that makes his life just as unbearable,” I mutter. They deserve each other. I scroll further down, pausing to read the articles detailing Senator Baker’s countless accusations. Many that should disqualify him from holding public office, and even more that prove he needs to be behind bars.
Standing, I massage my lower back as I walk, which is more of a waddle these days, and lock my door before returning to my desk. Then I open the bottom drawer, removing the false bottom to retrieve my safe. It’s not long before I pick up and power on the burner phone, inserting the SIM card and calling the only number preprogrammed on the cell. There’s barely a ring when the call connects. “Ariah, is everything okay? We aren’t scheduled to speak until you return to school next week.”
“Yes, I just need information on Senator Matthew Baker,” I reply, smiling.
As the months have passed, the relationship I’ve built with the person on the other side of the line has strengthened me. Especially their belief that the tides are turning in my favor.
“Matthew Baker isn’t someone you go after alone. He’s very well connected.” Though it’s not needed, the warning is heard loud and clear. But one look at the little information available on the Senator confirms how powerful his reach is.
Sighing, I state, “I understand. This is just a preliminary search. I have no plans to go after him until I know who I’m dealing with.”
“I’ll have Tamara send you the file. Does this mean you’re ready to begin the final phase?”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I ponder the question. It’s one I’ve been asked at the end of each call. There have been many instances over the last few months when I nearly said, “fuck it,” giving the green light to destroy it all.
The last phase will light the fuse to a bomb, eviscerating everyone and everything in its path, unwilling to yield. I’m not ready for the nuclear option. There are still opportunities to gain the desired outcome without trampling over the men I love. “Almost. I need to determine if they’re worthy of being saved or if their end is inescapable.”
“I knew I chose wisely. Take the time needed, but if the Senator forces our hand, then I’ll make the decision, and I cannot promise it will be in their favor.” I’m being given the same warning. One that leads me to believe I’m still being tested.
A moment passes, before I realize I’m nodding like we’re in the same room. “Understood.” The call ends, and I wait for the text to come in.
Fifteen minutes later, the burner phone buzzes, alerting me to log into the encrypted site.
Pulling out my computer, I enter the login information before removing the SIM card and putting the phone away.
