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I land on the hard ground with a loud thud, pain ricocheting through me while the harsh wind slips under my T-shirt and jeans. “You’re right. She looks just like her mother.” The voice speaks up as I sit on my ass, my bare feet digging into what seems to be soil. “A grown-up version of her.” He sounds displeased with the fact, and the air hitches in my throat because I’ve heard this voice countless times in my head over the years as I’ve mourned my parents’ death. “Gloria was prettier, though.” I feel his leather shoes touching me while he must hover above me as his disgusting cologne twitches my nose. He removes the blindfold so the light streaming from above blinds me.
Blinking several times, I wait for my vision to clear, only to gasp in disgust when their faces come to my view.
Uncle Grayson and…my father, John, alive and well, stand in front of me wearing all white as they grin at me. “Hello, daughter.” He opens his arms wide. “Daddy’s home.”
Maybe I should yell at him and demand answers, trying to believe that it’s a happy coincidence he’s alive and well. Maybe I should give the hopeful part of me full rein to soak up this feeling since one of my parents is here with me.
I’m not delusional, though, and the minute I saw his eyes, I knew.
I knew my life had been a lie because on the way here, I had the time to think, and the puzzle that didn’t make sense before finally clicked and created a full picture.
My father is the Church Killer, and his best friend is his accomplice, a cop who covered up all his crimes, and that’s why he was able to get away with so much back in the day. In my shocked and hazy mind during the wedding, I didn’t recognize his voice because he put something in his mouth that distorted it.
The truth might set one free, but fuck, does it hurt.
I won’t cry. I’ll do it later in the arms of my husband, who’ll hold me tight and fill me with his strength so I can put all this behind me.
I only need to focus on surviving right now and wait for Octavius to come.
“She missed you, John.” Grayson sweeps his gaze over me, and shivers run down my spine at how he licks his lips. A weird excitement fills his eyes, so unfamiliar from what I’m used to. Can a person really hide his nature so well? How could I have missed it all?
Easy.
Serial killers, rapists, or any other people like them are perfect manipulators and can fool anyone. Their loved ones and friends cannot be blamed for not seeing the signs because sometimes the signs don’t exist.
The first rule of survival? Get to know your environment.
I look around me, noticing I’m inside a spacious barn with several rusty cages smeared in dried blood and weapons lying on various tables. One bulb flickers above me, coating this place in a rather hideous energy that’s so different from Octavius’s dungeon.
This one seems dirty and rotten. I swallow the bitter taste in my mouth, and my tied hands fist. There seems to be no way out besides the wide open doors behind them, and it’ll be hard to get up from this position to rush for a knife.
Unless I can break my thumb and free my hands, but I decide to see what they intend to do next.
“You’re alive.” I’m surprised how indifferent I sound to the fact. “You’re a murderer.”
John removes his jacket and leans on the table while Grayson continues to stare at me, his eyes darkening by the second. “I knew you’d put all the dots together. I’m the Church Killer.” So much pride laces his voice it makes me sick. “My greatest achievement in this life was getting that title.” He grabs Grayson’s shoulder, squeezing it. “Thanks to my best friend who supported me along the way.”
“Who covered up your tracks, you mean.” I focus my stare on him, and John shrugs. “What do you want from me?” I have thousands of questions, yet oddly, I don’t want an answer to any of them.
He’s a murderer, and I don’t care what made him one, or why he felt the need to kill his own family and my mother during his last sadistic act before his disappearance.
He frowns. “A little more respect. You’re still my child.” I barely hold back my hollow laughter at this. “We’ve given you freedom long enough. The time has come to pay all your debts. Our generosity only lasts for so long.” What does he mean? “You should thank Uncle Grayson for being so patient with you.” He can wait for my thanks until hell freezes over. “You should fulfill your purpose.”
“My only purpose in life is to kill you,” I tell him, and his face sours at this, displeasure written all over him as Grayson licks his lips again. “And I’ll fulfill it, don’t you worry, John.”
His frown deepens, and he walks back to me, slapping me across the face. My head swings to the side while hurt travels all over my jaw. For a second, I can’t even move it and wonder if he broke it. “Watch your tone, Isla.” He fists my hair so hard he probably rips some out. I struggle in his hold when he tilts my head and leans closer. “Even your mother knew how to behave.”
“Don’t talk about my mother. You killed her!” I spit in his face, and another slap comes, this one harder, and the ringing in my ear is almost deafening.
“Silence. When men speak, you keep your mouth shut.” He pulls at my hair one more time before letting go and straightening up. “I wasn’t talking about Suzanne anyway.” What? “The bitch was stupid enough to tell on me to the prosecutor and thought I wouldn’t know. Guess she shouldn’t have written all these diaries, huh?” He laughs. “Killing my entire family was an experience. Their screams and blood gave a weird high that’s incomparable to anything else.”
“Ah, I think you’re mistaken, John.” Grayson speaks up, and they share a long look where he winks at John. “Something was better than the mass murders.”
Their laughter fills the air, and I glance around again, noticing a shard of glass on the floor. I shift a little, hoping they won’t notice while I listen to them. The more evidence of their crimes I have, the easier it will be to seek justice in the future. “Yes. The little girls.” I freeze at this, my heartbeat speeding up while horrified shivers make me tremble all over, and John sighs in pleasure. “Kidnapping them, loving them, and then finally killing them was bliss.”
Dear God.
They’re child rapists?
