That’s what I see now—the flare of outrage in her expression. “You have no idea,” she seethes, lips pulling back into a snarl, “the things I had to do to get you where you are today. The pieces I had to move. The people I had to pay. The men I had to fuck.” She spits the word like its venom, which is smart. A few days ago, having that thrown in my face would have cut me somewhere deep. Now, I don’t even blink.
“Daniel and Martin must not have been too bad,” I hedge, picking at my fingernail. “Ugly Nick, I’ll give you. But that’s just one lousy lay, and he did kill for you. That seems like a bargain.”
She barks a low, biting laugh. “Oh, if you want to know the truth, Ugly Nick was the best of the four.”
Four.
“Yeah?” I ask, letting my disgust bleed through. “And who was the worst? Daniel always struck me as particularly sleazy.”
“Daniel was nothing.” There’s a glaze to her eyes that I’m glad to see. Her chart had made it clear to me that the IV bag to her right has some nice drugs in it, but it isn’t until she babbles on that I realize how beneficial they are. “Daniel, Nick, Martin…all so easy. Nothing like him.” Her head drops back, eyes rolling sluggishly to the ceiling. “But I needed to get into that tracker he put in your neck…”
My blood turns to ice.
I dive for my bag, pulling out my phone and pressing it to my ear. “Did you hear that?” I ask, ignoring my mom’s baffled expression.
“Ray.” Dimitri’s voice is quiet, but no less severe. The Lord’s ‘medic’ has been busy with more things than patching up injured soldiers and tagging their women.
“That’s not all,” I rush out. “The doctor on her chart? The initials are RM.”
There’s some energetic chatter in the background, Tristian’s voice mingling with Killian’s, and then Dimitri responds. “That’s him. We’re on our way to take care of it now.”
“Ms. Crane,” I protest, but Dimitri makes a sharp, dismissive sound.
“We just dropped her off at home. Go there and wait for us, okay?” His next words are low and dangerous. “This won’t take long.”
The phone cuts out, leaving me alone with the slack, betrayed expression on my mother’s face. “You played me,” she breathes.
Learned from the best, I think. This was the easiest way of finding out who else had her loyalty. Certainly better than standing around waiting for them to make themselves known. We’ve had quite enough of that, thanks.
I ignore the angry, wounded thing swimming in her eyes as I collect my bag. Keeping my voice even and sure, I say, “If you try to contact me again—letters, phone calls, messengers, anything—Killian will kill you.” I hold her stare, making sure she hears the steel in my voice. “This time, I’ll let him.” A gentle rap sounds out against the door, but I don’t flinch. It’s just the officer letting me know my time is up. I take in my mother’s shocked face, the eyes I used to think of as home, the hair I used to press my nose to for comfort. “And if you try to harm them again? I’ll do it myself.”
“No, you won’t.” I know she’s high when she shakes her head, eyelids heavy as they fall. “You’re my little storybook.”
“I might be…” I get close. Close enough to say goodbye to the woman I loved. Close enough to finally overlay the concept of Ted against the crease in her brow. Close enough to let her go. “But I’m not your fairytale, mom.” When her eyelids flutter, I lean down to sweetly whisper, “I’m a motherfucking horror novel.”
Freedom feels nice.
That’s what I’m thinking of when I get home from classes, pulling up in my Dodge. There’s no more Ted. No Daniel. No Martin or Ugly Nick. The final three are all dead. Ted? Well, he never even existed.
After that hospital visit three days ago, there’s no Ray, either.
“Clean kill,” is what Killian had said to me afterward. I didn’t ask for details, and they didn’t offer any. I’ve had enough murder for the year, and it’s barely March.
I bound up the steps toward the brownstone, taking in the crisp air and hints of a slowly budding spring. I still remember the first day I came here, standing in front of this door and feeling sick with dread. Now, the sight of the skull on the door knocker unwinds the tension from my shoulders.
Home.
I’m glad we’ll be here again next year, since Killian’s decided to play out his tenure as Lord and graduate before ceding it to the next bunch of degenerates. I’m proud that he’s focused on getting his diploma and not just control of South Side. Hopefully, a second academic year of being a Lady is a lot less fraught than my first has been.