“Fuck you,” I said, hands shaking.
“Come back and be mine.”
A strangled sound came from the staircase. Laurel stepped out from the dark, her eyes bloodshot, mascara making twin tracks down her cheeks, her too-thin figure wrapped in an ice-blue ballgown fit for a queen. She stared at him. “After everything?”
The minute Don turned to her, I lunged from the chair and ran to the wooden chest, shoving my hands inside and pulling out the first thing my fingers touched: the smooth handle of a hatchet, surprisingly heavy. I gripped it in both hands and held it out in front of me.
Don and Laurel froze.
“Laurel,” I said sharply, stepping closer to the stairs. “You heard him. Don, Nico, whatever his name is—he’s a fake. He doesn’t care about you.”
Don blinked for a second at the weapon in my hands; then a grin spread over his face. “The old Norse battle-ax. God does have a sense of humor.” He turned to Laurel. “You know who I am. What I’ve done for you. You know my heart better than anyone. Don’t let her manipulate you.”
“He’s the one manipulating.” I edged closer to the staircase and Laurel tensed, looking back and forth between us. “What he’s doing to you and the other women isn’t right. It’s torture. He’s sick, Laurel, and he’s making you sick, too. What would your father say?”
She made that strangled sound again.
“What would he say if he saw you being treated this way?” I knew I was fighting dirty, but I had to win. “Leave with me. Please.”
Don put his hands up in surrender. “I’ll show you how much I trust you.” He walked to her, and she shrunk back like a kicked dog.
“Get away—” I started, but he handed Laurel the dagger, hilt first. “Take it,” he said. “You have the power now. Total free will.”
She snatched the knife and glanced at me, eyes tracking over my torn shirt, the long cut down my chest.
I pulled the ripped pieces together. “I know it’s hard to leave him. Trust me. But listen to that voice of doubt. That’s your sanity, your survival instincts. Deep down you know what Don’s doing isn’t right.”
She wavered, biting her lip. “The Paters are done for,” I said, pressing my hand. “Any minute now. We’re going to put them away.”
“What are you talking about?” Don snapped.
I kept my attention on her. “It’s all going to come crumbling down. Everyone’s going to know exactly who Don is, and what he’s done. All the Paters are going to jail.”
She blinked. “They’ll know about me?”
“They’ll know he exploited you,” I said quickly.
“Rachel’s murder,” Don said softly. “If they find out, the police won’t look kindly on that.”
“I had to do it,” Laurel choked out. “But I’ll rot for it.”
I shook my head. “No, they’ll see you were manipulated.” What she’d done was horrible, but it wasn’t really her fault—none of this was. She’d been coerced by her conditioning. Yes, she had agency, but she was also a victim. People would understand.
“Laurel,” Don said, and though his voice was silky, she flinched. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you?”
She nodded, chin bobbing fast.
“And you’re mine?” he asked, voice deepening. “Body and soul?”
She choked out a yes.
“Stop it. You don’t belong to anyone, Laurel.” I was so close to her now.