by Hazel Grace
“Let’s get out of here.” Marty begins to pull me, but I shake my head violently to leave me be.
I need to know why.
I need to know what kind of monster my brother has become.
I need to know what happened while he was gone for so many years when he obviously wasn’t just a Marine. No, that ship sailed a long fucking time ago, I think.
“Why?” Marty matches my cowered demeanor, his forehead hovering over mine. He’s shaking too, I can feel his quaking exhales, as though we’re experiencing this together for the first time.
“You think...this is fun.” I tear my eyes from the blood stains on my brother’s shirt and meet her.
I haven’t seen the bitch since she released those videos of her having sex with various politicans posing as me. I never got to thank her for almost killing Mama.
Demi is here.
She’s here, tied to a chair and covered in her own blood. Her once nice dress shirt is drenched in it, I can’t tell what color it was before. It drips from her body and onto the pristine hardwood floors. Which brings me to the next stomach corkscrewing thing—her leg is missing.
Yes, I said her leg.
It’s gone.
Her blue eyes, they try to glare at me, but she’s in so much pain. But the moment she can pull it off, I see them boring into me.
And she’s not alone.
A man sits in a chair next to her, head bowed into his chest—unconscious or dead, I’m not sure. I can’t look at him for more than a minute because of what looks to be gashes on the side of his face along with the large amount of swelling that makes him look unrecognizable.
“I’ll kill you, bitch,” Demi seethes, crimson red covering her teeth. I feel Marty make a move, but the next compression of my hand gets him to pause.
Answering her will do nothing, not that I have anything to say. I’d like to say I’m a tough bitch, but the sight of blood and missing body parts—I can’t.
“She’s been running with the man next to her,” Marty whispers by my ear. “He’s a Russian spy. They plotted out an assassination attempt on the president—it failed.”
My neck snaps to him. “She tried to kill him?”
“Hired man with a shitty shot.” My jaw twitches as I keep my attention averted to the scene on the right of me. “If Francis didn’t step in when he did, that bullet would’ve killed Lockwood.”
“So this is...payback?” I stutter.
“Torture.” A violent chill runs down my arms and legs.
It looks like it.
“Francis was a good man,” my brother continues. “He had a wife and two daughters. He did his duty and got killed for it by a bitch who should’ve gotten out when we told her to.”
“We?”
“She’s been warned, Tsarina, many times to leave Lockwood alone. My commander wouldn’t sign off on taking her out then. She was just a heartless bitch who wanted and took. I can’t say I blame the fucker for not considering her his wife.”
“And you—” I look over my shoulder to see him studying me intently. To find any disgust in my eyes.
There is, just not for him. As fucked up as that sounds, it’d never be because of Marty.
“I’m part of a secret government organization called B723. So secret, Tsarina, that only five people in the White House know about us. We kill the bad guys, keep the country safe—I maim people to make sure I get the truth.”
“You’re not a Marine.”
“I was, then they recruited me. I was...fucked up, and it took a little while before they would let me out into the field and—”
“Let me go, you traitorous son of a bitch,” Demi snarls. “You’re just like him.” She nods over to the man slumped next to her. “A Russian.”
My eyes narrow but on Marty. He can’t be anything but my brother. He’s American, born and bred, been around my whole life.
“Shut the fuck up,” Marty fumes. “Or I’ll make our next round more fun.”
I don’t know what Demi is doing, I don’t care. All I’m concerned about is my brother, what has happened to him and how he turned into someone who could chop a limb off and not be affected by it.
“Can we please go into the other room?” Marty pleads, gripping my hand tighter on his end now. “I don’t have a lot of time left, Tsarina.”
Demi scoffs then spits a mouthful of blood onto her lap and floor. “You stupid assholes always protecting this dumbass cunt.” Her blazing blues bore into me. “I almost got him, sweetheart. Inches away from his fucking head. He wouldn’t let you go, you must have a magical pussy or give good head because—” Marty tears himself out of my grasp and strides in her direction.
“Didn’t I tell you to shut the fuck up?”
“Fuck you, cyka.” Hulk shows up behind her and places his hands on the backing of her chair. Blood covering his shirt too.
“Well, pizda,” he mutters, lowering to speak into her ear. “Just because you learned how to say bitch in Russian doesn’t make you one of them. I know cunt, and that doesn’t make me any more accepted than you currently are. You wanted to be some czar princess or some shit when you’re just another slut looking for the next best thing. Should’ve listened in the beginning to stay the fuck away. But you wanted to move from being a gold-digging bitch to stealing government information. That’s a big no-no.”
Demi pulls at her restraints. “I didn’t steal anything.”
“Didn’t you?” Marty retorts. “Sending the president’s personal schedule and places that he’s going to be sounds like information to me.”
“You wanted to try and give it another go?” Hulk taunts then jerks his head to the man next to her. “Try and win this Russian fuck’s love and have him take you home with him.” Marty and him chuckle, but I receive the blunt of her fury through narrowed eyes.
“She’s no better than me,” Demi retorts through a clenched jaw before jerking her head to me. “Did she organize this whole thing?”
Marty leans down, aligning his face with her. “Nah, cyka, she’s my fucking sister. And you picked the wrong one. That was my mother’s house you tried to burn down.”
A silver Zippo lighter shows up in front of Demi’s face, and Hulk clicks the top off then flicks it. A tall flame shoots from the wick, and he pulls it closer to her face.
I step forward on instinct, but Marty’s arm shoots out.
“You want to burn someone alive,” Hulk provokes, waving the flame in her face. “Let’s see how it feels.”
“Marty,” I warn. He grips my hand while Hulk’s hazel eyes flick to mine. He winks at me but makes no move to pull the torch closer to her face.
“Good thing I don’t want little sister to smell your flesh.” Hulk flips the cover, extinguishing the fire. “Later then. But why don’t you tell her about what you were going to do on Saturday night?”
Demi looks away from us.
“Are we starting to see your pussy-ass mentality?” Marty taunts. “Having other people do your dirty work?”
She doesn’t respond, biting the inside of her lip.
“She was going to have Lockwood raped.” My eyes expand while Demi slowly turns her head to face my brother. “What else was there?”
“Much more,” she leers. Marty crushes my hand in silent comfort. He doesn’t want me to hear this but knows why I need to.
I need to see all the evil that Wade tried to keep away. Why he hates her so much other than what I know. What diabolical woman shared his last name that he tried to free himself from.
“Would you like a history lesson, little Shelton?” Hulk quips, staring at me.
“Tread lightly, Bishop,” Marty warns. “I don’t want this bitch’s sins on my sister.” Demi’s focus falls on me, a weak lift of her lips permeating off her face.
“Go for it,” she chants before wincing in pain. “Tell her about the badass bitch who could keep Wade Lockwood on his knees.” I raise my chin, silently telling her to bring it.
This is g
oing to destroy me.
I can feel it creeping up my arms and spine. I can feel my vital organ suiting up to be jabbed and kicked over the past of the both of them.
“Why don’t you tell her?” the Hulk, Bishop, proposes. “Since you’re a mangled mess now, we’ll let you keep some of your pride.”
“Where do I begin?” Demi taunts. “Wade was always a fucking moron. A fucking hot one, but he was too easy, too ambitious. Like a twelve-year-old boy in a twenty-year-old body—” She stops, bowing her head into her chest in pain. “—he imagined a world...that could transform with his help and the assistance of other people of power. I wanted him...not only was he charming but the sex was fucking amazing.”
I clench my teeth together.
This. Bitch. Will. Not. See. Me. React.
“I got bored easily though,” she continues. “And one night I went to a bar with friends, came home, and he got upset that I was out late…” She shakes her head then slowly raises it to look at me. “Didn’t want me to get hurt—whatever. So, I wanted to see how much he cared, told him some guy tried to rape me. He went ballistic, drove up there, beat the guy almost to death—” A slow lift of her lips appears on her face. “—his daddy had to pay a pretty penny to get him out of jail for that one.”
“Let’s add attention whore to the list,” Bishop quips.
“Don’t get into your feelings because your dick is small, asshole.” She tries to readjust herself in the chair but doesn’t get far, grimacing in discomfort. “Fuck, I need something.”
“Like what?” Bishop asks.
“For my leg.” Marty and him chuckle like it was the stupidest and cutest thing she could’ve asked for.
Bishop taps her shoulder. “Just continue the story.”
Demi’s dark hair covers most of her face as she bows her chin down again into her chest. “I can’t.”
“Lockwood broke up with her,” Bishop discloses. “While she continued fucking his father and got pregnant. Kept the baby because Henry was paying her off and I let him keep it. Got back together with Wade after having to plead like she gave a fuck about his feelings. Our little Russian wannabe princess knew he was wanting to become governor then go on to be president. Then there was an abortion...it was Lockwood’s baby.”
Demi lets out a choked snicker. “He threw a fit, I think he cried. Then there was his sister.”
I’m stepping closer to her without realizing it until she’s suddenly a yard away.
“What did you do?”
Demi’s eyes trail back up. “Shoved pills down her throat, had her do lines of coke…” Her nostrils flare, still trying not to show how much anguish she’s feeling. “Meth was her favorite though.”
I ball my hands into fists. “For what?”
“Leverage. Then she died.”
A muscle in my jaw twitches. “How?”
“Overdose at a party we were at. Thing was...she wanted to stop. Her twin sister Phoebe did, but Camila was a weak little shit who—” My hand comes across her face, a stinging feeling following afterwards in my palm.
“You sick fucking bitch.”
“Keep going,” Bishop urges her, meeting my gaze. Tears sting my eyes, but I let them come. I don’t have to prove anything to Demi nor do I care what she thinks of me. I’m just shattering into a million pieces for everything I’ve done to him.
And now all this.
“Are you sure you can handle it?” Demi challenges through narrowed eyes. “It gets even more fun.”
Marty’s hand finds my back, and I reply, “Bring it, fucker.”
“Lucas Lockwood…” She lets out a sharp gasp and cowers over. A broken whimper escapes her lips, and Demi is done holding back how much torment she’s in.
“Who is Lucas?” I ask.
“Wade’s younger brother,” Marty replies. “He was set up to screw a teenage girl that Demi planted on him with a fake ID. Videotaped the whole thing. Then she kept sending underaged girls to his house, his job, everywhere. Moral of his story was to keep his fucking ass quiet because he read Camila’s diary, knew Demi was forcing her to do shit she didn’t want to do.”
“But you can relate to such evidence, can’t you, Rea Rea?” I watch Demi start to convulse in her chair. Her body shutting down from the pain. “Shit like that...destroys you. It’d incinerate Wade’s career and everything he worked for. The scandal...that took down the Lockwood legacy.”
“If they got taken down, what would you benefit from it?”
She shrugs weakly. “Besides the adrenaline rush and the fact that Phoebe, Camila, and Lucas would never bring their big brother down—nothing. I knew I’d win. I have won. Then you came around...the woman who wanted to push him over the brink. To give him the ammo he didn’t have before to push me off the train to glory and bring you on. Tell me...what did you do to make him loathe you for over a year?”
“I had his heart,” I vouch.
“So did I.”
“And his soul. You lost that when you betrayed his trust more than likely with the calling wolf bullshit about the rape. I bet he never fully trusted you after that.”
“Still married me, didn’t he?”
“Probably thought you’d change.”
“Bad mistake.”
I perk a brow. “Sure about that? Look where you are.”
“I won’t die.” She tsks. “The Russians will be here any minute.” Marty and Bishop laugh again.
“You mean the two motherfuckers we killed thirty minutes ago? They were really stealthy.”
“And there’s four more on their way,” Marty adds, reaching for my hand. “Guess we’ll see if they’ll at least make it a challenge.”
He gives me a tug, alluding for me to follow him, and I do—zombie-like with my head spinning around at full speed.
“Remember where to keep the burn marks,” my brother tells Bishop. “Forensics will be all over that.”
A moment later, I’m through the house and by the kitchen island, holding on to the marble countertop for support.
“Stay here,” Marty orders, then comes back with two shot glasses and a bottle of tequila. He pours them to the brim, and I immediately shoot mine back.
Another refill and I do the same thing.
“Slow down, Tsarina. I know...that was hard, but you needed to hear it.”
“Did you know?” I trail my face to his. “Did you always know about Wade?” He presses his lips together, and his nostrils expand before he nods.
“Not when it all happened, I wasn’t assigned to Lockwood until Demi came back into the picture last year.” He downs his shot then slams the glass back on the counter. “Emmy was.”
I stare at him.
Yeah...I can’t.
“I know you know Emmy Lou.” I close my eyes and nod. “She’s part of B723. She stayed at his side because he was always supposed to be president. He was the best fit, we just needed to keep him clean from the public and wait for Demi to fuck up.”
“She fucked up when she burnt down Mama’s house.”
“Not a government issue,” he replies. “I couldn’t get my commander to budge. It was personal. You were personal.”
“You knew about…”
“Not until the house fire. Emmy told me everything afterward.” He pulls out a stool for me to sit. “I know you have a million questions. More than a million, I’m sure. And I promise you, I will answer every single one of them even if they make me uncomfortable. But I need to finish...my job. Do you understand?”
My chin trembles because that means he possibly has to kill Demi—well, I’ll bet that’s the outcome.
How will this affect him?
How much can a person take when doing things like this?
Is my brother so emotionless for anyone else besides Mama and I that he’ll do whatever it takes?
“Where is Mama? She hasn’t been back in over an hour.”
“Took her somewhere safe.”
“Where?”
“L
ater. I have to go.” He hesitates then presses a soft kiss to my forehead and heads back to the torture room.
My questions are all gone. I feel numb. I don’t know anything anymore.
♫ Down — Jason Walker ♫
The day is shit; windy, rainy, the rain pelting against the windows in my office, and I can’t stop watching the raindrops fall into a stream down the glass. It feels like my insides; a mess, cold and damp, the warmth completely gone from my life because I couldn’t say goodbye to Reagan again.
Not a third time.
I contemplated it for half a minute, wanting to assure her that I’d do everything to keep her protected. That I’d finally take care of this instead of half-assing it and worrying about my career, the press, my reputation—all of it. I’d do anything to make sure nothing happened to her and her family. And I’d live knowing that I was able to do that. No matter how much it ached inside to be away from her, not be with her or see her. It was, again, for her own good, not mine. I’d survive, barely, but I’d know she was still here, on the same planet as me, and that had to be good enough.
I have no other choice.
A soft knock rasps on my door, tugging my attention from the weather and to Emmy, who slips inside with a weak smile.
“How are we holding up today?” she asks me, making her way over to my desk.
“Fine,” I deadpan then nod to the folder she’s holding in her hand. “What do you have for me?” She hesitates, I see it. We all know she’s all too telling on pushing me off the handlebars and making sure I’m following directions and the rules—most of the time. So when she acts like a rattled child, my guard flies up.
“What’s wrong?” I press through descended brows. “Who do I have to kill now, Em?” She lets out a mirthless scoff and shakes her head, blonde hair barely moving from all her hairspray.
“No one today,” she replies. “It’s already done.”
“What’s done?” Her knuckles turn white around the manila folder, and the silence of the room is deafening.
It’s unbearable, and I can’t handle it right from the gate. I’m always edgy, always anxious, always a fucking mess now.
