Elect

Chapter Twenty-four Phoenix

Damn, I hated the silence, almost as much as I hated my own reflection. It was the eyes that did it. I knew mine looked like hers used to, like they should be full of life, but instead of light—utter darkness.

I was going to die. But at least they’d be safe; at least I wouldn’t go to Hell wishing I would have done something to redeem what happened. If I died, the secrets died with me, meaning they would never know the truth. But in the end, if I told them it would be like putting giant targets on all their backs.

Better it be me than them.

The pact we’d made so long ago suddenly seemed like the best option. I’d take a bullet in the head at the hands of my three brothers over getting beat within an inch of my life by him any day.

I just hoped they’d be good on their promise. I was banking on it; otherwise there was going to be a hell of a lot of blood and it wasn’t going to be just mine.

A cold chill wracked my body. I couldn’t huddle to gain warmth, I couldn’t move to the corner of the room to protect myself from the draft, and in that moment I realized that’s what my life was. I’d been tied to a chair of my father’s own choosing, but I’d been the one to lift my hands up in surrender. And with my surrender I gave everything, hoping to protect those I loved—and to protect myself.

I laughed—really there wasn’t anything else I could do. I was freaking freezing my ass off in that stupid room because Nixon had, most likely on purpose, left the air-conditioning on full, and all my brain did was replay memories and choices over and over again, making my stomach recoil with disgust.

I imagined Hell was a lot like what I was currently experiencing. I thought of Mil, my stepsister. When things went to shit, I knew she’d be okay. I’d sent her everything she needed to know—I’d trusted her above all else and in return she’d promised she’d stay in hiding. Damn, I was lucky the girl had balls of steel—because she was the only one in the entire freaking universe that knew the truth about me, about Nixon, about Trace’s parents—and I hoped to God in the end—once the bullet was lodged in my head—she’d find a way to save our families before it was too late.