Page 15 of Only in the Dark (Bound By Darkness Duet #1)

Olivia Mercer

Mother came home late from her meeting. Despite being in my early twenties, I still lived with her.

She used that to her advantage, having me cook her meals every night at six.

She made her own schedule, of course, but she was always home at her preferred time.

Tonight, she barged through the door at seven, giggling like a teenager.

She had been drinking, which was never a good sign.

Mother used to hurt me only when she was teaching me a lesson.

That changed when she started drinking. We had different opinions on how to run her company and often butted heads.

She’d told me she used our disagreements to remind me of my place.

“Oh, look, my useless heir,” she said, rolling her eyes as she stumbled past me, shoving her shoulder against mine and sending me backwards.

Once I stabled myself, I grabbed the wine from the table that I had set at her seat, feeling confident in the choice I had made earlier.

It took me a long time, and a bit of therapy, to realize that Mother was harmful and toxic.

She didn’t care for me like she pretended—she wanted someone to manipulate and control.

I was tired of being her doormat. What she didn’t realize is that she raised me to be strong and a killer.

She thought she had created a sense of loyalty in me by using fear, but she didn’t.

Maybe when I was younger, but that changed with age.

“I brought you wine, Mother. The dinner is still in the oven, staying warm. Your favorite casserole. Should I grab it?” I asked, tipping my head.

She looked me up and down while contemplating how much she trusted me in that moment.

She had made a snide remark, and I didn’t fight her on it, which was unusual for us.

She took the cup and shooed me away. “Go. Get it ready for me,” she demanded, then took her seat at the head of the table.

I took the casserole out of the oven and plated it with a knowing smile.

The kitchen was separated from our dining room and living room since we didn’t have an open floor plan, so she couldn’t see me.

When I brought her plate out, she was already pouring another glass of wine. I had less time than I thought at the rate she was downing alcohol.

“I thought we could talk about that day,” I said. She tensed as I set her plate down in front of her. “You always said you’d tell me more about how you saved me. I’m grateful, and ready to learn,” I lied, stroking her ego, so she’d open up. She had to think I was on her side.

“Once you hear what I have to say, you’re going to want to react violently for the first time,” she explained. “I have an envelope in my office drawer with the truth that I’ll give to you when I think you’re ready to handle that violent urge.”

She didn’t know I had already been fighting the urges, no matter how she told me women didn’t like blood. She was wrong. Sometimes I craved watching blood drip from a guilty man’s neck after I stabbed him, but for now, I had to follow her rules.

“I’m as calm as you made me,” I lied. I took my seat and started eating my casserole. It hadn’t been poisoned, and now that she knew it, she started to eat hers. Creating a killer made it hard to trust, no matter if she raised me.

“The contract was created by a rich man who worked in finance. He had a wife and kids, but he had an affair with your mother—a maid in their penthouse. He wanted her to have an abortion, but she refused and tried to hide out, raising you in the suburbs. Before she left, she stole from him somehow. He wanted her to pay, so he hired me to kill her and take you. I believe he planned to kill you, so I kept you instead. I had enough evidence to put him away, so I threatened him with it. Mutually assured destruction,” she said, chuckling.

“Was my birth mom a good person?” I asked. It was where we had differences. I wanted to hurt bad people, while she didn’t care who she hurt. That ended up with me becoming motherless as a child, being raised by a monster.

She laughed so hard her shoulders bounced.

“You’re still on about wanting to only harm people you deem good?

Your mother was a saint, is that what you want to hear?

She took you from danger and stole from her rapist, putting her life in danger to secure your future.

But money talks, and you ended up with a better future,” she spewed her bullshit rhetoric.

She coughed a few times before attempting to speak again.

“When you take over the business, you can run it how you want, but as long as I’m alive, money will keep talking. ”

“You didn’t mention rape,” I said, my fist wrapping tightly around my fork. This man had killed my mother to hide his crime, which resulted in my birth. Was my dark side because of blood, or environment?

She coughed a few more times, blood spitting up onto the table before her, and I stood up in a hurry, running to her side.

“Mother, are you okay? You don’t look so good.”

She clutched the front of my shirt, pulling me toward her before her fingers seized and forced her to let go.

“W—what’d you do?” she questioned slowly, the muscles in her throat likely shutting down.

The funny thing was, I used her preferred poison instead of mine.

She liked them to die quickly; I preferred the slow method to clear me of wrongdoing. It gave me time to flee.

“I should’ve taken you to the basement, hung you up in the chains, and whipped you like you had done with me. But I wanted this done quickly so I could move on with my life, Mother,” I said bitterly. “That’s how little you mean to me.”

She tried to stand up but fell down. I heard little gasps while she struggled to breathe, and I knew she could no longer talk.

I crouched down beside her. “Thanks for the information. I’ll make sure to grab the file before I burn this place to the ground.

Oh, and don’t worry, I’ve already created a new identity with a solid backstory, and you’ve given her the business.

Madelyn, your heir, sadly passed in the tragic fire.

” I made a fake pouting face before standing up and grabbing the gas can I left behind the couch.

First, I took the key from Mother’s pocket and flew down the hall and into her office.

She kept only one drawer locked, so I knew where to look.

I shoved all of her case files in the bag I had put there, along with a closed folder with my name on it.

I knew it hid my past, and I also knew I wasn’t going to open it until I was ready to kill someone viciously.

I’d never be able to come back once I did.

I slung my bag over my shoulder and poured the gasoline around the room, then paid special attention to Mother, whose body remained frozen but her eyes shifted so I knew she was aware.

“Goodbye, Lucy,” I said before pouring gasoline over her open mouth. I wanted the last thing she heard to be me rejecting the idea that she was ever a mom to me.

Then, I flicked a lighter open and flung it onto her body. I quickly hurried out the door, stopping to stare at the house as flames consumed the building in minutes.

I had to pretend everything was fine while heading to meet my boyfriend, Daniel.

We had been together a while, and I decided it was time I told him some of the truth, mainly intending to out Mother and not myself.

I had a way to spin it where I looked like the hero of the story, even if I was far from it.

I wanted Daniel to accept me, to start a life together.

I met him at the hotel I had picked out and had him book, a swanky downtown building where I could hack the cameras and delete proof I had been there if things went south.

I didn’t expect them to, but I kept a vial of thallium in my pocket just in case.

I had more in my bag, which sat in my car, ready to leave with me.

Daniel loved to travel, and I planned to invite him to travel the world with me.

I believed I could curb my appetite for murder if he chose me. I believed love could conquer all.

My keycard let me into the room on the thirteenth floor, and Daniel had champagne set up at the edge of the bed, with rose petals on the comforter and floor. He was everything I dreamed of as a little girl.

“Perfect timing. I was about to change so we could head to the steakhouse downstairs shortly,” he said.

He walked up to me and placed a kiss on my forehead, the brush of his lips lingering just long enough to soften my shoulders.

. “You look upset. Are you okay?” he asked, his gaze searching my face as if trying to read the words I hadn’t spoken yet.

I walked to the bed and grabbed a glass of champagne, sipping it. “The woman who raised me is dead. I had to kill her, or she was going to kill me,” I said, looking up at him with pleading eyes. It wasn’t necessarily true, but I did live in fear that she’d snap one day.

He didn’t move to comfort me. Instead, he stepped back, eyes widening, and for the first time, a man’s fear of me left me hollow instead of powerful. “Why do you smell like a bonfire, Madelyn? I…you’re worrying me.”

“I had to protect myself, Daniel. You’ve got to believe me,” I said.

He was my boyfriend. We talked about getting married.

Why wouldn’t he side with me? I trusted him.

I saw our future together. He wanted a white-picket fence, two kids, and a house in the suburbs, like me.

I could give that to him. I stood, letting the silence stretch, and took a slow step toward him.

His eyes flickered—not quite fear, not quite doubt—before he began to edge backward, as though distance alone might protect him from whatever he thought I was capable of.

“I think we should travel together for a while. Lie low. I love you, Daniel. I want to start a future together,” I explained.

“Mother was a killer. I wanted no part in what she did, so I put a stop to it,” I lied.

“You are a killer by your own admission. I can’t be with a killer; it’ll destroy my family’s image.” My fingers clenched into a fist before I loosened the muscles in my hands and reached for my pocket, verifying the poison was still there. “And what if you hurt me?” he questioned.

“I’d never hurt you,” I responded softly. I had him against the wall. I reached up and caressed his cheek with the back of my hand, watching as his breathing became more shallow. He feared me. He didn’t love me. He couldn’t.

I took a step back, prepared to leave without hurting him.

I had places to go. I didn’t need him. I turned my back to him and walked to grab my bag, but he reached for me and shoved me to the ground, getting on top of me and placing his knee on my back, one hand pushing my face into the ground.

He reached into my pocket and grabbed the vial I had stored there, and no matter how much I squirmed, I couldn’t get away to save myself.

He gripped my hair and pulled until my face was near his, my neck contoured painfully.

“The cops will love this. So much for you’d never hurt me, bitch,” he said, snarling in my face as his words hit home.

He spit on my face before standing up and kicking me a few times.

He stupidly turned his back to inspect the vial, and I got the strength to push myself up.

“Fuck you,” I said before kicking the back of his knee, knocking him down to his knees. I punched his face with the last remaining strength I could muster, watching as blood spurt from his nose and lip, his body falling backwards, unmoving when he landed.

“You’ll regret that,” he announced as I grabbed my bag and left, not caring that the vial had been left behind.

Daniel had only ever known me as a redhead named Madelyn, who no longer existed.

I left the wig on until I had long cleared the hotel—calmly, to not gather attention—then I threw it out in a nearby dumpster as I made my way back to my car and drove to my new life.

I’d regret nothing, but one day, Daniel would regret what he had done.