Page 26 of Sadist (The Triarchy Collection #1)

OCTAVIA

M y heart was pounding as I handed the passport over to be scanned, waiting for the alarms to go off.

Waiting for the ticket agent to look up and recognize me…

for someone to recognize me. A hand on my arm as someone said the name that had died in that explosion with an innocent woman who had deserved better.

It would lead me into an interrogation room, which would result in William realizing I was alive. And then I would be taken to the Vanguard estate and locked in another jail with the real monster.

I flexed my fingers in my pocket, trying to stop the shake in my hands as the bored-looking ticket agent peered at the screen.

“There’s been a bit of an issue with your seat, dear,” she said, peering at me over her glasses.

My stomach turned to ice.

“There is?”

She nodded. “The planes had a last-minute switch, and seating is different in that model, so it looks like you have been bumped to first class.”

I tried not to faint on the spot from relief, nodding mutely.

“It’s your lucky day, Miss Lancaster!” She beamed a fake smile at me, handing me back my ticket and passport.

I took it and fled, weaving my way in and out of the milling people toward the escalators that led to customs. It felt like everyone was looking at me, even though it was no more than the usual glances as I slipped into line and put my bag on the belt, checking my watch.

It was nearly one, and my funeral was due to start in thirty minutes, the absurdity of it making me want to laugh.

“Pockets?”

I jumped as the security officer barked the word at me from his side of the belt, and he smiled in apology.

“Sorry, Miss.” He gestured to the jacket I wore. “Anythin’ in your pockets?”

“Oh.” I shook my head, thrusting my hands into them to check, and found only a small, folded piece of paper, which I pulled out and showed him, noticing an “O” scrawled on the front.

“Chuck it in the tray with your bag.” He gestured for me to drop it in, and I did, my fingers itching to grab it and see what it was. Theo must have slipped it into my pocket as we said goodbye.

I nearly ran through the scanner, my eyes glued on the tray that was slowly making its way through the X-ray machine and snatching it off the belt as soon as it slid toward me. I unfolded the small slip of paper, my eyes hungrily scanning the small, neat writing. Three words that I could hold onto.

I love you.

I refused… refused to break down sobbing like a tired toddler in the middle of the airport.

So I grabbed my bag off the belt, waved a hand of apology to the line of people behind me that I had held up, and beelined for the first electronics shop I could find.

It felt weird using the money Theo had sent with me to buy a phone, but I had no way of touching my account without it setting off alarm bells—if the money was even still in there—but it made me feel a little less disconnected to hold that tether to the world in my hand.

I paid for it quickly, chucking a prepaid card on top at the last minute before taking my new purchases to a quiet corner.

I had the phone set up and running in a few minutes, my back to the bustling airport as I plugged the device in and connected to the internet, searching YouTube for the latest information on the funeral.

There was a live event already streaming, and I clicked on it, having a near-out-of-body experience at the sight of my own funeral.

It was huge.

Paparazzi were covering the event from all angles, showcasing the cathedral decorated with white roses and thick candles that glowed softly in the low lighting.

People were milling everywhere as they found their seats and left gifts under a photo of me that sat in pride of place at the front of the building.

My lip curled in disgust as I watched people I had never known mourn me, all while the man responsible wasn’t even there.

My mother sat in the front row with dry eyes and was being doted on by a few women I vaguely recognized from dinner parties in distant memories.

She was the one loss I had an inkling of sadness for.

She had never been a good parent. I had been handed off to nannies from the second I was born.

Theo had been right in her assumption that I had been the ticket to my mother’s easy existence.

A trophy for William’s arm, and a cover for his black heart.

But she was still my mother, and there were times she had looked at me with the faintest hint of affection in her pale blue eyes.

I was glued to the screen, unable to drag my eyes away as people who hadn’t bothered to talk to me since school got up and spoke about me as if they knew me.

I actually laughed as Emma Spencer, my high school nemesis, stood up and made a speech complete with crocodile tears.

“Octavia and I were best friends through school. A true bright light in our year. I can’t believe I’m never going to see her again.”

“Oh, please,” I muttered. “You called me a cunt and poured a milkshake on my science project because I wouldn’t let you take credit for contributing absolutely nothing.” I shook my head as a boy I had dated for a week stood up next, his face a picture of sorrow.

“Don’t do it,” I warned. “I’m watching from the afterlife and very much judging you, Steven-terrible-kisser-don’t-answer-his-call.

” I wondered briefly if Theo had gone through my old phone and found the wild array of names I had people saved as.

Surely, she would have questioned smelled-like-bologna and cried-after-sex.

But then again, she had surprised me more than once.

It got more comical as it went on, and I almost forgot I was watching the death of the old me— until the speeches concluded and the cameras panned to the heavy wooden doors that opened to reveal a group of men I had never seen before, bearing a white coffin on their shoulders.

I sobered immediately, guilt weighing heavily on my heart as I watched the body of a woman I had never known take the burden of my old life into her death.

She would rest in an opulent casket, in a beautiful grave site, but never have her name engraved on the stone above.

I made her a silent promise that I would have fresh flowers sent to the grave every month and would rectify this before I was laid to rest myself.

I checked the time, noting I had ten minutes until my gate opened. Slinging my bag over my shoulder and pulling up my hood, I headed toward the gate, still glued to the screen.

The pallbearers started their slow walk up the aisle to the somber music, and I scanned the crowd for William. My mother still stood with her friends; her eyes locked on the coffin that was slowly coming toward her with a look of such sadness that my heart gave a little squeeze.

But he hadn’t even bothered to show his face.

The camera swung back to the coffin, zooming in slightly. They had stopped halfway up the aisle, and I frowned, nearly bumping into a woman with a pushchair as I squinted at the screen. One of the pallbearers had stepped away from the casket and was pointing to its side.

I joined the group of passengers waiting at the gate just as it opened, refusing to look at the plane waiting patiently through the windows to take me half a world away, anxiety escalating with every step I took.

The casket had started moving again, but there was a flurry of movement on one side of the hall, and I watched in fascination as the casket was lowered onto its plinth, and a group of people came up to inspect it.

Someone stood up and waved as another man grabbed the side of the casket.

Was he trying to open it?

My heart picked up as he was pulled away by another, a few people in the waiting crowd standing up to get a better look.

“Ma’am, your passport and boarding pass?”

I jumped, realizing I was at the front of the queue with an unimpressed flight attendant holding her hand out to me. Mumbling an apology, I handed both over, not looking as she scanned it and waved me through.

Someone had grabbed the casket lid, and the camera had switched angles to one of the paparazzi who had shouldered their way through the gathering people, and it was then that I saw what had upset the pallbearer.

A thin line of scarlet was slowly dripping down the side of the coffin.

Fresh blood.

The body inside that casket was nothing more than ash and bone fragments. I had seen the autopsy when I hacked into the morgue database and found it. There was barely anything left.

So why the fuck was there fresh blood running down the casket?

The camera panned out to a wide-angle shot as official-looking people began ushering the gathered mourners out.

Someone behind me gave a frustrated huff and pushed past, and I realized I had halted in the narrow hall that led to the plane. I stepped to the side, pausing against the wall, only to look back down and see that the live stream had ended.

“No!” I clicked through all the links I could find, seeing they had ended at the same time, scrolling further down until I caught one. It looked like it was through one of the attendees’ cell phones. A young woman spoke to the camera as people bustled through the cathedral behind her.

I clicked into it, my eyes scanning the comments that were popping up under the video.

Was that blood?

Yo, what happened? Why is the live feed down?

Flip the camera, show us what’s going on.

The girl had her hand over her mouth. “Guys, there’s something going on with Octavia’s coffin. Someone just opened it!”

Show us!

Can you get in closer?

A man appeared by her shoulder, and the camera blacked out for a moment as he tried to take her phone. There was a scuffle, and then it flicked back on, bouncing as she appeared to be running down the aisle toward the now open coffin.

I hit screen record on my phone as the picture swung wildly back and forth, unable to make out much more than a blur.

“Ma’am, you need to make your way to the plane.”

I looked up to see the same, unimpressed flight attendant gesturing me on, but I hung back, anxiety squeezing my chest.

“I just need a minute.”

“Is there a problem?”

She was looking too closely at me, and I shook my head, turning away from her and slowly walking toward the back of the line of people waiting to board.

I glanced back at the live stream, swearing as I saw the girl had been escorted out of the building, and hit end on the recording, clicking into my gallery and bringing up the video.

I took it back, frame by frame. Most of it was just a blur of people and white roses until I reached the point she had made it through a knot of people, holding her phone high to show a bird’s eye view.

My father’s body was in the casket.

Pieces of him.

The only part of him that was whole was his head and torso, a look of absolute terror and agony etched into his face, though his mouth was stretched open with something stuffed into it as he lay in a puddle of his own blood and body parts.

My eyes widened as I zoomed in and realized it was his own testicles…cut off and shoved deep into his throat.

But it wasn’t his mangled corpse that had fear draining the blood from my face.

Nor was it the word etched into his chest, crimson against his pale chest.

RAPIST

It was what was underneath it.

A green three-pointed crown that had just put a target on Theo’s back for sealing the fate of The Triarchy.

She had murdered him to ensure my safety and doomed herself in the process.

“Theo,” I breathed. “What have you done?”

In that moment, her words over the past few days made sense.

She couldn’t let him take the Chair, but there was no real way of stopping him.

She had been so adamant that I took a flight at the same time as the funeral.

I was never meant to see this. Not until I was safely where she wanted me, because his death just created a ripple that would lead to the exposure of The Triarchy.

And that crown was her apology to Erryn. Making it known who was to blame.

Erryn was going to kill her.

I was never going to see Theo again.