Page 12

12

RYLEE

G reta sits on the brown leather chair across from me. Nathaniel is sat wide-legged on his desk chair, the spiked cock ring making it impossible for him to cross his legs.

Her glittered walker rests before her, and shockingly, a lit cigarette isn’t hanging between her lips.

“Shall we get to it then?” Nathaniel breaks the silence.

I’m sat back, legs tucked under me, as I wait in suspense. I feel like a little kid about to be told off by her parents as silence refills the space.

Greta takes a couple more deep breaths in. I’ve never seen her like this before, shook.

Nothing rattles her, and it turns my suspense into worry and fear.

“It’s not safe for you at home. You can’t come back.”

I jump forward. This isn’t about to happen. “I’m absolutely not staying here, if that’s where you’re going with this.”

She holds her hand up to me. “Let me finish, dammit.”

Her tone catches me off guard. Greta has told me off plenty, but this time hits differently. Unease further creeps up my body.

My grandmother leans forward, gathering a cigarette and lighter from her bag. “You need to listen when I speak. Don’t interrupt me,” she commands, lighting her cig and then leaning back.

A cloud of smoke fills the room as she exhales. “The King is dead. Dalton, that little shit, took advantage of Hell Fire Night. We have evidence that Brad was beheaded and was turned into an ornament at the end of his estate driveway.

“We must tread carefully. Change is upon us, and dark clouds are coming over our town. I will have the Antichrist keep an eye on you, but I need their main focus and energy elsewhere. You will never see them. You will never know who they are.”

I don’t let her finish before interjecting. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Greta rolls her eyes at me. Frustrated, she points at me with her lit cig between her fingers. “Get to understanding. Because one day you will take it over. When I’m gone, everything becomes yours.”

My head shakes in disbelief, and my childhood flashes before my eyes as I try to search for clues and understanding. Any signs that I missed that could have warned me about this. Instead, Greta continues. “I started the Antichrist when your mother died. And as each Hell Fire Night took place, it only continued to give us more of a reason to keep the organization going. Every five years, on Hell Fire Night, we rebel against it. Try to take The Exiled down and eliminate their existence, and end their night of murder and chaos. It has impacted our family, yes, but also their own members. It’s barbaric.”

The words slip out as I try and piece everything together. “Nathaniel is Exiled. Why are you telling me this in front of him?”

“He knows about us. He knows who I am and what I represent. The closest people to him have been lost because of their organization. Cecilia was our responsibility, then Darian wed her. Both have lost parents because of The Exiled. Nathaniel’s family took Darian in and have been inseparable since. Thomas is also one of us. When that terrible event happened with Cecilia, it was decided. Nathaniel and Darian started working with us to take down the new dictator and his crew of idiots.”

Nathaniel interrupts. “Wait a minute. Don’t downplay what D and I have. Even if he wants to hide our cuddle parties from the world. It’s magical.”

Greta waves him off, and I try to hide my laugh. I know if his best friend were here now, he would be cringing. At the same time, out of habit, he goes to cross his legs. He winces and quickly readjusts to have his foot hanging off his knee, giving his cock enough space without the added pressure on the spikes.

What I would do to have it tug one of his barbells. I smile at the thought. The sensation is similar to teeth but sharper and scarier, mentally.

“Get out of your head. This is serious,” Greta scolds, but before she is able to continue, a thought comes to me.

“Thomas tried to kill me. He isn’t one of yours.”

Similar to Nathaniel, she also waves me off. “Rylee, it was Elijah. Thomas had no idea what was in the Mason jar.” My eyes widened in shock. Why is this not a big deal to anyone?

“It’s safer for you here. Nathaniel and Elijah have more resources to protect you than I do. I can’t lose you like we lost your mother.” She’s being vulnerable with me in front of others. Tears prick my eyes.

Pointing at Nathaniel, I state, “They are why Mom is gone. And you want me to stay with them?”

“It wasn’t me. Or Darian. But I understand why you hate the idea and periodically mention the idea of killing me. I would too if I were in your position.”

I cut him off. “You have no idea what it’s like to be in my situation. They killed your best friend's parents, but you didn’t even care. I bet you and your family forced him to initiate. So, no, you don’t understand shit about anything.” Then I look over to Greta. “And if I’m to take over, why not tell me before today? Why hide all of this from me my entire life?”

Her head falls back onto the chair, her voice hushed. “I was hoping this shit would be over by the time that happened.” She is defeated, and it hurts my soul seeing her like this, but she’s not done. “He found out she was pregnant with you. Five years passed since your birth. We never saw or heard from him. Until Hell Fire... He couldn’t have her making any claims to the Kingdom of The Exiled, not with his own son just being born.”

From the corner of my eye, I see Nathaniel burying his head in his hands.

Greta’s eyes close, and she whispers, “Brad was your father. You were a result of a one-night stand... Dalton is your half-brother.”

You could hear a pin drop alongside my heart.

“So, please, Rylee... I can’t have you die by their hands.” If she could get on her knees and beg, I guarantee she would be right now.

There is so much to process and take in. I have their blood in me. The blood of the people who have hurt so many fucking others. For what? A night of chaos? To hunt and kill without consequences? It seems like they never had any consequences to begin with.

“Brad killed your mother. Dalton has tried to and almost succeeded in killing your cousin, Cecilia. You cannot be risked.” As Greta finishes, the magnitude of the situation hits me. If my grandmother is scared, then maybe I should be too.

Then, the door opens and Rogers enters. “Duke. Sorry to interrupt, but the police are at the gate. Claiming it’s a wellness check.”

NATHANIEL

“Hello, Chief Fredricks, couldn’t get a judge to sign off on a warrant? Falsifying a wellness check to conduct a search must go against your police policies.”

Three lit-up police cars are parked in front of my gate, and Chief Fredricks has his arms crossed over his puffed-out chest.

“Open the gate, Sinclair,” he barks.

“I’d rather not,” I toss back at him. I’m well within my rights to refuse him entry; he isn’t stepping a foot on my property.

“We received a call that a female was being held here against her will. Let us come in, check on her, then leave. That's all I ask.”

Snapping my fingers, I try to remember. “How does that Gwen Stefani song go again? This shit needs a warrant, W-A-R-R-A-N-T,” I riddle, only further pissing Fredericks off.

I also have D on an open line acting as my attorney. “For fucks sake.”

He is still at the hospital with Cecilia, and she won’t be released for a few more days. Until then, her room is locked down, and he isn’t leaving her side, rightfully so. It isn’t safe for us anymore. A civil war has been declared, sides chosen, and only one can win. And I can fucking promise it will be our side.

“Get a warrant or proof of cause and we will gladly let you in. Until then, Chief, you will remain on the outside of Sinclair’s gates,” D interrupts my thoughts with his legalities. We went to Harvard together, both graduating with law degrees. As much as I joke around, I know my shit too, but it’s never wise to represent yourself, so we often act as each other's council, when needed.

“Piggies need a snack.” Fantastic, Elijah’s here. I know he wants so desperately to play and soon he can, but now—now is not the fucking time to be trolling these assholes.

Then honking follows loudly from behind me. Greta.

The shitstorm keeps getting better. “Kindly move, so my guest can leave,” I shout at the chief, who is still parked outside my gate.

“This isn’t over, Sinclair,” he hollers back.

I wave as he gets back into his car. “Looking forward to it.”