Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 69822 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69822 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
And now I’m trapped in this beautiful place while everyone I love is murdered. My vision is blurred as I picture the house I grew up in, the blood on the walls, bullet holes in the doors. Licking my lips, I taste my salty tears. “Eli, can you answer me a question?” I ask him with a short breath I’m barely able to hold on to.
The lightheadedness floods my mind as he nods his head, yes.
“Is there someone to clean up everything you leave behind?” I struggle to breathe as I look him in the eyes and continue, “Or when I ask to go home in a week, will I be the one who has to clean up the bodies of my family?” My voice shakes on the last word, but he hears me. I know he does.
I picture my cousin, Brett, and his wife and their baby. In a moment, they’re right where I last saw them during the holidays. And in a blink, they’re lying dead on the floor, their eyes staring back at me as if seeing me for who I really am.
And I hate what they see.
Some of my family may be cruel like Carter, but not all of them are and so many people will die. I know what to expect. I’ve seen it before. I can’t sit here and do nothing.
I refuse.
Eli stares back at me, assessing me and judging me, but I don’t care. As long as I can hold on to the strength of my mentality, I don’t care what he thinks. Knowing I can’t and won’t sit by and do nothing is all that matters.
“I know it’s war, but I would rather be with them right now,” I tell Eli, brushing the tears away as I realize that’s where my place is. “I think it would be best if you sent me back to my home.”
“Maybe when the week is over, you’ll want to go somewhere else,” is all Eli gives me.
It’s not until he’s gone that I realize Addison is silently crying.
She can’t even look at me, but I don’t care.
I don’t care about anything anymore.
“It’s what this life is like,” I tell her solemnly, remembering all the nights the men would fill the kitchen downstairs, clinking their beers and patting each other on the back. “I had an uncle named Pierce.” I haven’t thought about it in forever, but now I’m reliving a certain night when I was fifteen years old. The night that marks the first time I fully grasped what my family did for a living and began to really see the consequences that came with it. I can feel how raw my throat is when I pause to swallow. From screaming, from crying.
“I came downstairs while he was holding something up in the air and everyone else in the room was cheering.” Their voices echo in my head. “I remember smiling, so happy that my father was in a good mood.” I don’t know if she’s listening, but I keep talking.
“My uncle was so happy to see me.” I remember the way his grin widened before putting down whatever it was he’d been holding and hugging me like he hadn’t seen me in years. “I felt like a part of the family that night. My father even gave me a small glass of wine despite the fact I was only sixteen.” I remember the way it tasted, and how I felt when he poured from his bottle and gave me the glass in front of everyone. “He said, tonight we drink. Tonight, we celebrate Talvery. And everyone cheered again when I took a sip.”
I peek over at Addison, who’s listening intently and waiting for the punch line.
“It wasn’t until a few days later that Nikolai told me it was a human tongue. The tongue of a rat who was murdered, and they were celebrating because the charges were dropped with no witness living to testify.” I had to beg Nik to tell me; he told me I wouldn’t want to know, but I pressed him. After he told me, I knew I could trust his opinion if I ever wanted to know something again.
I stare at the fireplace, wishing it would crackle with a soothing flame, but it’s empty and there’s no wood here to start a fire.
“Talverys and the Cross brothers are the same. And they’ll both kill each other or die trying.” It’s a truth I’ve wanted to avoid for so long, but now it seems as if I can only try to limit the damage they’ll cause.
“That’s not the way they grew up,” Addison tells me with tears in her eyes. “They were good people.”
“My family is full of good people too.” My gut churns from trying to defend this life to her. To someone who didn’t grow up in it. “They just do bad things. Like my uncle. He loved his wife, he loved his kids, and he would have done anything for me if he were still alive.”