Vow of Hell by Clara Elroy

Saint

“Where the hell have you been?” Killian badgered me as I passed by the beefy guards and walked straight into the hospital. A private clinic where dad was most likely flown in.

Killian’s face was pale and worn, clothes disheveled, and hair pointing in all directions. The gravity of the situation wasn’t lost on me, but this turn of events was what I was waiting for, what I prepped for, what I paid for.

“Sorry, I was out and forgot my phone at home. I got here as soon as I saw your texts.” I clapped him on the shoulder. A strong antiseptic scent assaulted my nose as we walked inside. “What happened?”

“A hit and run. He was on the road, we don’t know where he was going to yet, but basically, someone crashed into him and left without notifying anyone. A passerby found his totaled car and called an ambulance and the police.”

I knew I was sick when shivers of bliss made their way down my body, my persistent limp gone for a few moments of elation. “Do we know who did it?”

“No, the police are looking into extracting footage from traffic cameras nearby, and we’ll have an answer after that.” His head drooped, and despite his strained relationship with dad, he still cared for him. Good. If I could shield both him and mom from the knowledge that Noah Astor was a massive sack of shit, I would. “They’re saying it was most likely a drunk driver since nothing was stolen from the scene.”

“And how is he?” I inserted some worry in my tone to not sound like a psychopath. Fabricated empathy would be the extent of my pity for my father.

“He was being transferred out of the operating room when you were parking. I told the doctor not to talk to Mom and wait until we got there. She’s not in good condition right now.”

Out so soon? The bastard must have had the devil looking over his shoulder. I didn’t believe in the opposite saying. Good people went first. The bad stayed. Hence why in my mind, angels took lives they didn’t give second chances.

“Is she worried?”

“Well, yeah.” Killian gave me a, why are you asking the obvious, side-eye. “Her husband was in an accident. Aren’t you worried?”

“Not particularly. Cockroaches never die,” I drawled.

“That’s fucking insensitive.”

“Never claimed to be sensitive.” In fact, I’d made it pretty clear my whole life, I refused to be fluent in bullshit.

“Don’t say shit like that around Mom,” Killian warned, his fists tightening. Being the younger kid was nice. All the expectations were dropped, and the sense of responsibility was lifted off your shoulders. My brother was no brat, but he did get the longer end of the stick which allowed for more wiggle room.

Better than being a sociopath, so I bit my tongue, ruffling his hair with as much playfulness as I could muster. Spoiler alert, it wasn’t much. “Come on, kid, I’m just playing with you. Let’s go.”

Mom was standing next to a doctor when she came into view, eyes bloodshot, talking a mile a minute. If there was one thing I was sorry about, it was the stress I was causing both of them with this recent development. I let her hug me longer than necessary when we reached her, supporting her weight.

“Oh, Saint. Thank God, you’re here.” She rose up on her tiptoes and kissed my cheek, her lips trembling before she pulled away.

“I am also here.” I heard Killian grumble. “Have been here for hours.”

She ignored him, looking right at me, and tattled on the doctor. “They won’t let me go in and see him.”

“He probably just regained consciousness, mom. Let us hear what the doctor has to say first.” I patted her hair, and we faced the guy in the lab coat with no black circles under his eyes, despite it being almost three am. “How is he?”

“We took some X-rays, ran a CAT scan, and everything seems normal, there is no internal bleeding. He has mild whiplash and will experience some pain and discomfort in his neck and back, but nothing that can’t be fixed with some Tylenol and physical therapy if needed.”

Perfect.

I thanked Satan while everyone else thanked the Lord for giving us free access to hitmen when we needed them. Since I was going to hell anyway might as well establish good relations when still situated on earth.

“Can we go in and see him?” Mom asked.

“The patient is resting. He still hasn’t recovered from anesthesia, but once he’s awake, one of the nurses will inform you.” The doctor explained and nodded at us, rushing down the white hallway when his pager started beeping.

“Kill, can you go get Mom a bottle of cold water from the cafeteria?” I asked my brother as I sat Mom down on a silver bench, facing a row of rooms. “Grab me a coffee too, while you’re at it.” I needed one if I intended on staying awake.

“What’s the magic word?” Kill asked, standing rigid.

“Now?” I raised a cool brow.

His expression soured as he turned. “I don’t have the patience to deal with you today.”

“You shouldn’t talk to your brother like that.” My mother was on my case when Killian disappeared down the corridor.

“I’m just bullying him a little bit, so he doesn’t become a soy boy.” I threw out an excuse I had on hand. Kill, and I bullied each other all the time. It was our sibling love language. “Anyway, how are you feeling?”

“Like my whole world shifted.” She exhaled. “I’ve never actually given your dad a proper chance before, Saint. I wrote him off from the start, my big fuck you to my parents and their need to control every aspect of my life, but today when I thought I’d lost him, I-I panicked. He’s just always been there, taking care of everything, my crutch in life in a way.”

I turned into a slab of stone. What a perfect time for her to realize she was co-dependent. Celia Astor really couldn’t do anything without her Noah, he was the one that sorted out all her shit, and she hadn’t even realized until now. Exactly like she didn’t care to know that he was sticking his grabby hands in too many jars, and the time had come when he’d gotten stuck.

“What are you talking about? A few months ago you said—”

“I know what I said, and I’m not telling you I’m suddenly in love with Noah, but I respect him. I don't wish him anything bad.”

I rested against the wall, hands hanging from my sides like limp noodles. There was a monster roaring in my mind, begging to be let out the more I locked it in. My respect for my father was lost somewhere near Atlantis, and the only thing keeping me from spewing facts that would ruin his picture-perfect image was Killian and Mom’s fragile mental state.

Tragedies brought people together. I should’ve expected that.

It still stung like a bitch, though, knowing who stood behind your ruin and only repeating the sin, not repaying it ten times worse, like I carved to.

My phone danced in my slacks, and I pulled it out, checking my messages.

Spitfire: I just heard what happened.

Spitfire: God, Saint, I’m so sorry. Do you want me to come? Bring you anything to the hospital? You must be exhausted.

I bit my lip to clear some of the confusion clouding my brain where Aria was concerned. I wanted her here, it made watching your family worry for a man that didn't deserve it more bearable, yet I was the one that voluntarily left for this shitshow. I didn’t deserve her here, and she needed some rest.

Saint: No.

I typed out a blunt response, all I was capable of giving at the moment. The three dots didn’t wait long to appear, but the message she sent for the amount of time she spent typing was ridiculously short.

Spitfire: Ok, I got you. I hope your dad gets well soon.

* * *

“Hey, Dad.” I smiled, leaning a shoulder against his wall with my hands tucked inside my pockets. I rested my head beside an abstract painting and savored the view.

The man who’d ruined my life looked like a cheap carbon copy of the man he used to be in that hospital bed. Completely helpless, pale, his veins sticking out from his saggy, thin skin. Old age was catching up to him that was why mom came out with fresh concern on her face, recognizing it too. I’d cut off a few years from his median age.

He blinked, disbelief grazing his features that I was here. “Son, it's good to know you'll at least show up when I'm knocking on death's door.”

“There’s barely a scratch on you. Stop being so dramatic.” I crossed my arms, walking closer.

“I'm in a neck brace.” Spittle flew from his mouth as he glared at me. “A neck brace!” he repeated.

“You could’ve been in a coffin.” My lips curved into a slight smirk. “Look at the bright side of things.”

His face got so red I thought he’d have a heart attack. Maybe I didn’t need to pay anyone to crash into him after all. “Would you have preferred that?"

“I wouldn’t have been too broken up about it.” I shrugged, getting comfortable in my position of power. “Tell me, Dad, where were you driving back from? The police are going to ask."

He found the asylum like, white walls more interesting than me as he answered. "A friend's place."

"And does this friend happen to have bleach blonde hair, silicone-infused double D's, and a BBL she flew to Miami to get with your money?"

His head snapped in my direction, momentarily forgetting his injuries, and hissed. "You went through my bank statements?"

I wondered if he'd drop dead when we got to the climax of this grade F comedy. I hoped so.

"Oh, I went through a lot more than that." I twisted the silver watch on my wrist. Seven a.m., I'd spent the whole night waiting for Cinderella to wake up from her deep sleep. "So you went to her house to… sample the product you'd purchased?"

My father’s shoulders stiffened at the crude image I was painting. "Don’t act like your mother doesn't cheat, Saint. She's as much at fault as I am. There is no singular bad guy here.”

“No, you’re right. You’re not a bad guy.” I moved closer to his bed, pressing some fancy buttons next to his resting hand, until his upper half was sitting upright, eyes dancing with panic. “You’re a moron that somehow managed to fly under the radar for so long.”

His hand wrestled with mine for the controller, but I pushed him off. “You are out of your mind. How do you talk to your parent like that?”

“How does my parent pay someone to tackle their kid hard enough, I’ll have a limp for the rest of my life?”

Dad’s eyes grew big and perplexed, staring at my mouth like he couldn’t believe the words that came out. When you were at the top of the food chain, you forgot where you started from. People at the bottom had sharper teeth to hold on to their victims as they climbed their way up, and I had Noah Astor in a fucking headlock, going straight for the jugular.

“Are you crazy? What are you accusing me of?” His gaze darted to the door helplessly, no doubt expecting the entire crew of Punk’d to pop in.

“You’ve been very generous the past few years, helping several start-ups.”

“Is that what this is all about? You know we don’t just leave money lying around in the market. If something looks promising, we’ll invest in it.”

“And a Hooters wannabe restaurant chain looked promising to you?” I sat sideways on his bed, making sure to crush his foot in the process. He glared at me, scooting his legs away. “Cut the lies for once in your life. You know very well what I’m talking about and what you’ve done. I saw the contract detailing how he’d be compensated handsomely so long as I was unable to play another game in my life.”

Another glance, but it was futile. The old man was at my mercy and didn’t want to accept it. “I did no such thing.”

“Was it not you that had a grin the size of a Cheshire cat's when I was in your very position? I think I was brought in at the same hospital. A poetic sense of justice, isn’t it?” I tilted my head on the side, my lips tipping up when I saw the wheels on his head-turning.

“You… You…” he stuttered, growing panicked.

“Go on, use your words,” I instructed.

“Did you do this to me?” Realization washed over his face, his knuckles turning white as he fisted the cotton sheets.

“Did you pay Todd Brees to tackle me because I refused to take over Falco?” I countered, my ears filling with white noise when the sound of his heartbeat grew static. It was the name that tipped him off, causing him to shed a bit of his composure as he banged his hands on the bed, hissing immediately at the abrupt movement.

“So you preferred me leaving you to become some brute? Chase after balls on a field and write off a billion-dollar company like it was no big deal?”

His argument was nothing original. I’d heard all his arguments before if only I’d connected the dots and realized he would have acted on his pent-up disappointment earlier. He wouldn’t be moaning in pain for the next few months, and I wouldn’t have met Aria.

I despised that I couldn't tell whether that made me happy or fucking depressed.

“I would’ve liked to have a choice.” My voice raised.

“You don’t get one when you choose wrong!” he yelled back.

His face grew impossibly strained, mouth foaming at the corners like he’d consumed venom. There was more that wanted to slip off his tongue, but he was physically restraining himself not to draw any attention. Knowing I got under his skin and that he would remember me every time he twisted and turned in pain, I straightened my back, towering over his lying form.

“There is no changing you, Father.” I tsked, buttoning up my cufflinks. “Consider this a warning. You mess up any more shit, you play God again when no one asked you, and you’ll find yourself in a wheelchair permanently.”

His gaze screamed horror as the trap I’d carefully placed started rising around him, bars of steel materializing in the shadows of his eyes. “You have no right to tell me what to do.”

“You should’ve thought about that before incriminating yourself. That contract you kept locked up in your safe is now in my possession. One wrong move and the whole world will know what a piece of shit you are. Two wrong moves, and you’ll be ten feet under with no one to mourn you. Do I make myself clear?” I turned my back, not waiting to hear more lies or an apology. I wasn’t going to get one, and frankly, it wasn’t worth shit. “Oh, and the same applies to if you ever open your mouth about this to anyone.”

“How—” The desperation in his voice made me halt. “How did you—I never admitted what I did. Not even your mother knows. Did someone from Todd Brees's life tell you?”

Any sliver of guilt that managed to weasel its way into my body was squeezed out when he gave me the confession I thought he never would. Having it in writing was different from hearing it out loud. One drew cold, calculating moves on my part. The other had me wanting to punch a second person in less than forty-eight hours.

I resisted the urge to knock him out cold because while sharing a cell with Ari’s ex sounded tempting, it meant not seeing her again, and I could not have that.

“That’s for me to know and for you to try and fill in the blanks. Put that brilliant mind of yours to use.” Swinging my head back, I feasted on his vulnerable side, his body writhing like he wanted to come at me. A slow smile spread over my face, and I winked at him. “What you’re feeling right now? It’s called helplessness. And the only reason why I’m letting you get off with this much is because it would devastate Mom and Killian to know how twisted you really are, but I should warn you. I’m prone to changing my mind quite often.”