Prey Drive by Jen Stevens
Chapter 52
the wolf
I had no idea what to do when they took her, so I followed the ambulance to the hospital and planted myself in the waiting room, hopeful that the blood splattered across my skin would be mistaken as hers and not my recent victim's.
The pained, regretful look the doctor wore as he delivered the news to me in a private waiting room after only a half hour in surgery is still etched into my brain. It replays over and over—a permanent fixture on my subconscious.
They should have done more.
They should have tried harder to save her.
There had to have been something else they could have tried.
They hardly gave her a chance.
There were so many things I wanted to scream into the doctor's face at that moment, but I held it all in.
I've killed over a dozen people now with my bare hands with hardly a second thought, but it's her blood that has stained my soul for all of eternity. It's her life that has stolen away my purpose. If I could have given mine to spare her, I would have done it in a heartbeat.
After all, it's my obsession that brought her to this point.
I didn't wait around at the hospital for them to deliver the news to her family when they arrived. Not when there's so much left to do.
My rage burns hot enough to scorch my path to my father’s office. I’m blind to everything around me, hyper focused on finding the root of every evil that’s been committed against me and cut it off at the head like the poisonous snake that he is. Then, I’m going to burn The Loyal Order of the Serpent and every single person in it to the ground.
She’s gone.
She’s gone.
She’s gone.
My mind repeats the mantra, a constant reminder for why I’m doing this. The two words that break my subconscious in half and steal away any humanity I had left.
No one stops me on my way to my parents’ penthouse. As if they know that stepping in my way will only result in them getting caught in the crosshairs. My mother is nowhere to be found when I walk off the elevator and into their foyer. In fact, no one is around at all. The place is quiet and still.
My feet take me up the stairs, past all the bedrooms, and right up to the door at the end of the hallway. His office. Once a forbidden room that no one could ever enter without his permission, which he didn’t dole out generously. I hadn’t even seen it until I was fifteen years old and he began grooming me for The Order. Now, I’m confidently twisting the knob, letting myself in with zero regard for his privacy or the rules I no longer abide by.
His weathered, glum face stares back at me from behind his long, elegant desk. It's almost as if he’s expecting me—a fact I should find disturbing, but I’m no longer surprised by.
He’s always been two steps ahead.
“Sebastian,” he greets, leaning his elbows onto his protruding belly and placing his hands together in a steeple.
I don’t bother with false pleasantries. Instead, I close the door behind me and approach his desk, my hand resting on the knife at my hip.
She’s gone.
“Come on, son. There’s no need for any of this. I’ve already told you, it was you they targeted with Sienna’s death. That’s why this has happened again.”
He's trying to deflect. A classic narcissist, unable to accept blame or the consequences of his own actions.
“You really thought I’d take your word on that, Daddy Dearest?” Offering a wicked smile, I pull my knife from its holster and hold it up in front of my face, taking care in ensuring the light catches the cold metal at the perfect angle.
“It’s interesting what a man will admit to when he thinks his life will be spared for the truth,” I go on, stepping closer toward him. “I’ve uncovered quite a few of your secrets from members of your beloved brotherhood this week. Secrets I’m sure were expected to die with them.”
“I’ve got nothing to hide,” he insists proudly, puffing out his chest.
But I see the underlying fear in his eyes. The defensive way he leans into his chair, preparing his body to thwart off an attack. He thinks he has a chance against me, and that’s got to be the most pathetic, gratifying thing I’ve ever witnessed.
“That’s bullshit. You’ve got more to hide than anyone else. Your whole life is a lie, isn’t it?”
He shifts in his chair uncomfortably, his eyes locked in on me like he’s waiting for me to strike at any moment. I don’t even need to torture him at this point. My mere presence before him is enough to have him pissing his pants.
She’s gone.
“Don't do this. You clearly need help healing from her death. From both of their deaths. Look at what you've become.” His hands reach out in front of him in a dramatic gesture.
How could he already know about Stardust? I received the notification less than an hour ago. He’s only proving my instincts were correct, and he was at the helm of her attack.
“I'm simply a product of my own upbringing, wouldn't you say?” Rounding the corner of his desk, I lean my hip on the corner, taking my time before getting too close to him.
“You're a cold-blooded killer.”
“Ah, yes. The Serpent Slayer. It's got a nice ring to it, doesn't it?” I reach in front of him to pick up the paperweight that Sienna gifted him for Father's Day one year. Her smiling face stares up at me through the bubbled glass, forever frozen. “A little derogatory, if you ask me. I would have gone with something that had more… pizzazz, but what can you do?”
“Sebastian, we can work through this. We can get you the help that you need. Join The Order, and no one will tell the police it was you butchering all those men. No one else will have to get hurt.”
Throwing my head back, I bark out a sardonic laugh that has him jumping out of his skin. “When I'm done, The Order will be nothing but ashes on the ground,” I promise him.
I've lost so much to that worthless society. It's only right that I'm the one who gets to tear it all down, piece by piece. Starting with the pathetic man sitting before me.
She’s gone.
“Some parts of your story weren't adding up. After I talked to a few people, I was able to confirm that you were the one who dropped her case, thus letting her killers roam free.”
“I didn't have a choice. They destroyed the evidence and were threatening everyone who was willing to prosecute,” he rushes out, spewing the same story as the judge and Arthur Lewis.
But there's one piece that doesn't add up. Something I've otherwise ignored until now.
“On Sienna's last night, at our final dinner with her, you told her not to go out,” I remind him, pointing the tip of my knife at him. “You knew what was to come, didn't you?”
“There was nothing I could do. At that point, they were already–” He starts to raise his voice, but I step toward him, threatening my attack if he doesn't shut the fuck up.
His lips clamp shut and from this close, it's impossible for him to hide his trembling.
“You let her go, knowing there was a group of men there waiting—planning to kill her,” I accuse calmly, though there's a storm brewing in my chest as the accusation is made out loud and he does nothing to deny it.
“What was I supposed to do, Sebastian? They wanted to get to you.”
“Then you should have sent them to me. You should have fought harder to get her to stay home.”
“If they didn't do it that night, they would have just chosen another,” he rationalized, and I realize this is how he's allowed himself to get off the hook. This is how he's managed to live with himself after what he did.
“You set her up for slaughter.”
“As if you would have done anything differently,” he rebukes.
“I would have gladly stepped in and taken her spot. I would have cuffed her to her chair and refused to let her leave. I would have killed those assholes before they had a chance to touch her. She deserved to fucking live. She deserved a life full of happiness, and it was all stolen away from her.”
“Because of you,” he reminds me again.
Running my finger against the blade to test its sharpness, I shake my head. “I’m not arguing anymore. You’ve dug your own grave, now it’s time for you to lie in it. Your time is up.”
I make the move toward him, my arm suspended in the air and ready to strike. I didn’t want to tie him up or drug him and make it easy. I need to see him fight—to give him a big enough shred of hope that he can escape, so when the life force fades from his eyes, every ounce of faith he has leaves, too.
Just like he did with my little Stardust.
But he won’t escape. He’ll die tonight, at the hands of his own son for the sins he committed against his family.
My knife is mere inches away when his arm shifts, then quickly slips a gun out from beneath his desk and points it at me.
And as my blade penetrates his skin, a concussive blast echoes throughout my body, and I fall on top of him in a heap.