Legacy (Sociopath Series Book 2)(77)

Something stings my eyes. I squeeze them shut, willing the sensation to fade, but instead it practically squirts out.

“Fuck,” I manage. “Is that…is that blood?” I am bleeding from the eyeballs.

Either I’m dead too, or I really have fractured something.

Tuija reaches out and strokes a finger along my cheek. Her touch is strange; she displaces air rather than makes contact, but I feel it all the same. When she draws her finger back, it shines with a single bead of dew.

“It’s not blood. It’s a tear, Aeron.” She bites her lip, her jaw suddenly trembling. “Never thought I’d see that.”

“It’s not a tear,” I say, incredulous.

“No, really.” She lathes it over her tongue and rolls it around her mouth experimentally. “I’m getting top notes of helplessness and undertones of despair. Definitely a tear.”

I swallow. “Tell me how to get out of this, firecracker. I don’t have anything else.”

“Is there a sign on my forehead that says deus ex machina?”

“Don’t make me cry some more.”

She laughs, dry and bitter. “I guess this is what it takes, huh? Who are you even crying for? You know, this is your problem, Hitler. This is why you’re here—you can keep on playing pretend for as long as you like, but we both know you’re just a savage in a nice suit. You’re upset about you. And unless that changes, you’re never getting out of that chair.”

“Excuse me for not bursting into a thousand f*cking rainbows of sympathy,” I snap.

“What are you going to do even if you escape? This shit doesn’t go away!”

A final bang sounds in the other room, followed by a low groan and a high-pitched, withering whine.

My Leo is in there.

“And here’s the thing,” Tuija goes on, her voice cracking. “You’re not his only son. You think he just took you? Where’s Asher?”

“He’s safe,” I insist. “I asked, I—”

Her jaw trembles again. “You know that isn’t true.”

“Shut up. Shut up.”

“You have to get out of this for other people. Not just you. Will you promise? Promise me you’ll do that, and I’ll…I’ll help if I can.”

“If I escape,” I whisper, “I will be better. I don’t know how, but I’ll try, okay?”

“Damn right, you will.” Tuija leans forward once more, her blood-sodden hair framing her face in crusty spikes. She grows paler by the second. “I’m your own personal f*cking Jesus, and I deserve a little respect.” She traces a line across her perfect throat. “I died for your sins.”

At that moment, the door in the wall creaks open and Blood Honey pads out, still doing up his fly. Sweat sits in a sheen across his forehead, and his cheeks are lit with a faint flush. Tuija glances back at him, whimpers, and disappears in a blink.

“Who were you talking to, son?” he asks.

“Who were you f*cking?”

He cocks his head, and though he doesn’t smile, his eyes light up like it’s Christmas. He’s a Jurassic Park raptor, and I’m tied to a goddamn chair. “Now, now. I’m not sure we’re close enough for that kind of talk.”

“But you want us to be closer.” There’s a half-dry slick of blood on his arm. I have to ignore it before my brain shuts down.

My Leo is in there.

“That’s why I’m here,” I go on, “so you can make up for all the years you’ve been gone. Am I right?”

He presses his lips together, stepping over Harvey on his way back the table. There, he swipes a bottle of what looks like beer and cracks off the lid. “Now that I think about it, I’m not entirely sure.”

“You killed those women because of me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Trust me, I’m not flattered.” I manage a snort. “I’m a lot of things right now, but…definitely not that.”

He takes a long, loud swallow of beer. “You always were a lot of things, Aeron.”

“Do you have a name?” If I can just keep the bastard talking, it stops him from doing anything worse. “Aside from Dad, that is.”

“I do.”

“But you won’t tell me.”

“You’ve spent thirty-two years not knowing.” He shrugs. “What difference does it make now?”

I pause. Even now, in all of this, I can’t resist a little manipulation for dramatic effect. “I want to know where I come from.”

“Oh, I see.” He hops up on to the table, sending empty bottles flying across the floor in clinking clusters. The wooden legs creak and groan. “You want to know if you’re like this because of me.”

“Maybe.”

“Because it must be genetic, right? Being some deviant little prick is obviously in your DNA.”

“I don’t care about that part. I can’t change it.” No matter what Ghost Tuija wants, or begs of me. “I just want to understand what’s happened. Why I’m here.”

A slow laugh gurgles up from his throat. He shakes with it, clutching at himself until the guffaws reach new octaves.

I grit my teeth. “Spit it out.”