Blood to Dust (35 page)

Archer got Sebastian’s head, the hourglass and most importantly—the message.

Godfrey’s smarter, or at the very least, more aware of our abilities, than Seb was. I know that because his Danville mansion is crowned by guards. And not just any guards. Pigs with pink, alcohol-swollen faces and tattoos inked on their foreheads.

The Aryan Brotherhood.

Ten, maybe twelve, brothers lean against their bikes and vans, arms crossed, watching the plush neighborhood through narrow eyes. They’re waiting for us, no doubt. Godfrey figured it’d be nice to kill two birds with one stone.

They’re the stone—we’re the birds.

Archer lives in a European-looking mansion, rising from loose gravel. It looks like it was freshly planted by evil, watered by fear and grown into something dark and dangerous, standing out like a sore thumb against the California landscape. The light in his front terrace is on. He’s home. I know where he lives because I’ve had to visit him a few times since we got out, mainly to deliver him drug-related shit. I never dabbled in drugs, but on occasion, when his contact people in Stockton weren’t able to make it, I’d do him a solid and move stuff from point A to point B.

Prescott’s swiveling toward the backseat, her shoulder pressing against mine as she recovers the backpack and our masks.

“We have to get rid of them,” she says, referring to the AB. “You can be the bait.”

I snap my head around to face her. Either I didn’t hear her right or she’s drunk. The latter is less than likely since we haven’t left each other’s side in fuck knows how long.

“Say that again, louder now, so I’ll have a good reason to bend you in half against that tree over there and spank your ass until your skin sheds.”

“I’m serious.” She licks her lips, turning to face me. “Get rid of all of them, and I’ll take Godfrey myself. I have the gun and the dagger. I can do this.”

“He’s got more weapons than you can dream of in his house, and even if, hypothetically, I was able to get all those sons of bitches out of the way, there’s no telling who’s waiting for you inside. And in case you’ve forgotten”—I yank her by my hoodie, our noses crushing together—“you’re carrying around the heart of the girl I’m fucking in love with. Be more careful with her life.”

I shake my head. “This is out of the question. You’re not going in by yourself.”

“Nate,” she starts, her voice spikes with an edge, and I grind my lips against hers. I’ve fucking missed them. We’ve been too busy dodging the police over the past few hours to fool around.

“Pea,” I breathe into her mouth. “Screw this. Let’s turn around before they see us. We have our whole lives to live. Who cares about these fuckers?”

“I do,” my girl says, eyes traveling to meet mine. “I’m sorry, Nate, but I do.”

She swings the passenger door open and runs out of it before I get the chance to blink.

Without the gun.

Without the dagger.

But with my fucking heart.

She runs straight to the gated entrance of Godfrey’s mansion and the air is trapped in my lungs as I fumble to get my own door open before my hand freezes. If I walk out of this car, I’m dead. They’ll shoot hundreds of holes in me without even flinching, like in
Gran Torino
. I won’t be much help to Prescott if I’m dead. I tuck my head low and watch as Pea crosses the road, running straight into the arms of the Aryan Brotherhood, and I know, I just fucking know that my nerves are not going to survive the next few minutes.

The moment she rounds the corner, the tall oak trees that cover our car hide her from my vision, and I’m in the dark.

Pulling on my hair until patches of black are left in my fists, I fume. Crazy bitch.

I’m staying in.

I’m coming out.

Fuck.

Whatever I’m doing, suffice to say—I’m going mad.

He exhales into my ear, his white moustache tickling the curve of my neck as he brushes a strand of blonde hair off of it. It’s something Camden used to do a lot and I hated it. It’s corny as hell.

“This is going to be our little secret, isn’t it, my darling girl?”

“I always thought you were asexual.” My gaze is lingering on the weather report dancing across the flat screen TV. It’s going to be a glorious week, but of course, I won’t get to experience it. I know what’s to come, but I have to keep it together. I won’t let him see me break. “I thought Camden was a fluke. That maybe you tried pussy one time and it resulted in a kid. You don’t have a wife and you’re not divorced. Who’s Camden’s mother, anyway?”

I don’t actually care. I just want to taunt him. In all the time I’ve been with Camden, he’d always kept silent on the identity of his mother. Said he never wanted to talk about her, that she was off-limits. I know that he and Godfrey are very close, but if his mom is alive and well, there is no way that they’re in touch.

“None of your bloody business, sweetheart. None at all.” Godfrey’s cold, cracked lips trace my collarbone as his palm moves under my shirt, cupping one breast, rolling my nipple between his fingers. “If you ever tell Camden that I’ve touched you, I’m slicing you up and feeding you to the hounds. You’re good meat.”

I don’t answer. I just remind myself of all the good times to pull through this one bad moment.

Pistachio ice cream.

The scent of the ocean as it breaks against my sandy toes.

Playing Monopoly in my PJs with Preston and Dad, stuffed to the max after Christmas dinner.

Jumping on my waterbed when the nanny wasn’t looking.

The movie
Amélie
.

Feeling the tears tingling your nose when you read an angsty book.

“Lie down,” he says, and I do, because I know that he can kill me. Kill me and tell Camden that I tried to escape and one of the guards had to stop me. I don’t want to die. Not until I figure out if there’s a way out of this hell.

“Don’t worry, beautiful. It’ll be over before you know it. True, it’ll feel like forever when I break into you. Time. It moves differently according to our circumstances. It’s very slow when you’re being tortured. But what are your choices?” He turns over an hourglass on the dresser near the bed. “Resist—and your time is up.”

Godfrey is taking from me.

Taking my happiness and my soul and my sexuality. Taking things I have no intention of giving. He reaches for a Vaseline tube that’s next to the bed and slides his fingers into it. Over the past few weeks, Camden had been the only one to take. Sometimes he let Sebastian watch, as a punishment for what I did to him. But this is the first time Godfrey is having a taste.

Camden would’ve never agreed to such a thing. He’s possessive and jealous, a bratty prince who considers himself more worthy than the mad king.

I start crying, my body shaking against the sheets. He’s not even naked yet and I’m already trembling like a wrinkled newspaper trying to survive a hurricane.

“Christ,” Godfrey moans in annoyance. “I can’t shag you properly. Not like this.”

For a second, I mistake his annoyance with my tears for kindness, and sniff as I prop myself on my elbows, but then he says. “Turn around.”

My stomach pressed against the cold sheet, I hear him sliding the lube up and down his bare dick with a slurping sound before he guides himself into my tight hole. I’ve never been touched there before. Camden asked me to do it when we were still together, but I said no. He respected that. Even after we’d broken up.

But his father doesn’t know, and more than likely, doesn’t care.

It hurts, more than just physically. I have no doubt that I’m bleeding. But I take it and barely grunt, my lips pressing hard against the pillow, closing my eyes. I will not break.

“You know, Miss Burlington-Smyth. Fucking you over is almost as fun as doing it to your dad. It must be quite disappointing, being deserted by your parents because of money and greed.”

Blue skies after the rain.

Playing peek-a-boo with the neighbor’s sweet toddler, Charlie.

A cup of fresh brewed coffee at the airport after a long flight.

First dates.

First kisses.

First everythings.

Not breaking. Not breaking. Not breaking.

Godfrey comes inside me, groans in pleasure and rolls away from my body.

The next day, he rapes me again, this time driving into my pussy.

Three weeks later, I find out that I’m pregnant. Godfrey never used a condom.

Neither did Camden.

The baby is an Archer.

It doesn’t make me hate it. In my mind, it’s US against THEM. I need to save it from the Archers no less than I need to save myself.

Only I fail my baby.

And it’s the moment when I’m bleeding out a clot the size of a pea, watching it sailing on the sea of red in the toilet, that I truly break. It’s that moment that changes everything, that lets me know that it’s okay to want to kill them.

I failed my baby.

But I won’t fail me.

I stride to Godfrey’s timber gates, surrounded by Aryan brothers. Eyes zeroing in on the door, I feel more confident with every step I take.

They let me walk by freely, because they’re shocked.

Because they know who I am.

And because they can’t kill me—Godfrey wants to do it himself.

When I reach the edge of the cobbled path leading to his entrance, a fat man in dirty Levi’s and a white wife beater pushes me away.

“Now what the heck do you think you’re doing?”

“He wants me alive,” I say calmly, bouncing a stress ball up and down in my palm. “Ask him yourself. Tell him Prescott is here.
Alone
, and ready to talk.”

I hope Nate is keeping a good distance away from this scene, but know that he’s livid with the way I handled things. I didn’t even ask him before I charged to Godfrey’s house, and now I’m standing in front of six burly, Nazi-looking men. They all have shaved heads and blue, faded tattoos all over their bodies. Their faces are mapped with fury. Life failed them, and they failed life. It’s a catch 22, but I have zero sympathy for them. We all have demons. True fighters chain them to the pit of their dark souls.

“Stupid bitch,” one of them spits, his phlegm landing right next to my boot. “Thinks she can boss us around. Your rich ass will be raped if you don’t shut your pipe.”

“Ask Godfrey.” My chin is up, my cool façade on full display. “I’m here to collect. He thinks it’s the other way around, and he’s been chasing me for years now. Better not keep him waiting much longer, or your head will be on his dinner plate tonight.”

That makes them cackle. They’re so dumb, they mistake my small size for weakness. I don’t care. I don’t dare turn around to check on Nate. If I even flinch in his direction, they will try to see who I’m looking for. More than likely, they already know Nate and I should be together. That’s why they’ve agreed to watch over Godfrey in the first place.

Finally, one of them, a tall man with a thick, blonde beard puts his phone to his ear.

“She’s here.” His tone is clipped. “Alone. I’m sending four guys to look around and try and find him.”

My stomach twists in pain.

Run away, Nate. It’s not your war.

Though what hurts me the most is my stupid pride. I’ve gotten myself into this situation because I cared more about ruining Godfrey than giving Nate and I a fresh start. As the bearded guy guides me into the depths of Godfrey’s front yard, I have an epiphany. If we make it out alive, there’s so much I want to show and do with him. I want to recreate all those happy moments that kept me from breaking. With him.

Watch a heart-wrenching play at the theater with him.

Have pistachio ice cream under the sun.

The ocean breaking over our sandy toes.

First dates.

Wet kisses.

Reliving everything that gave me hope. With. Him.

Not running away
, his voice echoes in my head as the double doors to Godfrey’s mansion swing open.
But chasing freedom
.

“Before she sets foot inside the house, check her for weapons.” Godfrey’s voice carries from the second floor as we reach the threshold, along with the faint sounds of Beethoven’s “Ninth Symphony.” Godfrey and Camden are big on classical music. I look around his foyer. It’s everything I expected it to be. Big and built to intimidate, with marble floors, antique furniture and the empty echo of a house that never truly made it to becoming a home.

We all hide behind walls we’re desperate to break.

The only personalized thing in here is a creepy portrait of him and his son, something the size of the wall, in the middle of the living room. Godfrey is standing above a sitting Camden, clasping his shoulder with pride. They’re both looking straight at the person who painted them. Both wearing navy blue suits.

Their gazes. The choral playing in the background. An uncomfortable shudder rips through me.

“You heard the man. Arms out to the sides.”

I do as the Aryan Brother tells me, though my mind is elsewhere. Less than a month ago, it was Nate who searched me. But even back then, three minutes into our relationship, I knew there was something different about him.