CROSS
I PARK MY car behind Oak Grove and enter through the back door. “Dad?” I call out. He had sent me a message earlier while I was at baseball practice to meet him here. A quick look at my watch shows it’s almost midnight. “Dad?” I yell this time.
No answer.
Making my way down the hallway, I open the door on my right and step into his office.
“Son,” he says, looking up at me from behind his desk. My mother kneels on the floor to the right of it. Her palms on her thighs, head down. Mr. Reed—Bones and Grave’s dad—lounges on the couch.
“Mom?” I go to walk over to her, but my father stands and sidesteps his desk, blocking my view of her.
“I called you here …”
“What in the fuck are you doing?” I demand, placing my hands on his shoulders to move him, but he doesn’t budge. “Mom?” I call out to her, but she stays silent.
“I brought you here to repent,” he states.
“Fuck that shit!” I’ve grown to where I need the pain. His punishment to me is my acceptance to his world. But why is my mother here? I can hear her softly crying.
“Don’t talk to me that way!” he shouts, shoving me backward.
“Mom!” I bark at her, and she flinches. “What the hell are you doing? Get up!”
She stays still, and my father throws his head back, laughing. “She knows her place, son. Do you need a reminder of yours?” Before I can respond, he reaches out and wraps a hand around my throat. He pushes me backward through the office, taking away my air and practically lifting my feet off the floor. He knocks my back into the door, throwing it open in the process. He drags me down the rest of the hallway and into the chapel with Mr. Reed behind us. He then shoves me forward, making me trip and fall over a pew.
With a quick look around, I see that the candles are already lit, and he starts undoing his cuff links and then sliding his sleeves up his forearm.
“What in the fuck are you doing with Mom?” I demand. I’ve never seen her like that before. I mean, I’m twenty-one. I’m not a virgin. I know my father fucks around on her, but I don’t think they’re into BDSM shit and stuff like that. So, why was she kneeling on his office floor as if she’s a submissive? Does he treat her the way he treats me? Worse?
“What I do with your mother is none of your business,” he states and removes the cross from around his neck. He takes a candle and heats up the precious metal that he cherishes so much.
I fist my hands. “I will not bow down to you.” Not today. I will not kneel for him to burn me. Not until I know what is going on. This is different than all the other times. Why now? Why her? What has happened that he wanted me to see that?
He looks up at me, and a bone-chilling smile spreads across his face. “Genevieve,” he calls out.
Seconds later, my mother comes walking into the chapel. Tears run down her face, and I see that her right eye is swollen. He hit her.
“Come here, Gen,” he calls her, and like a dog, she tucks her tail and slowly walks over to him.
“Mom.” I step forward. “You don’t have to do this.”
She says nothing and doesn’t even look my way. Once she gets close to him, he grabs her by the hair, and she cries out. He grips the back of her neck and shoves her facedown onto the floor that I’ve kneeled at so many times before. Kneeling beside her, he pins her down.
“Come over here, Cross. It’s time.”
“No,” I state. I will not do whatever sick shit he’s wanting from me.
“You will do this!” he growls. “It’s time your mother pays for her sins.”
He’s lost his goddamn mind. “I won’t do it.”
Mr. Reed steps toward me, and I take a step back. “Leave him be.” My father huffs. “I’ll do it myself.” While he holds her down with one hand, he holds up the cross to a candle, heating it up and then pressing it to her back.
She screams, thrashing against him.
I go to run over and rip him off, but Mr. Reed holds me back.
She sobs as he does it again. And again. Scarring her back with crosses to match mine. Once he decides he’s done, he stands, and she falls to her side crying.
“Take her home,” he orders Mr. Reed. “I’ll finish this later.”
Finish? What else is he going to do to her?
He lets go of me, and I stay where I am, not wanting to make it worse for my mother. “You piece of shit,” I say through gritted teeth once they are gone. “How long have you been doing this to her?”
“Whenever she needs a reminder,” he answers ominously.
“I won’t allow you to do this,” I growl.
He laughs at that. “What are you going to do to stop me?” Arching a brow, he lifts the cross and begins to heat it up again.
I charge him.
Alexa gets my attention, sitting in my passenger seat, legs bouncing up and down while she bites on her fingernails. I’ve tried to avoid letting her see my back. The tattoos I’ve gotten over the years cover up most of my past, but she saw them. She touched them. I tried not to freak out, but I couldn’t help it. The way it felt when she touched them had memories rushing back. Ones I buried long ago.
She sits up straighter and gasps as I pull up to her bar. Firetrucks surround it, and black smoke rolls from what’s left of the burning structure. Stopping my car, she jumps out before I can even say anything to her.
I get out and walk over to her as she stands there crying with her hands to her face. I got the call that a 911 call was made and that it was on fire. I have an idea who did it and why, but I just need a way to prove it.
Reaching my arm out, I wrap it around her shoulders, and she turns into me, her hands gripping my shirt. “It’s going to be okay,” I tell her.
It’ll be better than ever.
_______________
WE ALL SIT up in our Royal Suite. Well, everyone except for Grave and April. They are still away.
Titan stands at the kitchen island. Bones stands over by the floor-to-ceiling windows while Jasmine and Alexa sit on the couch.
“What are we doing here?” Alexa asks. “Shouldn’t we be at the police station?”
“That’s not needed,” I inform her. I’ve got something better than the police.
“Then what—?”
Her voice is interrupted when there’s a knock on the door. I walk over and answer it.
“Well, maybe you should just put me on a monthly salary.” The guy winks at me as he enters.
“Seems that would be best, Jeffrey,” I agree, closing the door behind him.
He goes to the center of the room and removes his shirt up and over his head and undoes his jeans.
“Uh …” Alexa scoots farther back in the couch cushion as the guy gets down to his boxers.
Once done, he spins around in a circle with his arms out wide. I nod my approval. And he gives me a “when are we going to stop doing this” look. Never is the only answer. We were raised not to trust anyone. A person can have your back a million times, but someone could get to them to backstab you once. I’ll never give anyone that kind of trust. Especially someone who can be bought.
“It was arson,” he states, bending down to pick up his shirt.