“What the fuck could be worse than someone getting raped?” My stomach churns at the thought of what happened here only days ago.
Her head jerks back as if I struck her, but she quickly smooths out her features.
Did she not know what happened in here?
My mother’s slender hand reaches up to adjust the broach on her jacket, focusing my attention on the profile of a skull wearing a gold military-styled headpiece circa the Roman Empire.
What is it with these people and fucking skulls?
The broach is not something I’d expect to see paired with her outfit. Hell, I’ve never seen her with a broach in my life.
Squatting just out of my reach, she whispers, “Far worse things can happen in this place, Daughter. You’ve been sheltered far too long. It’s time you recognize your power and the prominent position in which you’ve been placed.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I yell, exasperated at the continuous subliminal messages I’ve received since I stepped foot in Calloway.
“Temper, temper, my dear,” her tone condescending. “We’ll have to work on that if you’re to come fully into your true potential.”
She stands, dusting off invisible dirt from her pants before continuing, “You must not remember my words before the prick to your neck.”
Seeing the confusion in my scrunched face and arched eyebrows, she titters a laugh, only growing my frustration with this whole damn conversation.
Clapping her hands, gleeful at whatever this news is she’s about to unload, her candy apple red-covered lips break into a wide smile, brilliant white teeth a stark contrast to her lipstick. “Let me have the distinct pleasure of reintroducing you to who you really are,” she pauses for annoyingly too long. “Emma Elaine Bradford,” she singsongs.
At the mention of that name, the block on the night of the party is lifted. I see the moment my mom comes into the clearing by the gazebo. I turned, expecting to ream Liam out for not taking the hint, only to be greeted by a woman I thought was hurt or dead somewhere. But she wasn’t. She was standing in front of me like a proud fucking peacock, preening, right before I felt the prick and her call me by someone else’s last name.
“That’s not my name,” I grit through clenched teeth, holding out hope that this is part of this mindfuck, another way for whoever they are to mess with me more.
My denial makes her laugh fully. My life is being tilted on its axis, fodder for her amusement.
“Oh, you poor stupid girl. You truly believe you’re a Bishop, don’t you?”
“Why would I ever think otherwise? You and dad never gave any indication that I should doubt my surname.” I retort.
Her mouth twists at the mention of dad, like the idea of him is repulsive to her.
Who the hell is this woman? I begin to question every interaction they ever had. She never looked at my dad, her husband, with anything but adoration. Her cries and look of devastation on the day she received the news of his disappearance are burned into my memory. How could she fake that?
“Let’s not mention that man. My duty to him is over. His purpose was fulfilled.”
My throat tightens at her words, and there is a foreboding feeling stirring in my gut. I hesitate but find my voice, “What do you mean fulfilled his purpose? He’s your husband.”
“He almost fucked this all up, but luckily-,” she trails off like her last words were only meant to be heard by her. My heart begins to race, pounding like a stampeding herd of elephants. Sweat starts to build on my upper lip, a telltale sign of what’s to come. I gulp in a lungful of air, trying to stave off this dreaded feeling, but the dots appear. Each blink brings on double the number than just seconds before.
My neck wheels left at the same time the crack of a hand connects with my cheek.
“Oh no you don’t, you little shit. We don’t have time for your bullshit panic attacks,” she snarls.
The smack stuns me breathless momentarily.
“You always were an attention-seeking little brat. Your dad goes missing, and you develop these attacks. Well, that stops now. We have too much to do and no time for your selfishness.”
Selfishness? Is she kidding me?
Rearing my arm back, I throw my fist, punching her in her hateful mouth.
I hope I fuck up her perfect smile.
She shrieks, falling backward on her ass, one heel falling askew.
Two men rush into the room, and I instantly recognize who they are: the men that raped Sam.
I scurry back into the wall, fearful of what they’ll do. My anger made me forget my predicament.
“You were always an impulsive bitch,” she huffs, holding herself up, stopping the two goons from further entering the room.
Standing, she rights herself, putting her heel back on and brushing the butt of her pants. Now she has a reason to dust her suit. I smirk at that small win. Once she’s situated her clothing, she lifts her thumb to her mouth, wiping at the trail of blood from her bottom lip.
“You’re lucky we need you to accomplish this plan, or I would’ve killed you by now,” she snaps.
Her words strike my heart with the precision of a sniper, directly through the center of the organ lying to the left of my chest, causing a stuttering beat before it stalls, killing the last of my love for the woman before me.
Closing my eyes, I try to reconcile that I might be an orphan- a missing father and a dead-to-me mother.
“Again, you heartless hag, what the fuck are you talking about?” I demand, meeting the green eyes that match my sister with the cold gray of my own.
At the thought of Jamie, my stomach sinks. What will I tell her and the boys?
Fuck! How do I broach such a subject?
By first getting out of here! Focus! I remind myself. I can’t tell them shit if I never make it out of here. I cut off that thought process immediately. I’ll be getting out of here and with Sam.
“Right, you don’t know anything, do you? Well, let’s fix that, shall we.” She begins to pace the room, now far out of my reach. It’s smart on her part. I might risk her wrath for an opportunity to deck her again.
“I’d give you the whole long drawn out history of the five original families of Calloway and their arrival to this country and settling in the English colonies, but it’s dreadfully boring. Let’s skip to about a generation or two ago when your father’s father, your grandfather if you will, started to get wind of our plan.”
She walks toward the table embedded in the wall, presumably tired of pacing, and takes a seat, crossing her legs before she continues. “You see, my family, the Lockwoods quickly recognized that chaos ensues with men in charge. A plan was hatched generations ago, long before you or me, to seat a woman of both original bloodlines at the helm under the Filiae Bellonae.” Her gaze connects with mine before she says everything I’ve dreaded since this horrible story began, “And you are that woman, my dear sweet daughter.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.