Page 79 of Making the King

“Why the fuck does Tina want this one, anyway?” one asks. “She isn’t even that pretty. And I doubt she’s untouched after living with that Diamond Crew fucker.”

I swallow down a whimper as I’m jostled, and the guy’s shoulder digs into my ribcage.

Wait… what did he just say? Well, it wasn’t as much what he said as it was the way. Do these guys not know Martina is my mom?

Their chatter turns to what they want to do to me, so I tune out their vile words, instead preparing myself for a range of scenarios. One being that Gray and Mateo are already dead. Another being that my mom tries to force me to be with Gray, which would be just as wrong as if it was my actual brother.

I already know that whatever she has in store for me won’t be good, and… fuck, I might as well stop guessing. It won’t do me any good. And even if I somehow magically guess her plan, I’m not in any position to stop it.

Doors open and close around us, and I no longer feel the cold air blasting me in my face. As the guy carrying me unceremoniously drops me to the floor, I let out an oomph and pain shoots up my ankle as I land. With my hands and legs still tied, there was no way for me to soften the blow, and now it seems my poor ankle is paying for it.

The sound of struggles and metal clanking intensifies, and even though I’m still blindfolded, I instinctively swing my head in all directions as I try to hone in on the sound. Wait… it’s coming from two places. That and the… it sounds like muffled cries or shouts.

“Gray,” I gasp. “Mateo… is that you?”

The muffled noises grow louder but not clearer.

Heels sound on the concrete floor, click-clacking their way to me. Then the blindfold is ripped from my face. The luminescent light seems much too bright, and I squint against it.

“Welcome home my dear daughter.” My mom’s words are followed by a cackle. “It’s been so long.”

“Daughter?” one of the men wonders out loud. “Fucking hell. She’s your daughter?”

My mom tilts her head to the side and looks up at the man who spoke. “Got a problem with that?”

He immediately shakes his head, though he can’t hide the disgust on his face.

“Are you sure?” mom asks, and I’m pretty sure she noticed his grimace as well. “Don’t be shy. If you have any problem, all you have to do is say so.”

The guy looks to the others, and if I were to guess, I’d say these are the men from the van. “Nope,” he confirms. “No problem at all.”

Mom nods. “That’s what I thought.”

He may not have anything else to say, but I have plenty. It’s physically hurting me to stop myself from hurling insults and accusations at the woman who birthed me. But I can’t succumb to my fears, hatred, and anger. Not when I don’t see Gray and Mateo.

As soon as I think that, my mom moves the light, so it’s not shining right into my face. I blink a few times, and as soon as my vision clears, I see them. The two men are bound and gagged, but otherwise they look just like they did in the pictures I received.

Thank God they haven’t been harmed further!

“Now, daughter,” my mom taunts as she pats Gray’s cheek. Then she walks over to Mateo, repeating the motion. “You have a choice to make.”

No! She can’t mean…

My blood turns to ice, and my eyes widen as a gasp slips past my lips.

“Oh, yes.” Her laugh is a deranged sound. “The look on your face is priceless. Exactly what I wanted. It’s nice to see you’re not always a disappointment.”

“You can’t be serious.” It’s hard forcing the words out. There’s a lump in my throat, and my eyes burn with unshed tears. “You want me to choose which one you kill?” My voice is barely audible.

“No, no, no,” she laughs coquettishly. “You misunderstand me, dear daughter.”

Her eyes are filled with mirth as she walks over to me, swinging her hips in a way that makes her look more ridiculous than powerful. It’s only now, when it’s too late, that I realize the costume my mom has worn so much it’s basically a part of her.

All my life she’s been acting meek, even asked me not to piss off my dad. I’ve seen the bruises he left on her body in the past. Except… maybe he was never the one to hurt her. Or, if he did, maybe she wanted it. After all, it helped perfect the façade she’s hidden behind.

“It hurts me that you think so little of me,” my mom says with a pout.

“I-I…” There are no words to describe what I want to say, so instead of trying, I simply stop without finishing the sentence.

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