Page 15 of King of Ruin

My brows snap together. “I think I’d know if Zek had a father. Especially if it was you.”

He shrugs, his nonchalance beginning to unsettle me. “Well, you were just a baby when I had my weekly visits with him, and by the time you were old enough to notice his absence, he started working.”

My mind flips to anytime Zek would have done or said anything that indicated he has a father. When we were younger, we were together constantly. It wasn’t until he was thirteen he started working, and they were jobs that kept him out late. I guess it’s true he could have easily been seeing this man while I was blissfully unaware. But then, does that mean—

“I’m not your father,” he answers as if he can read my thoughts. “Killed your papa when you were fresh out of the womb. Didn’t need him hanging around. He might have figured things out.”

Is it possible to mourn someone you never knew existed? Perhaps not, but I feel the anguish at having the option taken away. My lungs squeeze with the thin air, and suddenly Phineas seems much more sinister than he did moments ago.

“You see, that boy of mine has been on a leash since the moment he was old enough to take a punch. Very few people know who he is, and even fewer know my plan. But I’m going to make you privy because even though he belongs to me, his weakness seems to be keeping him from following my instructions.”

He doesn’t have to elaborate on what my brother’s Achilles heel is because I already know–it’s women. Me and my mother specifically. His entire life he’s doted on us, raising me and taking care of my mother more than any child should ever have to. Even when he started working he still made time to play with me in the woods, teach me long division, and cook us dinner. He never let on how tired he was, or if it ever even weighed on him.

And yet, I never once thought to consider it. Not when I put more stress on him from my humanitarian shenanigans, or when I yelled because he wouldn’t let me go out with my friends late at night.

A mix of hurt and confusion swirls in my chest. I want to be angry with him for keeping such a secret, but how can I when I know, without even asking, that he hid it to protect me? Knowing myself I would have tried to find a way to get us out of Sherwood despite my brother’s concerns. It probably would have put us in a bigger mess than we’re in currently, but then again… “So why the woman in the van?”

He chuckles, making his belly bounce. “An arguably juvenile part of the plan but important. I told your brother to take you to get ice cream on a street I knew would be pretty vacant on a Tuesday. I had my men leave a van unguarded knowing you’d see it on the way home, and due to your… inquisitive nature, I figured you’d look inside. Happy accident was when your brother left you to your own devices to go grab your mama’s medicine.”

My brain is reeling, straining as I attempt to soak in all the information and fit together pieces of a puzzle I didn’t even know were missing. Still, it doesn’t make complete sense. “But why did you hope I’d let the woman out?”

“So you’d be indebted to us. Like a sort of insurance. See if you knew the real plan, you could tell anyone, and I can’t go and kill you because then your brother wouldn’t be so easy to keep on his leash,” he explains, his tone almost annoyed at the fact my brother cares about me so much. “But keeping a facade, just in case, was important. Onyx has a soft spot for saving women. If she caught Ezekiel but found out why he was doing it, he still stood a chance to bring her to me.”

Whatever my face is doing must make him feel the need to elaborate, though he appears downright annoyed. “To save you. Or maybe to drop off his body on my doorstep. The possibilities are endless, really.”

I suck in a shallow breath, nausea rolling around in my stomach at the thought of my brother dead. This man isn’t Zek’s father. He’s the devil using his own kin for his agenda. A stupid, convoluted plan at that.

“Now, I’m not here to threaten you, Fiona.” He takes a tentative step forward as I scoot back, pressing my back into the corner while he peers down at me. His frame covers the overhead light, draping his face in ominous shadows causing my throat to go dry. “I’m here to threaten your brother. If he doesn’t get me something that can get me through those gates in the next seven days, I’ll bring him back here. I’ll tie him over there to the bottom of your toilet and make him watch as my entire army fucks you on this very cot. His entire life’s purpose will vanish in front of his eyes as he sees his sister torn apart from the inside out. Your tears, your cries, your begging. All of it will drive him mad and even after you’re dead and gone, my men will continue until you finally start to rot.”

Unable to keep the vomit down any longer, I catapult to the bathroom, hugging the same toilet my brother could be chained to if I can’t find a way to make him understand his time is up.

My esophagus burns as bile, and what little I’ve eaten makes a reappearance, splashing into the porcelain bowl. By the time I’ve wiped my mouth and flushed the evidence of my fear, Phineas is gone and the phone they gave me is ringing.

I wasn’t nice to Zek that day, but it wasn’t because I was angry anymore. It was clear and very ironic of our situation, that for once,Ineeded to savehim.

For the first time in my brother’s life, he cared about someone other than me and our mom, and deep down he knew sacrificing me for a group of people wasn’t right. Hell, if it wasn’t me, lingering on the precipice of being raped to death in front of him, I’d say fuck Phineas and not to give him shit.

But the sobering fact about self-preservation is that itisme, and I don’t want to die. Not in that way at least. It makes me selfish, I know, and even if I use the excuse of not wanting my brother to witness my murder, it all boils down to this–I’m terrified.

A plethora of unwelcome and painful emotions flutter through me as I think of the level of fear I experienced over the two days after that. I’d given him forty-eight hours before telling him I’d run out onto the lawn and let them shoot me.

And I meant it.

The more I stewed on our conversation, the more I realized I would much rather take a bullet than the alternative. But when he called me back, he had a plan, and to say it was the most convoluted thing I’ve ever heard, is an understatement.

I glance over at the man I was told to find. He’s sprawled across my floral bedsheet, his arms outstretched on either side. His name is Lawrence. Okay guy, if you ignore the fact he works for the evils of the world, and that he sounds like a dying locomotive.

Slipping out of the bed, I tiptoe out of my cracked door and down the short hall. The street light outside seeps into the dingy living room window, giving me enough of a glow to locate his phone resting on the couch arm where he left it to charge.

My hands begin to shake as I reach for it, unlocking the screen and tapping on the call button. After a look over my shoulder and confirming with his jumbled groans that he’s still sleeping, I dial the number I memorized the second my brother told me it.

It rings five times, and with each one my heart rate increases, anxiety and determination playing tug a war with the weak muscle. On what I assume will be the last ring before the voicemail picks up, someone answers. I hold my breath as I listen for them to speak, pressing my ear to the receiver so hard I make out the faint beeping of a monitor.

“H-hello?”

“Is this Maddy?” I rush out before my throat can close.

“Yes.”

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