Page 23 of Cry of Blood and Joy
“Since I left Fandor Citadel.” The words came out flat and hollow, echoing slightly in the dingy room. The silence that followed felt thick and suffocating, thick with unspoken pain.
My heart clenched with sympathy, and I took a tentative step closer, the ugly carpet squelching slightly under my feet. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Your mother?—”
“Forgave me if that’s what you’re wondering.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “But what I did to her…” He shook his head violently, his dark hair falling across his handsome face like a curtain he could hide behind. His hands clenched into fists on his knees, knuckles going white with strain.
Steve shifted beside me, the floorboards creaking under his movement. “You were possessed,” he said quietly. “Like I was. There’s nothing you can do when you’re a puppet and someone else is pulling your strings.” The understanding in his tone was raw and genuine—the kind that only came from living through the same nightmare.
“You didn’t torture anyone, especially your mother,” Rocco countered, his voice rising with desperate anguish. The wordscame out sharp and jagged, like they were cutting his throat on the way up. “I can’t look at her. Can’t look at my dad or my brother.” His breathing had become shallow and rapid, and the sharp scent of his panic mixed with the room’s stale air.
Something in his broken posture called to every protective instinct I had. I moved closer, the dingy carpet muffling my footsteps, and gently placed my hand on his rigid shoulder. His muscles were drawn tight as steel cables under my palm, trembling with suppressed emotion. “They exiled you?”
“Something like that,” he mumbled into his chest, his voice so quiet I had to strain to hear it. A single tear escaped despite his efforts, cutting a clean track through the flour dust on his cheek before dropping silently onto his clenched hands.
I wanted to erase his pain and tell him everything would be all right. My heart ached watching him crumble under the weight of his guilt, every fiber of my being screaming to comfort him the way I would comfort anyone who was hurting. But then the memories crashed over me like ice water, vivid and unforgiving.
I was there. I saw what he did.
My hand trembled against his shoulder as the images flooded back with sickening clarity. When he beat his mother, it looked like he was enjoying every hit, every scream that tore from her throat. The sound of flesh striking flesh echoed in my memory, mixing with her desperate pleas and his cold, inhuman laughter. I could still see the way his eyes had gleamed with malicious pleasure, the smile that had curved his lips as she begged him to stop.
My stomach churned violently, and I had to swallow hard against the bile rising in my throat. The scent of stale cigarettes and mold in the room suddenly felt overwhelming, making it hard to breathe. I pressed my free hand against my chest, feelingmy erratic heartbeat as the phantom sounds of that night played on repeat in my head.
I know it was the demon. I repeated the words like a mantra, trying to convince myself as much as I could. My rational mind understood the concept of possession, knew Rocco hadn’t been in control of his own body. But the image of his face twisted with sadistic glee, the way he’d moved with such calculated cruelty—it was burned into my retinas like a brand.
It was hard to erase, no matter how desperately I wanted to forget. No matter how much I tried to convince myself it was the demon who committed those acts and the logical part of my brain insisted it hadn’t been the man sitting beside me now, broken and ashamed, my body remembered the terror, the way I’d been frozen in horror, the sick certainty that I was watching someone enjoy inflicting pain on his mother who loved him completely.
Not the man, I told myself firmly, but even as I thought the words, I could feel doubt creeping in like poison, making my hand shake against his shoulder.
But then I thought,Maybe that’s how Angelo saw me.
Chapter Sixteen
Enzo
I drew on vampire speed as I raced toward the office, my feet barely touching the cracked pavement as I moved faster than human eyes could track. The flickering neon lights blurred into streaks of grimy illumination, the night air rushed past my face like cold fingers. I didn’t want anyone remembering seeing me go in here. The last thing we needed were witnesses who could point Angelo’s men in our direction.
My jaw clenched as I took in the full scope of our hiding place. Rocco had picked one of the worst dumps I had ever seen, and I’d seen plenty during my years as an enforcer. The building looked like it was held together by peeling paint and desperation, and the parking lot was more pothole than asphalt. Hopefully, it would take Angelo some time before he hunted us down to this godforsaken place. The thought of him finding Joy here, vulnerable and trapped in this maze of crumbling concrete, made my protective instincts flare with violent intensity.
I forced myself to slow to human speed as I approached the office door, my muscles knotting with barely restrained energy.I hadn’t heard Rocco was living here, so maybe Angelo hadn’t either. It was a thin hope, but hope nonetheless—and right now, I’d take whatever advantage we could get.
The office door stuck when I tried to open it, the warped wood scraping against the frame with a sound like rusted hinges grinding open. The smell hit me before I even stepped inside—a nauseating cocktail of stale beer, unwashed bodies, and something that might have been rotting food. My enhanced senses made it almost overwhelming, and I had to breathe through my mouth to keep from gagging.
A greasy bald man sat slumped behind a counter that looked like it had been rescued from a demolition site. Sweat glistened on his scalp under the harsh fluorescent light that buzzed and flickered overhead like an angry wasp trapped in glass. He had on a stained T-shirt that had probably been white sometime in the distant past. It stretched tight over a beer gut that strained against red suspenders attached to faded blue jeans that looked like they’d never met a washing machine.
He looked up at me with bleary red-veined green eyes that suggested he’d been sampling his own merchandise, whatever that might be. His gaze was unfocused and slightly hostile, like he resented being interrupted from whatever important business involved staring at a small TV with terrible reception.
“You want a room?” His voice was gravelly and thick, like he’d been gargling with gravel and cigarettes. “By the hour or the day?” The question came with a knowing leer that made my skin crawl, and I realized exactly what kind of establishment this was.
Some place I didn’t want Joy to be within one hundred feet of, let alone sleeping in. I swore under my breath as I imagined her delicate presence in this cesspool of human misery, surrounded by the kind of people who frequented hourly motels for activities I didn’t want to think about. She’d already seen too much when Ari had her prisoner. This hellhole was no place forsomeone like her. She’d seen too much, and I hated exposing her again to this sordid underbelly of desperation.
But we were on the run, and accommodations unfortunately weren’t going to be five-star. The bitter taste of compromise filled my mouth like ashes, and I had to swallow my pride along with my disgust.
“By the day,” I said through gritted teeth. “I want a week.” The words felt like admitting defeat, like acknowledging we’d fallen so far from grace this was our reality now.
The man lifted his greasy eyebrow as he took in my appearance with calculating eyes, probably noting the expensive cut of my clothes, the way I carried myself like someone who didn’t belong in a place like this. His bloodshot gaze lingered on my watch, my shoes, cataloging everything that suggested I had money to burn. A slow, predatory smile spread across his stubbled face, revealing teeth stained yellow from years of coffee and cigarettes.
“Three hundred,” he said with the confidence of someone who knew he had a desperate customer over a barrel. The price hung in the air between us like a challenge. I could smell the stale beer on his breath and see the satisfaction in his eyes.
The amount was highway robbery for what amounted to a disease-ridden shoebox, but I didn’t have the luxury of negotiating. Time was a commodity we couldn’t afford to waste, and every second we spent here was another second closer to Angelo finding us.
