Page 61 of Bed of Thorns

“What’s wrong, Edmond?”

“This will change us. Forever.”

“Our lives were changed years ago,” I insisted. He’d looked inside. Whatever he’d buried all those years ago hadn’t eased his fears.

My throat tightened by the way he continued to look at the box. Then he handed it to me, immediately backing away.

“Open it. Go on,” he instructed, his tone more dominating than before.

Suddenly, I wanted nothing to do with the contents or bringing up angry memories. When I started to place it onto the table, a growl erupted from his throat.

“Open it.”

My fingers were shaking so much I had trouble with the simple latch. When I finally managed, I held my breath as I peered at the contents.

“Tell me what you see, Mercedes.”

“Proof. That’s what I see. Proof that your father was doing something illegal.”

There was a list of names, a few sheets of financial information that could corroborate Edmond’s story. I was excited, until I pulled out a small notebook with items written in red. A to-do list of sorts.

Several names of prominent citizens were listed, some with a line through them, at least two I recognized. They’d both been assassinated. On the list? Senator Villanova.

And the handwriting belonged to Edmond.

CHAPTER14

Edmond

Shadows.

They instantly formed around my periphery of vision. I could no longer breathe, my mind a blur. The look of shock on her face was enough. She’d slept with the enemy. I walked away, my muscles stiff, the night sky oppressive.

Acceptance was more difficult than I could have imagined. Whatever evil had crawled into my soul years ago likely remained sleeping, wallowing in anger and hatred, prepared to strike again like a swooping raven feeding off flesh and blood.

I closed my eyes, trying desperately to remember that night.

Darkness.

Rain.

Lightning.

Flashes.

And the sounds. The constant crack of thunder. The bellows and voices. The rapid beating of my heart. They were right there, pieces of a puzzle that I’d yet to place in a perfect format. Every nightmare was different. Every thought different than the one before.

But as the great sack of shit prosecutor had whispered in my ear the fateful day the jury came back with a verdict—it was all about the evidence.

I leaned over the railing, gasping for air, the weight on my chest crushing, suffocating me. I was overwhelmed by emotion, years of keeping it locked inside a cage rushing to the surface. The rage was almost uncontrollable, the bloodlust I felt increasing.

I was a monster. I. Was. A. Monster.

It appeared I’d been working with my father after all.

As her arms wrapped around me, I stiffened. She shouldn’t be forced to experience a single minute of this. She was far too innocent, the best in the dark, angry world. When I tensed, her hold became tighter, her touch an indication of a love I didn’t deserve.

“Just go,” I managed.

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