The Cruelest Chaos (Unsainted Book 3)

by KV Rose

  And she knows the worst thing I’ve ever done.

  But she isn’t real either.

  She takes a step toward me.

  “Hello, Mavy.”

  I smile at her ghost. “That’s not my name, baby.”

  Her freckles seem so real, so her, so perfectly placed that for one moment, my heart aches. Maybe this isn’t her ghost. Maybe she truly forgives me. Maybe this battle is over. Maybe she’s come to free me, and that’s my lesson.

  The dark part of my heart whispers something else, too: Maybe she killed Ria. Maybe she took care of that for me, too.

  “I know, handsome,” she says, coming closer.

  I spread my thighs, cocking my head. “Come sit with me.” This ghost I can enjoy.

  She glances down at my lap, at my erection bulging against my pants.

  And then she brings her hand from behind her back.

  She’s holding a knife.

  My side aches at the sight of it. “Not this shit again, Ella, baby.”

  But ghosts can’t stab me. Hallucinations can’t hold real blades.

  “I’m going to free you,” she says seriously, and then she’s close enough for me to touch her. If I wasn’t tied to the fucking chair. “I’m going to free you, Mavy, and then we’re going to run.”

  I smile at her, watch as she brings the blade underneath the rope around my wrists. The steel is cold on my skin, and she angles it, sawing at my binds.

  “We can’t run, you beautiful, beautiful girl.”

  She shoots me a glare, but I keep talking as she keeps working. The cold of the knife feels so real. Her hand pressed against mine to steady herself does too.

  “We can’t leave until this is over.”

  “It’s over when I say it’s over, and I say it’s over now, Mavy.”

  The rope frays and she jerks the blade up, releasing one bind. She makes quick work of it around my wrist, unwinding it and setting me free. I don’t move my hand, just glance at the rope burn on my wrist.

  It looks so real.

  The release...it feels so real.

  “I need to tell you something, Ella.” My voice is hoarse. “I need to tell you something important.”

  She looks at me warily but slides the knife under the binds of my other hand.

  “I need to tell you...” I swallow, my throat dry. But this is her ghost. This is my trip. I can tell her the truth. I can set myself free. “I think I lied to you.”

  She smiles, eyes still downcast. “Oh, I wouldn’t doubt that, Mavy Boy.”

  I snort. “I’m not a boy.”

  She keeps sawing away at the rope. “Every guy I like is a boy to me.”

  I frown. I don’t like the way she phrased that. I tell her so.

  She shakes her head. “I’ve only ever called one other man a boy,” she admits.

  I tense. “Who?”

  “Con,” she says simply, and brings the knife up, cutting through the fraying rope. She drops the blade with a clatter, hands on her hips. “Now tell me, before we get out of here. What is it you wanted to say?”

  I rotate my wrists, marveling at how real freedom feels, even if it’s only in my head. Or maybe that’s the best kind.

  I meet Ella’s green eyes, a light blue circle around her pupils. God she’s beautiful. I didn’t tell her nearly enough.

  “I think I love you, too.”

  I don’t know what I expect her to do. Maybe kiss me. Maybe climb into my lap. Maybe say it back.

  Whatever it is, I don’t expect her to fucking slap me so hard my ears ring. I blink, sitting up straighter.

  And when I blink, everything…changes.

  I’m still in a chair, and my wrists are still free, and there’s still a sigil.

  And Ella is still in the room.

  But so is someone else.

  Two other people, actually.

  My father, and…Ria.

  Ella is still in the black skirt, the white shirt, and so is Ria. Like schoolgirls. My father is all in black as he stands in front of the sigil.

  I go to stand to my feet, my throat so fucking dry I can’t speak anymore, not like I was when Ella was freeing me.

  I glance at her as I’m halfway up, my hands supporting my weight against the arms of the chair.

  She doesn’t have a knife. Was she freeing me?

  She has tears in her eyes. Tracking down her beautiful face.

  And Ria… Ria is here.

  “Don’t,” my father warns me, his eyes hard on mine. “Sit back down, Maverick, or this won’t end well for you.”

  And then I see it. What I didn’t want to see. What I don’t want to be real.

  This isn’t real.

  My father has a gun in his hand and he’s holding it to Ria’s temple. She’s on her knees, her lip trembling, eyes closed.

  Ella is…Ella is free. But she’s standing between us. My father could shoot any of us so, so easily.

  My jaw clenches. I want to speak, I want to scream, I want to rip my fucking hair out but…

  My father’s blue eyes are focused on mine, a smile playing on his lips. His hair is trimmed, as if he got it cut just for this.

  “You have a choice to make, Maverick.”

  My eyes shoot from Ria to Ella, then back to my father. I stay sitting, even though it’s killing me. Even though my fists are clenched so hard my nails are digging into my skin.

  “Polygamy is, unfortunately, not sanctioned by the 6.” He sighs, as if that’s a thing that upsets him. He rolls his eyes toward the ceiling, shrugging, the gun held steady to Ria’s head.

  She still has her eyes closed, her face screwed up tight.

  Where has she been all this time? Why didn’t she run? Stupid, stupid girl.

  But maybe she did run. Maybe they got her as soon as she left my house.

  Stupid, violent boy.

  “And as you’ve told both of these girls far, far too much, I’m going to need you to tell me which one to shoot.”

  I look at Ella. Her eyes are wide, her hands fisted in the hem of her skirt, like she wants to come to me. Like it’s taking all of her willpower to stay where she is.

  “Ella,” I ask her, my throat like sandpaper with every word, “is this real?”

  She smiles at me, but it’s sad. I watch her throat bob as she swallows, sucking in her bottom lip and nodding. “Yes, baby.”

  Baby.

  “It’s real,” she finishes.

  Ria whimpers, but I don’t look at her. I keep staring into Ella’s gorgeous green eyes, looking at all the freckles I haven’t kissed yet.

  “Make me believe it.”

  She frowns, a crease between her dark auburn brows.

  “Tell me something only you would know. Make me believe this is real.”

  “About you, Mavy?” she asks me.

  But my mind knows about me, even if I want it to forget. Even if I want it to stuff away all those dark, dark things. Or even worse, the things that make me feel. That remind me that I’m alive. I’m not a psychopath. I feel everything.

  My mind knows that.

  I shake my head, my lip trembling. “No, pretty girl. Tell me something you haven’t told me yet. About you.”

  My father sighs, growing impatient, but he doesn’t say anything.

  Ella nods, closing her eyes. Tears spill down her pale cheeks, one dropping from her beautiful red lips. “When I first met you, my mom and I had fought, just before. She had hit me.”

  My gut clenches.

  “She had hit me, and I had hated it and hated her, and hated that I liked when she screamed at me. That I liked when I had her attention. But I knew…” She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I knew she didn’t hit me because she loved me. She did it because she hated me.” She opens her eyes, focuses on me. “You were so angry when we met,” she whispers, tears spilling down from her chin, onto the floor. “You were so angry, and so…gorgeous.” Her skin turns a pale shade of pink with that word and I can’t help the smile that tugs on m
y own lips, despite the tears forming in my eyes. “I wanted you to hate me, too. I wanted you to hate me so I could feel it.”

  I could never hate you.

  “Feel what, pretty girl?” My voice shakes, but I have to know. I need to know.

  “There’s no difference between love and hate, Mavy. The opposite of those is indifference, and if you could hurt me, if you could like it, I mattered to you. Just like I mattered to her.”

  My father blows out a breath. “This is all very touching, but Maverick, we don’t have time for any more speeches.”

  I keep my eyes on Ella. “Do you love me, baby?”

  She nods, tears coming more freely now. “Yes,” she whispers. “I love you.”

  “I think I love you, too.”

  “So, you’ve made a decision, then?” my father snaps. I turn to look at him and he digs the gun in further against Ria’s head. Her entire body is shaking, her head tilted back, eyes still closed.

  She’s had to hear all of this. How I couldn’t love her like I do Ella. I know she doesn’t love me that way, either. But it isn’t fair. It isn’t right.

  “Don’t you ever get tired?” I ask my father, my eyes on his.

  He presses his lips into a thin line. “Tired of what?” he asks through clenched teeth.

  “Of pretending you don’t feel anything, Dad? Of pretending you’re okay? Pretending Malachi wasn’t your son? Pretending Brooklin wasn’t your daughter?”

  His eyes narrow.

  “Pretending you don’t give a shit about me, either?”

  He doesn’t speak.

  “It’s okay, Dad.” I swallow, hard, keeping my eyes on his. “It’s okay to feel it all. I know they tried to train it out of you. I know they’ve hardened you, but Dad…I’m your son.”

  He digs the gun into Ria’s temple and she chokes on a sob. “And that’s why I’m making this choice for you, Maverick.” His words are angry but his tone…his tone is something else.

  I’ve hated him most of my life. I’ve hated what he did to our family. I hated how he forgot. Malachi. Then Brooklin. My mother. Even me. He forgot he was still my father. Forgot he wasn’t just a pawn for the 6. Forgot he was…more to his family.

  Or at least…he could have been. But he forgot Sid, too, and now he wants me to forget both of these girls in this room because people are nothing to him. He’s forgotten how to feel.

  “Dad…”

  I swear his eyes are glistening but he doesn’t back away from Ria.

  I know he won’t. Nothing I say will sway him. Not pleading or begging or crying.

  There’s really only one way to handle this.

  I swallow. “I made a decision.”

  My dad smiles at me, any emotion I might have seen on his face gone. “And?” He glances at Ria. “Is this who we’re going to bury?”

  I shake my head, smiling back. “No,” I whisper softly. “Not just her.” I enjoy the sight of his confusion for one second. Then, “You’re going to bury all of us.”

  Silence rings out in the underground room. No one moves. No one breathes.

  “You can kill them both, but you have to kill me, too. I’m not doing this anymore.”

  Ella whimpers, and Ria’s eyes finally open as she dips her head to look at me, her eyes red and puffy.

  “I’m done. I’m done with you. With the 6. With my…brothers. I’m fucking done.” I stand to my feet and I’m happy to see my father flinch. It’s nearly imperceptible, but it’s there. “I’m done.”

  My father sighs, closing his eyes a second before he takes a step back from Ria and lowers the gun by his side.

  Ria collapses onto the floor, on her hands and knees as she sobs quietly, not looking up at me.

  My heart aches.

  I want to run to her.

  This is my fucking fault.

  She is my responsibility.

  I glance at Ella. She’s staring at me, and her expression is unreadable. If I leave, I’m leaving behind Brooklin. Lucifer. Sid. Their…baby. What’s going to happen next to them.

  How Lucifer is going to hurt.

  I’m leaving behind my mother.

  Cain, Ezra, Atlas. I’m leaving all of them.

  But it’s got to be better than this. Anything is better than this. Jeremiah Rain might actually be better than this. Sid might have made the right decision.

  I pick my head up, stare at my father. “What’re you waiting for, Dad?” He holds the gun in both hands, clasped in front of him. “Fucking shoot me.”

  He smirks, but he’s still looking down at the floor. And then, in a blink, he raises the gun and fires.

  The shot is so loud in the small room, the echoes ricocheting off the brick walls. I dart toward Ella, who is covering her head with her hands, sinking to her knees.

  I throw my arms around her, my heart nearly shooting out of my fucking chest.

  Ria is still sobbing. She’s okay. She’s not hurt.

  I pat my arms over Ella. “I’m okay,” she says, confirming.

  And I’m not shot I don’t think…but my father is laughing.

  I squeeze my arms tighter around Ella, rest my chin on her head as I glare up at him.

  “For such a smart boy, you are so incredibly stupid sometimes.” He’s got the gun back where it was, clasped in front of him. “So, so stupid.”

  I narrow my eyes. “What—”

  He jerks his chin toward Ella. “You ran to her.”

  I open my mouth to snarl something at him when I realize what he’s getting at. My eyes go to Ria, who has her head buried in her hands, her body trembling. My mouth goes dry all over again, and my father laughs as he sees me take his words in.

  “Getting it now?”

  Ella goes still in my arms. She picks her head up. Pushes me away.

  “Ella, no—”

  She turns to glare at me, fire in her green eyes. I hesitate, but she yanks away and…I let her go. I won’t be Lucifer. I won’t be my father. I won’t be every man in the fucking 6.

  If my girl wants to do something, she’s gonna fucking do it.

  And she does.

  She stands to her feet, even though I see her knees trembling, the way her skirt moves, the way she’s a little unsteady. But she’s still standing. She picks her head up, her hair tumbling down her white shirt, like blood against the starch fabric.

  “Go to hell,” she snarls with conviction, and despite all of this, despite the fact my father might actually shoot her in the fucking face, my dick swells at those words.

  Before my father can respond, another shot goes off.

  But I’m looking right at him and he didn’t raise his gun.

  In fact, he didn’t raise shit, because he goes down on one knee, the gun falling to the floor with a clatter.

  My ears are ringing all over again, but Ella and Ria both look past me, and I spin around with the image of my father sinking to his knees burned into my brain.

  But I don’t want to look.

  I don’t want to see how badly he’s hurt.

  I don’t want to watch him die.

  If I don’t look, he’s still alive.

  If I don’t look, we can fix this.

  So instead, I look at Sid.

  She’s holding the gun in her hands, a black 9mm, her arms shaking as she stares right at me.

  And she’s not alone.

  Still, I can’t take my eyes off of her. She just shot my father. Our father. Ria darts past me, a sob escaping her throat. She runs, and the person beside Sid catches her. She flings herself into his arms, burying her head as she claws at his chest.

  Someone touches my back.

  I flinch, breaking my stare with Sid as I turn around.

  Ella threads her fingers through mine. “Maverick,” she says calmly, “your father is going to die if you don’t help him.” She speaks so clearly, as if I’m a child. And in the moment, I am.

  I’m his child.

  Sid is, too.

  My father makes a st
range gurgling sound, like he’s trying to speak.

  Ella holds my gaze, and my hand. “He’s going to die, Mavy,” she repeats softly.

  And I think, Why isn’t she freaking out right now? And then I think, Why am I not freaking out right now?

  My father is dying.

  My father is going to die.

  I’m not running to him. I’m not helping him. Ria’s soft whimpers are the only sound in this room, aside from my father’s choked words. Unintelligible things that I can’t understand.

  Sid finally moves.

  She lowers the gun, closes the distance between us. I turn toward her, still holding Ella’s hand.

  Sid holds the gun out to me, gripping the barrel, the grip facing me.

  I look down at it, but don’t take it.

  Instead, keeping my eyes down, I ask her, “Are you going to leave with him?”

  Ria stops whimpering. My father stops speaking, as if he knows just how important this is, too. As if he knows that even if he dies, this still matters. This is… This could change everything.

  Sid doesn’t say a word, but her silence tells me everything.

  I swallow, wet my lips as I stare down at the gun. Ella is at my back, still gripping my hand. The other I flex into a fist.

  “Tell me why,” I whisper. “Tell me why, so I can make him understand. So I…so I can understand, Angel.”

  More silence.

  She doesn’t drop the gun, just keeps holding it out for me to take. But her fingers tremble, and I wonder if she knows the answer to my question. Is it just what her heart wants? Can we ever deny that feeling, no matter what we know? Can logic ever win? Or is it the insanity of love, every time?

  “Fac, si facis.” I whisper the Latin words, but she knows them.

  She knows them, because she wrote me a letter. And I wrote her one back, with this very phrase.

  Do it if you’re going to do it.

  She takes a shaky breath, her words so low, but the room is silent. Everyone can hear her when she says, “Vivere miltare est.” To live is to fight. She pauses, another shaky breath in, a slow one out. “Memento mori.” Remember death. “It will come for us all, Mav. Even me, and considering they’re still not very happy with me…” I hear a smile in her words, but I hear the pain, too. I hear the hurt. “Maybe sooner than later. But not today.” Her fingers graze my cheek, but I still don’t look up. “Not today.”