In Fury Lies Mischief

by Amo Jones

  “Saskia, there’s a box. Can you see it?” the voice starts. I don’t recognize the voice, and I know it’s not the old man’s. “Grab it.”

  I squeeze my fists together, fighting the frustration. “I—”

  “Shhh…” A hand caresses my cheek. “Just unleash yourself, Little Doll. You can do it. Grab the box.”

  In the corner of the room, a bright light illuminates, revealing a worn, old leather box. It looks more like a chest.

  “Do you see it?” he whispers, his breath invading the side of my cheek.

  I flinch away from him, but find myself reaching for the box.

  “Open it.”

  My fingers flick the metal claw, flipping the lid open. I’ve lost my ability to speak, but the scream that tears out from my lips is primal and unnatural. My scream is loud enough to reach Hell, which is good, because all of my friends live there. My limbs shake, my lips trembling as every single memory infects my brain at once…

  When I was eight years old…

  Killian came crashing into my bedroom, his chest heavy and his scrawny body tight. As if he had something to say. I wanted to tell him to spit it out because I wanted to go back and check on Mommy, but I knew Killian and the type of boy he was.

  He was a bad, bad boy. Papa didn’t like me around him.

  “You weirdo. Get out of the house.”

  “Killian,” I whispered, fighting a whimper. “I can’t. My mom, she’s sick and needs me.”

  Killian walked up to me, closer and closer, clutching his shirt in his hand. “Did I fucking ask?”

  I flinched at the use of a curse word.

  “Why?” I backed up until my head smacked against the kitchen counter.

  “Because one, it’s my fucking house, and two, my mom needs you. Now.”

  I sighed. I hated being told what to do, especially from Killian, but Papa always said that I had to do what the Corneliis wanted. That they saved him and our family. Whatever that meant.

  “Fine. I’ll go and tell my mom.” I rushed upstairs where my mom was lying asleep on the bed, wires and drains hanging out of her. Her pale skin was getting worse with each day, as death slowly sucked the life from her body. My lips trembled.

  I would not cry. I would not cry. I would never cry.

  Forcing the tears back down, I squeezed Mama’s hand. “I will be back. I promise.” I scribbled a note and left it on her bedside table so that if she woke and I wasn’t there, she wouldn’t panic. Papa was at work until late tonight, so I knew that she would freak out.

  “Hurry up. This is fucking important!” Killian yelled from the door, shocking me out of my slumber.

  I shook off the emotion from seeing my mom the way she was and followed him down the stairs and out of the house.

  “You fucking owe me since you live on my property.”

  I looked back at the pool house that we lived in on his parents’ property. I knew this. I knew all of this. My papa worked for Mr. Cornelii and my mama used to be their cook before she got sick. She would also make sure that the grounds were kept up to standard and the cleaning too. That hasn’t been the case for some time.

  A black limo pulls to a stop, rounding the fountain. Why would a ten-year-old be wanting me to get into a limo?

  “Get in,” Killian grumbled, shoving me into the car. We weren’t the only ones in the back. King and Keaton were there too.

  “Why am I here?” I asked, confused.

  “Because it’s King’s birthday party and we all have to be there.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want to come. I thought you said your mom wanted me?”

  Killian smirked at me, for the first time ever. Not a scowl or a snarl, a smirk. It was alarming how uncomfortable that made me feel. “I don’t give a shit what you want.”

  That night, my mother died. I wasn’t there to watch her take her final breath. I wasn’t there to kiss her warm cheeks one last time.

  I wasn’t there.

  Because of Killian.

  Because he’s a stupid trickster who likes playing games.

  Because of the stupid Brothers of Kiznitch.

  When I was eight-years-old…

  My father packed up a suitcase, shoved us into a beat-up Honda, and drove us away from the property I once called home. My home housed my enemy, but at least I always knew where he was. I was raised in this house, conditioned to endure the cruelty of Killian Cornelii. I didn’t know any other way.

  “Papa!” I yelled when his frantic eyes wouldn’t hold still for longer than a few seconds. “What’s happening?”

  I would never cry.

  Not ever.

  Not when my mom passed.

  Not when my father looked as though the Devil was chasing us.

  Never.

  He swerved onto the freeway, sweat dripping from his temples.

  “Papa, you’re scaring me…”

  My father looked over at me, finally, with tired eyes. “They found out, Zaika,” Papa said. I never liked my name. I thought it was weird.

  “Found what out?”

  He shook his head, going back to the road. “You’re strong, Zaika. I have so much I need to tell you. So much.” He reached into his pocket, narrowly missing a bus. He hit dial on the phone. “Hope?” He cleared his throat. “It’s time. I know she’s not! She’s too young, but I don’t have a choice.” Silence, with a woman yelling in the background. “Hope, we will be at the meet in a few hours.” He hung up the phone and squeezed my leg. “Everything is going to be fine, because you’re strong. Just like your mother. Nothing like me.” He exhaled. “Your mother and I have not been honest with you, Zaika. We—” He struggled to say before turning to face me. “Your mom and I have been working for other people as well as the Corneliis.”

  “What? How? You work so long as it is.”

  He nodded, taking an exit. “I know, but the other people we work for—” He paused, turning around to face me as much as he could without losing track of the road. “They’re my family. Kiznitch is your mother’s family.”

  My eyebrows drew in, my blinking rapid. My muscles tightened at the information he was about to lay out for me. “Your mom is a real-life princess, Zaika, well at least she is with Kiznitch. She’s a Dragavei. She has dragon blood in her. When your mom was ten years old, she ran away from Kiznitch after her parents disowned her and she found herself with my people. We took her in and raised her, that’s how she and I met.”

  I gulped. My throat was tight and the air felt hot.

  “When we were both fifteen, we returned to Kiznitch, but when your grandparents met with your mom again, they didn’t want anything to do with her anymore. More your grandmother, and she hated me more than she hated your mother. We were on the street when Mr. Cornelii took us in. He was not like the other Fathers. Nothing at all like them. He was kind and allowed us into his home, which was more than what we could have ever hoped for, your mother and I, because we were back in Kiznitch for a reason, and that reason was a group called Patience.”

  I sat stunned, my mouth agape and my fingers tingling. My thoughts were fuzzy, but I knew Papa was about to drop a bomb.

  “Patience is the archenemy of Kiznitch, Zaika. They are very, very bad people. When your mother and I figured out that we actually liked the Corneliis, we cut off contact with Patience. We tried to dodge them and we knew that as long as we were with the Corneliis, they wouldn’t come near. Until, the Corneliis found out who I was.”

  “They know?” I asked, just as he pulled into an abandoned playground.

  Papa pulled up the emergency brake, looking around frantically. There was no one here. I was surprised to see that we had been driving for a couple of hours, too. “They know, Zaika. Oh they know everything.”

  “But Mr. Cornelii isn’t a bad man. Maybe he will talk to you?”

  Papa searched my eyes. I could see that he wanted to rage at my naivety, but he suddenly sagged back, rubbing his hands over his face. “No, baby. He may be a to
uch better than the rest of them, but they are The Four Fathers, Saskia. They rule with an iron fist and have no problem eradicating people, especially Patience.”

  His eyes flew over my shoulder as a dark SUV pulled up beside us. I panicked, but he hushed me. “It’s alright. That’s Hope, your godmother.”

  “I have a godmother?” I asked, confused.

  “Well, she’s actually my sister. I guess I can say that now.” He reached for the door handle, but I remained in the car. Motionless. Shocked. Nighttime was bleeding into the day and all I wanted was to stop time. Maybe rewind it to before I was born.

  My door opened and a small, petite woman with short blonde hair bent down to grasp my leg. She looked nothing like Papa. Papa was tanned, quite brown, she was very much white, like Mama.

  “Hello, Zaika, I’m Hope.”

  Papa dropped a bag beside Hope’s feet. “Stop calling her that now.” He tossed a passport onto my lap. I flipped it open. “It was the name that your mother and I always wanted to call you.”

  Saskia Estel Royal.

  I looked up at Papa just as Hope was putting our bags in the SUV. “Are we going to be alright, Papa?”

  He leaned down as Hope got into the driver’s seat and started the car, leaving her door open.

  His hand came to my cheek, his lips to my forehead. “Always.” I relaxed, my muscles slacked. I would always have Papa.

  I heard it before I felt it.

  Pop!

  Hope screamed.

  Warm liquid fell down my forehead as particles sprayed across my arms.

  My father’s body slowly dropped to the ground in a thump.

  I don’t scream. I sit stunned. Looking to the left, I remained emotionless against reality.

  “Zaika!” Hope grabbed me, threw me into the passenger seat and crawled to the other side, starting the car. My breathing was heavy. My heart raced. My brain was dead.

  Hope reversed and headed out of the parking lot, but not before we passed a black limo that sat across the park with its window down.

  Everything slowed. I wanted to close my eyes. I knew they would for sure kill me too. The closer we got, the harder my heart pounded.

  Thud.

  Thud.

  Thud.

  I saw the gun pointed out of the car; the barrel aimed right at us.

  And then I stopped breathing, because the person who was holding it, wasn’t Mr. Cornelii, or any of the other Four Fathers.

  Bright blue eyes shaped by fluffy black lashes.

  Messy black hair.

  Then slowly, that smirk slid onto his face with his two dimples sinking into each cheek.

  Killian Cornelii killed my father. At eleven years old, he killed my father.

  Instead of shooting me, he lowered the gun and let us drive away.

  Once again, the Cornelii family took something from me. They took everything away from me that made me, me.

  They took away all that I loved, and instead of killing me too, they made me live with the emptiness of having no parents.

  I hated him.

  When I was thirteen years old…

  Mother Nature visited me for the first fucking time ever. Seriously? I thought I would have had more time than this? Thirteen? I knew a couple girls from school who got theirs when they were younger, but seriously?

  Hope came walking down the long hallway, holding a coffee mug. “It’s time. They’ll be here soon.”

  “What, today? But it’s Monday!”

  Hope offered a small smile. “Sorry, Sass, but you know the life.”

  I sighed, leaning my head against the top of the couch. “I knew it. But how did Kosta?”

  Hope pushed off the wall. “He knows everything. Will you be okay? It’s not that bad.”

  I nodded. “I’ll be fine.” I was used to this. I was groomed for this life since I was eight years old.

  That night, Kosta raped me.

  That may have not been directly Killian or Midnight Mayhem’s fault, but everything avalanches into one eventually.

  I lay still. Motionless. The leather on the sofa sticks to my sweaty back, but I don’t dare move. Not for a second.

  I remember everything.

  I remember Kosta. I remember the life I lived with Hope, the life I lived with Patience. Weekends were for Patience; weekdays were for my school. For my normal life. When I was with Patience, they trained me with fire. That’s how I knew what to do the first time I ever picked up the dragon staff. But I didn’t remember any of it. Until now.

  “There are parts that I remember, that I shouldn’t…” I whisper, gazing at the ceiling. I begin counting the dots.

  “Yes,” Kosta murmurs, leaning back in his chair and rubbing the beard on his face. “Those are the times that I would shuffle your thoughts around. I needed you to report back to me every now and then, Saskia. You were planted in Midnight Mayhem for me. I trained you in fire with the purpose of you being initiated into their show. You owe me. I am your master.”

  “You are my master.” I swallow, the words slipping from my tongue effortlessly. It’s true. Kosta took care of me, protected me, fed me the truth when everyone else starved me with lies.

  I turn to face him, smiling. “Why couldn’t you trust me to check back with you? Why did you manipulate my memories after getting the information, and how is it I have two different events inside of my head of the same occurrences?”

  Kosta takes out a cigar and puts it in his mouth. He lights it, and the smell resonates with my bones, resting inside of me. Like comfort.

  Like home.

  Like trust.

  “Because of Killian and Kallisto. They’re much stronger than I, and stronger than the other Four Fathers who also practice within Coercive Persuasion. I created false memories inside of your brain, just like The Four Fathers and Brothers, by using advanced Psychological Coercion, hypnosis and telekinesis to move parts of your memories around in your brain. I can convince your mind of the memories that you don’t need, and while you’re under hypnosis, I can replace events inside of your head with whatever I want. It’s why you had blank spots. I have to admit, doing this every time I’d get information from you was exhausting.”

  I swing my legs over the sofa, blinking back the tears.

  I will not cry.

  It’s weird. I remember all of my memories now, only the ones that Kosta played with aren’t as clear. Everything up until this point is.

  The initiation.

  Delila coming to my house.

  Everything was some sick trick to get back into Midnight Mayhem because I was a Dragavei. But if that’s the case, Delila would have had to know that I was a Dragavei before she put me in. Zaika Royal had no ties to Midnight Mayhem. Delila knew who I was all along.

  “Hope gave you your family crest just in case they never found out who you were. We needed you in as a Dragavei.”

  “Killian killed my father?” I ask, which was more to myself but came out aloud.

  Now that I remember who she is, Lilith steps forward, running her tongue over her straight teeth. “He did. We have to end him.”

  I freeze, and then I realize the reaction I had to hearing what she said and quickly relax. “Agreed.”

  “What is he to you, Little Doll?” Kosta asks, reaching forward as his hand disappears up my skirt. My stomach coils.

  “Nothing. He is nothing.”

  I wash myself internally, blocking out his touch. “Where are we?”

  Kosta leans back in his chair and I instantly relax with his grip no longer against my sex. “Patience.”

  Emotions are fucking annoying. That was something I learned at a young age, so my father and uncles taught me how to switch them off. Emotions are a liability, not a necessity.

  Learning that Saskia was Zaika wasn’t a shock. I mean, fuck, it was, but not as much as the shock of her father being born Patience. Or finding out that she was the rat all along, feeding shit back to Patience, and I fell for it. I fell for all her bullsh
it. So we conducted a new plan. I pull her in, to keep her shut out. It’s easy to sniff out the snitch when your face is buried between her thighs. The thing that they didn’t teach me, though, is the power of one girl. No motherfucker told me that there is always an exception, and no one has the power to choose who that exception is.

  What’s the point of trying to be the good guy in someone else’s story when they’ve opened the book knowing that you’re the villain? That’s what is going to happen with Saskia now, and it goes both ways.

  “Killian, are you okay?” Delila asks from the passenger seat as we start maneuvering through traffic.

  Forty-seven. That’s how many cars we have loaded up, ready to take these greedy fuckers down once and for fucking all.

  “Fine,” I snap, glaring out the window.

  Kyrin shoves me. “So you were fucking the villain all along, good thing we don’t fuck to be the hero.”

  I ignore Kyrin.

  “We have seven snipers already set up, scoping the scene out and twelve men on foot.” The cool metal of my gold Desert Eagle presses against my hip as she says the words. We drive down a bumpy road, the gravel loose, kicking up dust until we’re pulling into an industrial building that’s attached to a house.

  I mean really, coming back to Patience was dumb, but I give them props for their lack of creativity.

  As soon as we’re sliding out of the car, with others skidding up behind us in a kick of dust, the guards that are standing at the front of the mansion fall to the ground.

  Kohen is at the top of a tree with a smirk on his face. He’s right in his element. I’ve fucking missed the unhinged maniac.

  Cocking my gun, I begin weaving to the front of the house as people spill out behind us, Keaton and Kyrin behind me with Kaizer. King is up in the back tree, popping off people as they come into view. This is what the fuck we do. I feel rage burn at my fingertips, stirring the side of me that’s trigger happy.

  She fucking fooled you. My jaw clenches.

  A young boy bursts out from the bush, charging toward Delila. She raises her arm and shoots the kid right between the eyes, without even flinching or looking.