: Chapter 8

My daughter was gone.

My life, my everything, my whole reason for existing…gone.

Just like that.

I couldn’t sleep because of the nightmares. I couldn’t stay awake because my thoughts were worse than the nightmares. What did they do to her? How did they kill her? Why would anyone do something like that…to a child?

To my little girl?

When Beatrice had told me she was pregnant, my reaction was despicable. Claire was an inconvenience, a destruction of the life I wanted, and I was furious that I had to walk away from everything I’d dedicated myself to…so I could dedicate myself to her instead. I didn’t want her, and as she grew in Beatrice’s stomach and became larger, I resented her.

I wanted nothing to do with her.

But then she came…and everything changed.

She was the single best thing that ever happened to me, and I was ashamed of ever feeling otherwise. The sacrifices I made for her suddenly felt easy. My life became simple, but she filled that simplicity with her laugh and curiosity. For the first time, I felt love…for this little person.

But now she was gone.

And if she was gone…so was I.

Time had passed, but I had no way of measuring the passage. Nights were days, days were nights. Bleu was there sometimes, talking me through my insanity, but I blocked out almost everything he said.

I knew I had to bury my daughter, but I just couldn’t do it.

No father should ever have to bury his daughter.

I’d failed as a father, so I failed as a man.

I failed as a fucking human being.

One moment he wasn’t there…and then he was.

My mind was somewhere else, drowned out by scotch, constantly watered down to basic human functionality. I sat on the couch with the glass between my hands, and then he was in the armchair across from me, sitting in front of the fire where he positioned the chair without making a sound.

I looked into his brown eyes and saw no sign of pity.

Nothing.

I bowed my head and looked into my glass again. “I can’t let it go, Bartholomew. I’ll never let it go.” I tipped the glass and swallowed the liquid. I felt it burn my throat all the way down before it splashed into the bowl of scotch that already sat in my stomach. When the glass was empty, I set it on the end table beside me. “I have to go back.”

He opened his knees wide apart with elbows resting on the fabric of the armrests, staring me down with his dark as chocolate eyes. He was a stoic person, taking his poker face to untouchable heights. “No.”

My eyes glistened with tears that derived from anger. They weren’t from sorrow or despair. It was pure frustration that made them build with a snap of a finger. “You expect me just to let it go? After what they did to…” I couldn’t continue the thought. “I don’t care if I die in the attempt. I need to kill Forneus and any other motherfucker that crosses my path in the process.”

He never mirrored my reaction, keeping his hard-ass gaze. “No.”

“What if this was you—”

“It’s not me because I wasn’t stupid enough to bring a child into this fucked-up world.” He didn’t raise his voice, but his coldness was like a blade into my stomach. “I can’t go back on my terms. That’s not who I am. Those are not the values I represent. People continue to do business with me because I don’t break my rules. I will never break those rules for anything—not even a child.”

I dropped my gaze.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Benton.”

I lifted my chin because I’d never heard him say anything like that.

“Truly—I am.” The fire burned around him, his eyes still carrying his ruthlessness. “But I did what I could to bring your daughter back. Be grateful that you won’t spend your life wondering where she is or if she’s still alive.”

Two tears crested the lower lids of my eyes and dripped down my cheeks. “I should be grateful?” I closed my eyes and steadied the emotion before I looked at him again, unashamed to break down in front of someone who was more of an enemy than a friend. “You have no idea how I feel right now…and be fucking grateful that you don’t.”

His stoicism lingered, watching me with eyes that hardly blinked.

I grabbed the gun sitting on the table beside me and tossed it onto the coffee table between us. It clapped loudly against the hardwood and scratched the surface as it slid toward him. “Just do it and leave.”

Bartholomew didn’t reach for the gun or even look at it.

“If you’ve got something to say, just say it.” If I couldn’t go back and avenge my daughter, then there was no reason for me to be alive anymore. I wanted to be buried beside her in the graveyard—together in death.

He stared at me for a long time before he broke the silence. “You’d be more useful to me alive.”

“We made a deal. Your help in exchange for my death.” I stared him down, not the least bit grateful to have another option. “What happened to your rules, Bartholomew? You deliver what you promised.”

A long silence passed, his eyes never straying to the rest of the room as he considered his response. “I upheld my end of the bargain. I got your daughter back. This is your payment—I’m simply asking for a change in currency.”

“The answer is no.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Kill. Me.” I wanted to be gone. I wanted the darkness to descend. I wanted to go wherever my daughter was.

“I wanted your death for revenge. But clearly, being alive is a greater suffering.”

I clenched my jaw and shook my head. “You fucking bastard. Don’t take this away from me.”

“If you want it so bad, do it yourself.” He flattened his palms against the armrests and pushed himself to his feet, his boots audible against the rug now that he didn’t bother to stay quiet. “Or you can return to the Chasseurs, have a purpose, and uphold your vow.”

“That’s all you care about, isn’t it?” Angry tremors flickered throughout my extremities. “I lost my daughter, and all you care about is business—”

“What did you expect?” It was the first time he’d raised his voice, the first time he let his anger get to him. “You owe me, Benton. We both fucking know it. You deserted us, and you have no idea what it cost. I’m giving you another chance to redeem yourself, and all you care about is taking the easy way out and being a coward. You can’t help your daughter. The moment your heart stops beating, you’re going to hell—and she’s somewhere else.” He stared me down as he towered over me, one boot in front of the other. “When you showed your face at the Catacombs, I could have killed you where you stood. But I granted you mercy—again. I put my neck out there and helped you. I’ve been nothing short of generous, and all I should be hearing from you is a loud fucking yes. But fine. Bury your daughter and then pull the trigger. No one will miss you anyway.”

I listened to him walk away, listened to him leave my house for the last time. “Bartholomew.”

He stopped and looked at me over his shoulder, not fully turning his body to face me.

“If I come back…will you take down the cult with me?” I stared at him, felt my heart beat a little harder in hope, that perhaps he would have a heart for once and do the right thing—regardless of the cost. I didn’t know where the camp was, but I could ask around until I got to the bottom of it. But alone, I couldn’t make a dent in that place. I needed men, I needed guns, I needed an army to burn that place down until there was nothing but hot cinders behind.

He gave his answer in silence—by walking out the door.