Theterror.
“No. I did not inject you with a lethal dose that night,Charlotte.You woke up exactly when you were meant to, and I’ve been waiting for you to find us for a decade.”
“Cansomeoneexplain what the fuck is happening and who Charlotte Banks is?” Otto asks.
“Go ahead,” Sterling says. “Tell them. Or I will.”
My thoughts are scrambled, and I realize that I’ve been crying. “I c–can’t–”
Otto steps forward, and Sterling lets me go. The next thing I know, Otto is wrapping his arms around me.
“You can tell us. The whole point of this is to be honest with each other.”
“It’s better than someone drugging you and forcing you to take a brand,” Harlow interjects. I pull away from Sterling and watch her as she inspects her nails. “Trust me, that wasn’t fun. They did much worse, too. My point is, this is not for the faint of heart. We’ve been trying to tell you all that for days. I tried to kill them with poisonous brownies. They locked me in a room with my rapist. Yes, it sounds horrible, but now? I can’t imagine my life without them.Thatis the bond we’re hoping you all form.”
Otto’s hands come to my arms, and he squeezes them. “She’s right. Tell us, little minx.”
“What did you mean earlier?” I ask Sterling. “You said you didn’t give me a lethal dose. That you’ve been waiting for me,” I grit out, fists curling.
Sterling crosses his arms. “I gave you a fraction of the lethal dose–just enough to knock you out for a few minutes. I’ve never liked killing innocents–and even when it’s a necessity, I always try and give them another way out, even if I can’t say it outright.I saw something in you that night. You are–and still are–a fighter. It would’ve been a shame to snuff that out.”
“And… what? Youwantedme to be homeless? To struggle for food and money? To live my life as not only orphaned, butalone?”
“I hoped you’d try and find me. I hoped you’d carry that spark with you, Lottie.”
Lottie.
No one has called me that in…a decade.
“When you walked in during the first interview, I knew you looked familiar, but I couldn’t place it. It wasn’t until that first day in class that it all clicked into place.”
Your hair color… It’s not very often that you see a twenty-five year old woman with grey hair. Is it natural?
He knew. Back then, and now.
There’s no point in hiding it.
No point in running.
They’ve got me just where they want me.
“Ten years ago, I woke up because my parents were yelling,” I start. “I was used to them arguing, but never to this extent. I ran to their room and that’s when I saw them get brutally murdered with my own eyes. I’ll nev–never–forget their screams. They killed my housekeeper and my house manager. I ran over to my mum and cradled her head against my chest, but the rest is foggy. I must have gone into some kind of trance because I blocked the first part of that night out for years.”
I continue, voice wobbly. “When I came to, there was blood all over my hands and pajamas. Do you know how terrifying it was to see all that blood and not know where it came from?” I ask, a sob cleaving from deep inside my chest. “I made it back to my parents’ bedroom and had to relive everything again, but my grief was short-lived. The four guys found me.”
I look at Alaric pointedly.
“I tried to fight back, but one of them was able to inject me with something and another one carried me down the stairs,” I add, glancing at Sterling. “The house was on fire by this point, so I ran outside. I watched it all unfold from the forest behind my house, and I realized who was behind my parents’ death. I’d heard them talking about the Lords. I’m not sure what my father was involved in, but I’d heard Alaric’s name a few times. I knew I had to disappear.”
“I always wondered what happened to you,” Sterling murmurs, looking… impressed. “So, what happened next?”
I bark out a sarcastic laugh. “I cut my hair off and I ran. I stole and begged and–” I choke back another sob. “I was able to find a place to stay for a couple of weeks to get my feet on the ground. The man who ran the hostel was a pig, but he didn’t ask for money. I saved enough to pay for a fake ID, which said I was eighteen. I made up a whole backstory as to why I never finished school, but no one asked too many questions. I took my GCSE’s early and a year and a half later, I got a full scholarship to a University.”
“What did he do?” Max asks. “You said the man who ran the hostel didn’t want money. So what did he want?”
I look him in the eyes as I answer. “I let him touch me. Thirty minutes every night. He never made me do anything–and he stayed above my knickers. It was only for a couple of years.”
“Fuck,” Max hisses, running a hand over his face.
