Page 115 of Heartless Sinner

The bastard had stabbed him.

“Help!” he called out, so much like Sinclair had only moments ago. “Someone, help!”

Blood soaked through his shirt. He stumbled into the metal sink and grabbed for the cot, but his hand missed and he crashed to the floor.

My knees nearly gave out with him. I forgot about the Son in the room. About the ones watching me. About Brooks.

That wasn’t just Conrad Kenward, the man guilty of treason, on the screen.

That was my father.

My dad raised a trembling hand.

Not to fight.

To beg.

“Help!” he screamed again, the word breaking apart in his throat.

No one came.

The guard struck again, dragging the blade across my dad’s neck.

My dad slapped a hand over the wound, but blood squeezed between his fingers faster than he could stop it.

“No!” I pounded my fists against the screen. “Stop, Brooks! Make him fucking stop!”

The guard kept stabbing.

Brooks didn’t stop him.

The screen went black. I collapsed onto the concrete, sobbing so hard I could barely breathe.

I cried for my dad.

For Sinclair.

For the wife and kids he’d never go home to.

The Sons had wanted my dad dead for years, and I’d just watched them get that.

Sure, my father had plotted to kill the president, and I wasn’t stupid enough to pretend he was innocent. But he’d been serving his sentence for it. This wasn’t justice.

He wasn’t supposed to die on the floor of a prison cell because I refused to play their sick fucking game.

“We told you to make a decision, and you didn’t,” the Son said. “Consider this your first lesson as a Fawn. We don’t make empty threats. When a Son gives you an order, you obey it.” He nodded toward the TV. “Remember this.”

He left without looking back, like my sobbing meant nothing to him.

The TV turned back on.

Dad was alive again, sitting at the same table and eating that same muffin like I hadn’t just watched him die. He went down the hallway. The video kept playing his murder on a sickening loop.

His screams echoed through the concrete box until I couldn’t escape them. My gaze landed on the gun.

If you hit your breaking point …

I grabbed the note, ripped it into tiny pieces, and threw them across the floor.