Chapter 2: Selene

There was no way that I was going to get out of this one unscathed. I had finally messed up for the last time. I'd done a lot of f*cked up sh*t in my life, but this took the f*cking cake. Not only had I killed the wrong guy, but my dumb-a*s decided it would be a dandy idea to take a finger from the guy as a trophy to present to my father.

So imagine my surprise when I finally located my father, presented him with the severed finger, only to find that he had the actual rat in the basement for interrogation.

I flinched as my father brought his hand up to smooth back his hair in frustration, leaving a streak of red in his otherwise gray hair. I wasn't scared of my father anymore. But, it's hard to break a habit like that.

He hadn't beat me since the last time I burned down the stables, accidentally killing Lilly Hunter, horse trainer extraordinaire. Never mind that Arthur was just giving it to her on the side. He was only mad that I killed his favorite toy.

"What the hell did you do Selene?" He grabbed a rag from a table that had an array of tools lying about, some already bloodied. He wiped the sticky crimson from his knuckles and tossed the rag back down.

"I– I thought," I stammered, unable to get the words out of my increasingly dry throat. "I saw Otto sneaking out last night. I followed him." I tossed the finger onto the table with all of the torture implements and sank back into a chair. "I saw him grab a burner from under a bench and make a call before tossing it. Are you sure he wasn't the rat?"

"Oh, he was a rat alright," my father spat at my feet and then sank low, leveling me with a glare. "A rat and a cop, here to gather intel."

"F*ck," I breathed out in a worried huff. "Well, I mean if he was a cop, then why are you mad?!" He should be thanking me for taking care of him.

"You stupid f*cking girl," he growled out between clenched teeth. "I knew he was a goddamn cop and we were feeding him false intel to get the cops off of our back. But now–" His hand whipped out and wrapped around my throat like a vice. "Well now, we have to figure out how to cover up a cop's death. You think more won't come sniffing when he doesn't check in again?" He pushed me away from him, sending me to the floor.

Okay, maybe I was still a little afraid of Arthur 'Buzzy' Leigh. I coughed and tried to clear my throat of the apprehension that made it impossible to swallow. "I'm sorry Arthur." He didn't like me calling him "dad" in front of his henchmen. Though, to be honest, he didn't like me calling him “dad” at all.

The few times I had slipped and called him the D word he had either ignored me or glared at me with those piercing blue eyes. I didn't know which was worse.

Those dead eyes glared at me in my prone position now, and I didn't know if I should roll over and show my belly or just attempt to crawl away and wait for the storm to pass.

"Jesus Christ, get up Selene. You're embarrassing yourself." The venom in his voice made my f*cking blood boil. I wanted nothing more than to take out my brass knuckles and make him spit blood. Just once, just f*cking once I wanted to hear him say that I did good, that I made him proud. But I was the family screw-up and even when I did something marginally right, they all just stared at me, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"How can I fix it?" I awkwardly got my feet under myself and pushed up off the floor, dusting off my hands.

Arthur picked up a screw driver and a blowtorch and began heating the tip of it. "Sit there while I think. When I'm done with Henry here, clean up." I nodded and stood by the chair he had thrown me from, too weary to sit back down.

I watched as my father pressed the red-hot screwdriver into all of Henry's soft spots, drawing out long moans of anguish broken only by blood curdling screams. I stared at where the heated metal seared Henry’s flesh, the smell of cooking meat filling the room. I knew I should feel something, anything. I should be revolted, disgusted. I should feel pity for the man. But I couldn’t, not after everything I had seen in this f*cking basement.

The sound of the buzzsaw filled the room and drowned out the screams of poor old Henry. I took a steady breath as the teeth of the sawblade bit into the tender flesh of Henry's calf.

Henry sat, tied to the chair, blubbering and moaning that he knew nothing else as his life's blood slowly poured out of him. Adding another layer of red stain to the disgusting concrete floors.

"Well if you don't have anything else to offer, I guess there's no reason to keep you around." Before Henry could protest, the sawblade bit into his inner thigh, severing the femoral artery and sending out a glorious spray of deep scarlet. It pulsed out; a mist at first as Arthur ripped the saw from where it had bit into Henry’s femur, then came a few strong gushes before it slowed to a gentle stream.

Arthur stepped back, grabbing the same rag from before and wiped off his hands. Not that it actually helped. He nodded his head at the two men in the room, telling them without words to get the body ready. My father would dispose of the body himself once he was stripped. He always did his own dirty work. It was a lesson he instilled in me at a young age whether he knew it or not; never trust anyone to do what you can do yourself.

He taught me to be self-sufficient and independent. If only I could stop messing up long enough to show him that I was paying attention for all those years, that I heeded all of his lessons.

"Go get the mop." My father's voice broke me from my revere. "And for the love of Christ, remember to put new water in the bucket this time." He began rolling up his sleeves in preparation for dismemberment.

"Yes sir." I bobbed my head and turned to leave but didn't miss the wicked smirk on my father's face as I did. What the f*ck was he cooking up? Whatever it was, I could handle it. I'd have to. He wasn't going to give me another chance after this. He told me last time if I messed up again, that was it. This was it.

One more chance, that's all I needed. I'd get that d*amn 'atta-girl' from him if I had to carve it out of him myself.

Once the body was all cut up and hauled away, I got the push broom out and started shoving the blood towards the drain in the center of the room. I had done this a hundred times; helped my father clean up the basement after he finished working someone over.

The first time he let me watch him was when I was thirteen. I was so happy just to be included, I didn't even realize that he was trying to scare or punish me. I didn't care. He would never have let my half-siblings Frankie or Ana or Harlow down here, this was mine and his.

He sat in the same chair he pushed me from just a while ago; legs spread, hands resting on his knees with a cigarette between his fingers. He looked every bit his fifty-seven years in that moment, all creases and hard lines. His loose gray hair had fallen in front of his face, hiding his glacier blue eyes from me. I was thankful I didn't get my father's flat, dead eyes. Instead, I had my mother's warm hazel ones.

She died when I was five, though her death was still an open case. My father told me she fell down the stairs and broke her spine, laying paralyzed on the floor for hours before finally dying. My mother was an alcoholic and was prone to accidents, so it wasn't far from the realm of possibility for her to have fallen down the stairs. I'd seen her stumble and falter before when she was deep in her cups.

My father didn't know I had looked into her case myself, seeing the coroner's report of bruising all over her body in several different stages of healing. The cops suspected my father but even if they had more proof beside the bruises covering a known klutz and alcoholic, no one could touch Arthur 'Buzzy' Leigh.

He was the leader of the Dire Knights Syndicate. He had the majority of the Knightvale Police Force under his meaty thumb and every city council member in his deep pockets. It also helped that the Mayor, Peter Cole, was his childhood friend. I'll leave it to one's imagination as to how Peter Cole got elected. Sure as sh*t it wasn't for his ability to do the job.

"I've thought about how you can make it up to me, Selene. Come sit." He motioned for me to put the broom down and take a seat. The only remaining chair available was the one currently covered in blood that was still tacky to the touch and I took it without flinching. Arthur watched me lean completely back in the chair, getting comfortable in the gore. He let out a breath that d*mn near sounded like a laugh.

"What can I do?" I crossed my legs at the knee and made sure to hold my father's stare. Another one of Arthur's important lessons; never look away from your enemy or your friend. I wondered which one he was at that moment.

He gave me a genuine smile then, though I was positive it was for no good reason. Whatever he was plotting was bad, very well may result in me dying if I could be so f*cking lucky; not that he would care. Would anyone care? Maybe Harlow, she was always following me around, getting into mischief with me.

Harlow was seventeen and probably the most innocent soul I had ever encountered. Arthur did a good job of keeping the family's dirty business away from her, away from all of my siblings. But not me.

My father cleared his throat and adjusted his pant leg down a bit, setting a serious glare on me when he was through fidgeting. "Kilbrook." That was all he said, just f*cking ‘Kilbrook’ as if that meant anything.

"What about Kilbrook?" The way his eyes crinkled with a sh*t-eating grin made my f*cking stomach curl.

"You're going to deliver Kilbrook to me." His smile widened impossibly as he pulled a cigarette from a case in his breast pocket and lit it. “By any means necessary.”