Southern Heat (Southern 6)

“When did you meet my father?” Mayson asks.

“Lucifer?” I say the name that I gave him, and Mayson just smirks at me. “I met him eight years ago.”

“How?” Jacob asks, watching my every move.

“My mother was married to him,” I admit, and I see the surprise on their faces. “He was her fifth husband. She really did save the best for last.”

“That’s impossible,” Casey says. “We would have found that Rosalie had a child in her background check. There were no family members, just a mother.”

I laugh bitterly. “She had me when she was fifteen years old. She was trouble even then. I have no idea who my father is. I don’t think she knew either. Needless to say, she didn’t want me. She was too young to take care of herself, let alone have a child.” I fill them in. “My grandmother, Louise, she put her name on my birth certificate as my mother.” I swallow the lump in my throat as I remember her gentle smile. If I close my eyes tight enough, I can still hear her voice very far away.

“Rosalie had me at home, so there was no one to say otherwise. But who knows if any of that is true. When I was seven, my grandmother, who was my mother in everyway, was killed in a car accident driving home from the grocery store while I was at school. I was placed with child protective services." I wipe the tear off my face. “Until Rosalie showed up at the funeral. She was half stoned out of her mind and let everyone know she was my real mother." The white cup in Quinn’s hand is crushed, and I look over at him as he puts his head down. He probably is disgusted by me, I think, ignoring how the pain in my chest comes on full force. “We had no other family members, so Rosalie had no one to fight to keep me." I tap my finger on the bed. "She didn’t want me. She wanted the inheritance I came with." I look at them. “And then when she died two years ago, I was stuck with Benjamin." I say his real name, and the bile comes up in my throat.

"How did you live with them and no one ever heard of you?" Casey asks. “We interviewed them."

I laugh. “Those people wouldn’t know the queen if she stayed with us." I look down. “The longest we stayed in one place was four months. My mother followed her ‘one true love.’" I use my hands to make quotation marks around the saying she used to always use. "Then we met Benjamin, and I wasn’t really allowed out." I don’t give any more information than I need to.

"What does that mean?" Quinn asks.

"I was a pawn in their game," I finally say. It’s the only thing I can say truthfully.

"What does that mean?" Mayson asks.

"It means that if I didn’t do what one person wanted, they would get the other person to persuade me to do it. No matter what it took." It’s the easiest way I can explain it at this point. I don’t tell them just how far they took it. I don’t tell them that the longest I went without eating was twelve days. They would hydrate me but use food as leverage. I don’t tell them any of the bad stories. That is my nightmare to live with. "All that changed when Rosalie died. Then I was his to do what he pleased with. There were no more games." I look at Mayson. “When he found you, it was like he climbed Everest, and nothing was going to stop him from making sure you paid for what you did to him."

"Were you there when he held me captive?" Mayson asks with his eyes on me.

"I was there,” I say, and he glares at me. "Tied and bound." His eyes soften. “I tried to get free and get you help," I inform him. "I waited for him to fall asleep one night. Fall into a stupor after drinking his whiskey. I waited until I knew he was passed out before I made my move. I was going to untie you, but when I was about to pull the door open, the floor creaked. I didn’t have time to look behind me to see that he was awake. In the darkness like the devil he was, he grabbed my hair, pulling it out, and rammed my head into the wall."

I look at Mayson. “When you escaped? God, that was a good day." I smile at him, not even feeling the tears streaming down my face. “I laughed at him." I shake my head. “Which, if you haven’t figured out, he doesn’t like too much. He backhanded me, and something in me snapped, and all I could do was laugh at him. I think it was hysteria. I don’t even know how long the beating lasted. I don’t know what happened after that because everything went black, and when I woke up, we were in the car, and it was two weeks later." I ignore the gasp that fills the room. "I was in and out for most of the time. I don’t really remember much. He had to keep a low profile, so we slept in the car."