“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.” My nose scrunches in disgust. “Where is my mother?”
Kendra scoffs. “Do you honestly think I’m stupid enough to just give up what I know without any assurances?”
“You’re alive,” Liam hisses. “That’s an assurance.”
“And how long after I give birth to this baby will that last, hmm?” She looks at me and then Dante. “I will tell you what you want to know, under one condition.”
I tap my foot impatiently. “And what’s that?”
“I want to be able to raise my baby after it’s born.”
And here I am thinking I could put a bullet between her eyes. I am mildly impressed that she hasn’t just asked us to spare her life after she gives birth, but that she wants to be part of her unborn child’s life. That is growth.
“And I want enough money to support myself.”
There it is.
“Why?” Dante asks coldly. “You won’t be leaving this house for a very long time, Kendra. Everything you need, I will provide.”
Kendra huffs. “I want my own income.”
“Get a job then,” I shrug my shoulder. “I hear McDonald’s hires washed-up trophy wife has-beens.”
“I will not?—”
“Take it or leave it, bitch,” Dante snarls. The man has finally lost his patience with her. “I will allow you to live here and raise our child, but that is where my generosity ends. So, choose. My generosity after our child is born or a bullet.”
Kendra sniffs indignantly. “If those are my only two choices.” She lets out a dramatic sigh and rolls her shoulders. “He’s had her at a small care facility on Mercer Island called Rejuvenation.”
“She’s been in a coma for over ten years?” Would she even have brain function? What is the likelihood of her recovering from something like that? Slim to none is my guess.
“Off and on,” Kendra admits. “He took her out of it a few times through the years for a month or two at a time.”
“For what?” Matthias asks curiously. “Does she not need the life support to survive?”
Kendra shakes her head. “The original hospital she was at in Portland kept her in a medically induced coma until her injuries had healed enough for her to cope with the trauma,” she informs us. “I don’t know why he took her in and out of the coma throughout the years. Elias was about punishment and control.”
“Or he was hiding her,” I breathe as realization dawns.
“Why?” Vas’s brow furrows.
“Succession,” my father growls. “If Marianne is truly Katherine’s twin?—”
I shoot him a scathing glare. He holds up his hands placatingly. “I’m not doubting you, but you have to admit that Sheila could be manipulating the facts. Instead of twins, they could simply be half siblings.”
That is a good point. If Marianne isn’t my mother’s twin, she doesn’t have a strong enough claim as heir. She is still a McDonough, though. But there is nothing to prove that. Right? I would have assumed Seamus and my great-grandmother would have removed all knowledge of a second baby being born.
This shit gives me a headache.
That headache isn’t going away anytime soon.
I look down at the doctor Matthias has put on his knees in the lobby. The clinic—or whatever they call it—is remote and only contains a handful of patients. Mostly women who have been prostituted and addicted to drugs. We released the ones who are obviously sober and being held against their will. Vas is taking care of how to get them where they need to go. We keep the ones that are still strung out locked in their rooms until we can transport them to another facility. One that doesn’t keep them locked up.
“What is your name?” My gaze is cold and expressionless, head cocked to the side.
“Peterson,” he stutters. “Derek Peterson.”
“How long have you been attending the woman in room eight?”