“You said you loved the way I listened to you,” she said softly, a chillingly empty smile touching her lips. “I did listen, Travis. I listened to everything your father whispered in his sleep for the last five years. I know exactly who you are, and I know exactly what your mother hid in your bloodline. Now, sit down. Don’t make this messy.”
Outside the heavy oak doors, I heard the sudden, rhythmic thud of combat boots rushing up the grand staircase of the Savannah estate. The handles of the double doors began to rattle.
I looked at the window behind her, three stories above a courtyard of concrete and iron spikes. I looked at the woman I thought was my wife, who claimed to be my aunt, holding a gun to my heart.
The door handle clicked. The wood began to splinter.
