My Father Sold Me to a bunch of Crazy Alphas
Chapter 57: End of the world ( Luther’s POV )

Chapter 57: End of the world ( Luther’s POV )

One thing the police did when they took me in custody was put me in isolation.

Emiliano was left to argue with them.

Killian showed up too with an army of lawyers from Akna Pharmaceutical.

Claus was there too, although I don’t exactly know why.

Despite the buzz of angry voices outside fighting, overpowering each other in the hell of noise only in hell would be echoing-

The interview room where they put me in was quiet.

Quiet enough for my guilt to keep an unbearable monologue. Quiet enough to feel the vibration of it eating me alive.

My father was dead.

He was killed, left to rot in his luxury mansion, body defamed and twisted. They shown me pictures:

His face was crooked in a begging plea with his eyebrows crunched and his eyes still open. Lifeless and open. The jaw was locked forcing the mouth into a silent "O" as he was begging for his life.

Death by pheromones.

That’s what the autopsy showed. Blood infused with toxic pheromones was smudged into his mouth and nose, forcing him to inhale and ingest the poison.

My father tried to break his nose and rip his tongue out in an attempt to stop the poison from entering, but it was too late already.

One minute was enough for it to contract his heart and block his arteries. Blood stopped pumping, first making his limbs go limp-

The poison conquering the blood that was already in his veins, forcing his flesh to rot from the inside out.

Fingers, toes, then feet and hands, legs and arms-

Until he couldn’t move anything but the pain of decaying alive.

In the last seconds, the toxin reached the brain, turning it into a fried mush.

When I had to confirm the body, my father smelled like a dead raccoon left to fry for days in the sun.

It didn’t help that they found it two weeks after his death. Bugs were already nesting their eggs in him.

The man who controlled my days and haunted my nights was reduced to a carcass of spoiled meat and a home for pests.

And instead of feeling justice or relief that I can finally take my freedom back, all I could feel was-

Emptiness. Cold. Loneliness.

I am an orphan now.

My mother disappeared as well. She was the second suspect and I was the prime.

They found the mansion emptied of all her belongings and blank safes.

Despite that, nobody hurried to blame the woman that was mistreated, beaten and humiliated for decades by the dead man.

Why?

Because she was a weed. Harmless and non-toxic.

No transactions before the passing away of my father. No debit cards owned. No trace of her hiring anyone who could do this to my father.

But the police found something out while searching my parents’ home- my original birth certificate. The one who explicitly said I am not only a toxic omega, but a belladonna.

"An illegal! A threat of national security! Do you have any idea how much harm you could have done to innocent civilians?"

"You should have been placed in isolation for the rest of your life, but daddy protected you. And you repaid him by embarrassing him by airing dirty laundry and, when that wasn’t enough, you killed him!"

The two detectives who were in charge of the case kept pressuring me into admitting the offense. They slapped me around, pushed me, forced me to look at pictures from the crime scene.

They voiced the guilt that was melting my insides since I found out about my father’s death.

And I just stood there, accepting it all. My eyes became so puffy between the crying and the punching, I couldn’t see straight anymore. My mouth tasted like blood and my heart was pumping so irregularly, my brain became fuzzy and unfocused.

I lost not only track of time, but full segments of events because they kept injecting pheromone blockers out of fear of me using them to escape.

"Just admit it already. You have three alphas out there, all rich and loud. They will protect you from capital punishment."

"And you inherited all your daddy’s money. You can’t afford lawyers. You might even just be deported outside the country. You have enough to buy an island and to live in depravity with your boy toys outside."

"Leech off your father’s money for the rest of your life. You can at least assume responsibility for what you did to him!"

"I didn’t do it!"

The rough, desperate tone of my voice screeched my own eardrums. The words seemed to break in the middle of the sentence without warning.

My throat was so dry, I could barely swallow my own saliva.

"But your alphas could have done it. After all, didn’t the Prime Minister oppose every one of your suitors?"

"Or maybe it was a vengeful fan from the Instagram live of you embarrassing your father. He took revenge for all your beatings and so-called abuse. All for you. For your allegations."

"Either way, you are the reason your daddy is dead. You just couldn’t stand to let the man relieve some stress, shape you into a better individual! He did so much for our country, yet the second he slaps you once, you martyr him in public!"

"Take responsibility. He protected your illegal flower and helped you live a luxurious life. As a thank you, you killed him!"

"My kids would have taken three beatings a day if that meant they would have a trust fund, an over-the-top job and more money that they could spend! Don’t you think you’re greedy and ungrateful?"

"You are the reason a good man is dead!"

The words of the detective echoed between the concrete walls alongside the loud impact of slaps and spit.

Despite the impact, I felt nothing. No pain, no sadness, nothing.

After all, they were just voicing out what I was already thinking. They were right, all of this is my fault.

Should I just admit to it?

What good is freedom if it’s stained by your own parents’ blood?

I bit my lips hard. Not because I was doubting myself, but to wake up my mouth from the overdose of tranquilizers they injected me with.

The pain was enough to help me move my jaw. I could admit to it.

They were right. I might not have been the one who directly killed him, but I was the cause, wasn’t I?

Just before I could open my mouth, a loud bang shifted the atmosphere in the room.

I couldn’t see what was happening because of my swollen eyes, but I could hear metal clicks of cuffs and the two detectives’ protest.

They were removed from the interrogation room between curses and probably physical fights.

I feel an iced rag slowly tracing the wounds of my face while a scent I haven’t inhaled in years fills the room. Not pheromones, but cologne I haven’t smelled since college.

Tom. My first boyfriend.

Guess he became a lawyer nonetheless. Good for him, but-

What was he doing here?

"My God, Luther, still a troublemaker."

A soft chuckle left his lips as he whipped my inflated face. The gentle touch stirred up memories inside me-

Fragments of gentleness and care.

I couldn’t tell if what was rolling down my cheeks was tears or blood, but an overwhelming sense of comfort took over my limp body.

A familiar face. A person who wasn’t gonna hurt me-

"Don’t worry", he continued to whisper carefully, "the two idiots are cuffed up and put in a jail cell. They can’t hurt you anymore."

I wasn’t worried about that at all. Why would I? They weren’t exactly wrong...

"They forced you into admitting something you didn’t do. Apparently, they were part of one of your father’s programs that was financially supporting some police officers on some made-up criteria."

He signed disapproval while squeezing my hand lightly.

"Your father was doing that as a hidden bribe so when he got in trouble with the law, those police officers could cover up. It was a large scheme. Those two detectives were beneficiaries of this scheme so they were bitter to you since they lost money after the death of your father."

Oh.

But why doesn’t that make me feel any better? Bought by my father or not, they had a point, didn’t they?

"My condolences for your loss, Lu. I’m sorry you had been put through this instead of having the right to grieve."

"What will happen now?"

My voice doesn’t sound like my own. I find myself surprised by my own question. How do I dare look forward to something? How dare I think about thinking about myself after all that happened?

"We’ll take you to a hospital. We’ll have you do another interview, but this time I’ll not leave your side no matter what. I swear to you, Lu, you’ll never get through something like this again."

I painfully nod. Not because it made the current situation any better, but because Tom’s voice sounded so genuinely wounded and full of pity.

"The guys outside want to see you. They ganged up on the police to distract them enough for me to reach this interview room, film a bit and upload it on social media. The chief himself came not even a minute later to deal with the two baboons."

"They worked together? Those guys?"

Only the thought of it was so ridiculous, it ripped a sore chuckle from my throat.

"Don’t get too used to it."

Emiliano’s voice echoed gentle accompanied by the loud chuckles of both Claus and Killian.

It’s clear to see-

If these three worked as a team, the apocalypse is bound to come.