He ran a hand over his newly bald scalp and freshly shaven face. He still had the wig he’d borrowed from Nurse Innes at Sunnyside, but that wouldn’t be enough. Not if he ever intended to walk on a public street ever again.

Motherfucking Gideon. DJ drained the tumbler in his hand and hurled it, the glass hitting the dresser mirror. The mirror shattered along with the glass.

Just as well. He’d never been much for mirrors, but today, after the memories had obliterated the wall he’d built around them in his mind . . . he couldn’t stand the sight of his own face.

He could have run from Pastor and Eden at any time after he’d turned seventeen. But he hadn’t because he’d had something to prove.

To whom? He didn’t have a clue. Hours later and he still didn’t have a clue.

He could have held a knife to Pastor’s throat at any time and demanded the old man give him the access codes to that damn bank account, but he hadn’t. He should have, but he hadn’t.

And objectively, he knew why. He’d been brainwashed. Groomed. He knew about victims of childhood abuse. Objectively, he knew he was one.

Never felt like it, though. He’d always felt powerful, like he was putting something over on Pastor and Eden. But he hadn’t been. Not really.

In the end he was still tied to Pastor, even though he hated every cell in the old man’s body.

In the end he was still tied to Eden, which was nothing but a prison. None of the fools who worshipped Pastor knew it, and if they did know they didn’t admit it, and if they admitted it and fought to get free, they mostly hadn’t survived it. But DJ had known the truth and had believed he’d made the choice to stay. For the money.

Which he’d never demanded. He gave the now half-full whiskey bottle a bleary glance. It had been unopened when he’d started.

He grabbed the bottle and took a healthy swig. Because who was really the fool?

Once he’d taken over his father’s job delivering the drugs Eden produced, DJ had met Kowalski. He’d felt powerful dealing with Kowalski. Valued, even. The man had seen his potential and had taught him all of his tricks.

Bullshit. He’d used DJ just like he’d used everyone else. He’d told DJ that he’d have a house of his own. Now he realized that Kowalski had just wanted someone else’s name on the deeds. On the leases. The bastard didn’t want anything to be traced back to him.

We’re just his stooges. He’d fallen into Kowalski’s hands just like he’d fallen into Pastor’s.

Because I’m the fool.

“Not anymore,” he muttered, and if it sounded a little slurred, that was okay. Life owed him a little numbness, because everything had gone to shit.

He’d missed killing Mercy. He’d missed killing Gideon. He still didn’t have Pastor’s money. Kowalski had tried to eliminate him. And he was front and center on the FBI’s radar.