Heavy breaths beat out of Rhys as he glared at him. “This is not how our lives were supposed te go. I wanted te marry her. I love her. That’s my daughter up there.”
“Be grateful ye have what ye have.”
“What happened te you, man? You’ll fight for them, but not for us? Ye could end this, Callan. I know ye could.”
At one time, he believed he could, but now...
The ugliness of this place had infected his mind. The hurt of his crimes lived like a cancer in his heart. And Rory was a monster that got bigger and meaner with every breath.
“I... It’s too risky. If I mess up, she’ll pay. You’ll pay. The child...” He couldnae bring himself to call it by name or look it in the eye. Innis’s child played the pawn, locking the other players in place while an infuriated queen reigned with vicious fire, pinning them all.
“You’re a fucking coward.”
Callan’s growl snapped through the room. “Get out! Get out of my room and don’t ye dare come back until yer ready te take at least part of the responsibility for her being here. It’s your child that holds her te this rottin’ hell. You got her pregnant when she was just a defenseless girl!”
“I love her! They stole her from me before I had the chance to do right by—”
“And what the hell does right look like? Yer only income’s been the commission I paid ye. How the bloody fuck were ye gonna protect her with tha’ pittance? She may be a lunatic’s toy and a dead man’s whore, but ye’ll never be good enough for her. Nothing touching this life should touch her, including you.”
The fight visibly left Rhys in one blink. His shoulders sagged, and his gaze fell to the floor. “I know I’ve got nothin’ te offer her. But I do love her, Callan. I’d give my life for her—as worthless as it seems te you. I just want te protect her.” His voice broke. “And I cannae. What kind of man does tha’ make me?”
A hole burrowed through his chest. “Yer life is not worthless—”
“I heard what ye said!”
Regret burned hot and bitter. “You're my best mate, Rhys. The closest to a brother I have in this world. I’m hard on ye because I have te be. All of you are mine te watch over, and I cannae do tha’ when you’re threatenin’ te do somethin’ tha’ will likely get yourself killed. If ye want te stay with her, then...” It was the thing he’d been fighting since the start—the reason he swam so hard against the beating current. “Then ye have te submit to this life.”
“I do love her, Callan.”
“I know. And I think—if the circumstances were different—you’d make a good husband for her.”
Callan wanted to think of her as sweet Innis with her bright eyes and sarcastic wit, but that little girl was gone. This place had ruined the innocence in her, stolen it with cruel hands and filthy grabbing.
He dinnae know if normal could exist after this. Perhaps she was too damaged to find it. Rhys wanting to offer her something close to decent might be the best she could get, even if Callan would always believe she deserved the moon and more.
“He willnae let her see Uma,” Rhys rasped, his heartache puncturing the words. “She hasnae seen our daughter in days. She’s freaking out. We both are.”
Callan’s back tensed sending a line of tension straight to his skull. Everything was a game to that fuck. “He willnae hurt the baby.”
Anxiety reflected in Rhys’s eyes. “How do ye know for sure?”
“Because it's his greatest bargaining chip. Without the child, he loses his power over Innis. And without Innis, he loses all of us.”
Callan hated to admit it, but losing the wain might be the only way they’d ever escape this place. But if that were to happen, they’d all be destroyed anyway.
“Please...” Rhys sniffed and turned his face to the shadows. “If ye willnae let me go after him, then give him whatever he wants, Callan. She’s strong until he takes Uma from her. And I cannae bear te see her so defeated.”
To what end, he wondered. The raw truth poked like a dull blade. Since the dawn of time, men justified violence with violence. But how many lives would be lost to save theirs? What if, in the end, they were all dead anyway?
Rory had called him a pelican. Since that day, life gushed from Callan as if his heart had been torn open, and life steadily bled out of him. Dying. He’d been dying ever since entering this hell.
His sacrifices had always been to keep them alive. Only now, he understood there would be no saving himself. He would die here, bleeding to death with his greatest enemies. A pelican stranded in the cold, sacrificing everything down to the last breath, to save those he loved.
“I’ll get ye out of here. You, Innis, and the child. But it’s not an easy switch to shut off. I’m not a ruthless man, yet I’ve done so many barbaric things.”
They’d swim out of here in a bloodbath of his making. But in the end, Callan would choose to drown. The sweet exhalation he’d been holding in for so long would escape, releasing him of all he held, unlocking the crushing weight of his responsibilities, and mercifully sweeping him away.
Living in such hell made a man not want to live. But perhaps Rhys could see to Innis’s future.
“Give me a few more weeks to make a plan and then...” He nodded, already working under a code of secrecy that should never be spoken aloud.
“What about Uma? Innis needs to see her.”
“I’ll work on Rory. Maybe I can convince him te lighten up where the wain’s concerned.”
Rhys nodded emphatically. “Whatever ye can do te help.”
Rory, a man incapable of caring emotions, took great fascination in the human condition. Torturing Innis and the child by separating them could serve as some twisted titillation, as the more distraught she became, the more excited Rory would grow.
Innis had mastered playing the doll. While it satisfied Rory’s desire for pretty things, it also protected her by hiding her emotions. She did it so convincingly at times, Callan wondered if a conscious thought remained under that porcelain shell.
He tried not to envy his friend, but Rhys got close enough to still find pieces of the Innis they loved. Callan only ever saw her as the doll. And she never let that mask slip when Rory was around.
When she bored Rory, he’d drum his thin fingers over his chin, a devious smile curling his lips while he mused at the dilemma her obedience proved. A sadist loved to watch others suffer, but sometimes his toys were too inanimate. With few emotions of his own, he feasted on the feelings of others. Innis knew how to shut herself off.
Callan sometimes wished he could do the same.
The following morning he joined Rory for breakfast to see about gettin’ Innis time with her child. He couldnae act too wanting, or Rory would deny him for the perverted thrill of it.
“She seems different today,” Callan observed, pitching his voice with enough indifference to draw Rory’s attention but not his alarm.
Eyes on his plate, he cut into his food. Innis slouched in the seat at the far end of the table, beside Rory. She wore a peach-colored dressing gown with feathered lapels, and her hair had a freshly washed sheen.
Rory paused at the head of the table, a plump link sausage pierced by the tines of his fork, the silk sleeve of his kimono exposing his tattooed arm. Callan dinnae need to look up to know he watched him.
Head down, Callan ate, his gaze sneaking through his lashes to observe Rory observing Innis. The man sighed and bit into his sausage.
“She used to cry so much,” Rory recalled, the maternal fondness of an empty nester in his voice. “And then...” He used a spoon to scoop a fat berry off the top of his porridge. “Pop.” He chuckled and ducked his head to catch Innis’s view. “It’s a lot harder to cry only one eye.” He ate the berry. “She still can, of course, but after the screams stopped, she taught herself to hold in the tears.”
Callan’s appetite disappeared, the few bites he had swallowed threatened to come back up. He breathed through the rage simmering inside of him, swallowed bac
k the rising bile.
“It’s been so long since I heard her scream. I almost forget what she sounds like.” He brushed a finger over her lifeless arm. “When will you scream for me again, Trinket?”
Maybe if she just cried... But Callan couldnae judge her for her silence. Silence was her shield. He had no idea the pain she’d endured.
“I havenae seen the baby lately.”
At that, Rory’s sharp eyes turned on him. Callan never spoke of it, and mentioning the wain now might have given him away.
Rory’s eyes narrowed, and his head tipped curiously to the side. “Say the child’s name, MacGregor.”
He met his stare, hesitated several seconds. “Uma.”
Rory smirked as if he could taste Callan’s discomfort. The child was a bargaining chip. Rory would leverage it against all of them if he found the proper opening.
“That’s right. Uma...” he purred, his small teeth caressing the name with his thin lips. “She’s named her for your mother, I believe.” His brow puckered and a falsely sympathetic snick smacked from his mouth. “So much loss in one family. Tragic.”
Callan dinnae respond. He wished he still had an appetite. Eating safeguarded him, and now he felt exposed. No other choice, he held his stare.
“Tell me, MacGregor, what was Da like?”
Callan’s eyes narrowed. He measured every breath so as not to give anything away.
“Did he push you around? Pick on poor wee Innis?” he hissed her name. It was the first time Callan had heard him use it. “Did he hit Mother? Maybe take a belt te you?”
As transparent as glass, Callan sat there, breathing, fighting off the memories he hated to examine too closely.
“Aye, yer da was a mean old bassa, was he not? I bet ye lose sleep at night, worryin’ ye’ll be just like him.” His lips curled into a half smile. “But Da never killed anyone, did he?”
The need to breathe disappeared. The world quieted, punctuated only by the slow blink of Rory’s eyes. The crucifix dangling from Callan’s neck burned a hole into his chest.
Honor thy father and mother... Thou shall not steal... Thou shall not kill...
“My sins are between me and God.”
Rory’s brows lifted with amusement. He peeked under the table and behind him. “And where is this god hiding?” He yelled to the man making a plate by the sideboard. “Hamish, check around! See if there’s a god in any of the other rooms.” He laughed and reclined in his chair. “Really, MacGregor, next ye’ll be tellin’ me ye plan te hop out of here on the Easter Bunny’s back.”
The silk of his robe separated, showing a pale flash of tattooed flesh and nothing underneath. Rory openly scratched his balls. From the deep pocket of the robe, he withdrew an antique hairbrush and clicked his fingers.
“Come, Trinket.” His chair scooted back, and she rose, stepping between his bare legs and perching on his thigh. He combed through her ebony locks with an ornate brush and obscene affection.
“Your brother thinks you’re upset with my recent decisions.”
Her eye shifted, her solitary gaze locking on Callan. In that moment he knew this had been a mistake.
“Is tha’ true, Trinket?”
Her chest silently heaved with each labored breath, and she winced as the back of the antique brush clacked hard against her skull.
“Answer me.”
Her eye watered from the swat and she shook her head.
“I think you’re lying.” He glanced at the other man who now buried his face in his plate and ate as if he had the room to himself. “Hamish, bring me the black case on my vanity.”
Innis’s eye closed, the last bit of life inside of her severed from the rest of them as she fully became the doll.
What was in the black case? He had no idea, but Innis knew. Fuck.
“I was just makin’ small talk—”
Rory held up a hand, silencing him. “You’re giving me a headache, MacGregor.”
Innis sat like an inanimate object, compartmentalized. She vanished yet somehow remained physically present, as if folding her psyche away for safekeeping.
The guard returned carrying a small black trunk and set it on the table in front of Rory. He lifted the lid, leaving it upright in a way that concealed its contents from Callan’s view.
The soft clink of glass and delicate objects rattled in the trembling silence as Rory dug around in the box. Knives? Razors? Poison? He had no idea what was inside, and his curiosity nauseated him.
Rory set a small vial on the table, then an ornate, bulbous bottle with an atomizer pump and gold tassels. The delicate items were old, female relics from a time when movies were made of silver and women were taught that ladylike grace could garner more success than any level of education.
Dainty nail files, casks of powder, ivory handled brushes and polishes gathered in front of him. Callan suffered sharp relief that none of these items could hurt her.
Stripping Innis of her eye patch, Rory tossed it into the case. “We want everyone te see your eyes today. I’m going te make them extra pretty.” He withdrew a small pot of black coal and a thin brush. “It’s been a long time since we played like this. Ye remember how fun it is.”
Callan’s gut twisted. Maybe whatever this was would lead to her seeing the baby, but he felt certain she’d been better off suffering alone.
Rory braided her hair, moisturized her skin, and painted her face with heavy makeup. To him, she truly was a doll. A plaything. A medium for pain.
“So sweet of your brother te remind me of your feelings. If not for him, I wouldnae have realized. I’ve been so distracted lately, what with trying te locate some of my men.” His gaze landed pointedly on Callan. “Trying te keep an eye on precious, wee Uma. Sometimes I forget she’s there. Forget how quickly little ones can get into trouble...”
Callan prayed for the day he could strangle him. Innis notably paled with worry for her child.
Rory had no proof of his part in certain disappearances. But he knew. Rory always knew.
A cold chill rushed up Callan’s back and he looked away. Innis sat perfectly still and limp as Rory lifted her hand and painted her fingernails.
Dark, blended khol outlined her lashes in a cloud of smoke. The hollow socket of her empty eye appeared almost normal, if not slightly sunken in. Her lips wore a sheen of red, and as he stared at the transformation, he caught the slight tremble in her jaw.
“Dae ye ken the difference between a reflex and a reaction, MacGregor?”
His voice had burrowed deep in his gut, and it took him a moment to coax it out. “No.”
“A reaction is voluntary. But a reflex is involuntary. It’s the body’s natural response to protect itself from pain—like tears. I could pull out Trinket’s teeth, and her eyes would tear, producing a natural painkiller called leucine encephalin. But her cries... They would be a voluntary reaction, brought on by her fears and anxieties. It’s a beautiful thing when a woman learns te control her screams, that divine struggle between surrender and control.”
He turned Innis and pinched both her cheeks, leaving rosy marks in the shape of a blush. A sheen of tears instantly sprang to her eye.
“Trinket knows how I hate it when she pouts. But I do love te see her cry.” He petted the side of her head with disturbing affection. “Tonight we’re going te play. You’re going te be the perfect doll and not make a sound when you cry. Do that, and I’ll let you see the wain.”
The price of her tears snaked through his veins. Rory planned to hurt her, to bring her pain, but she’d get nothing if she let out a verbal cry. He should have never listened to Rhys.
“There now. You’re as beautiful as ever.”
Callan considered the time. It was still early in the day, some men still slept and had yet to arrive. But Rory was wide-awake and prepared to do his worst. Callan could only guess what that might be.
“Rory...”
He heard Rhys’s pleas in his head, recalled the desperation in his eyes. Callan
was prepared to die here. He’d sworn to protect her. His eyes pleaded from across the table, begging him to reconsider whatever this was.
Rory smiled, perverted satisfaction distorting his eyes as he hooked a finger in Innis’s mouth and tugged her off balance. “See how she’ll submit te anything I choose, MacGregor. And there’s nothing you can do, short of killing me—or her—to change that. When will you accept that you’re powerless here? She’s not your sister anymore. She’s mine, whatever I want her te be. And today I’m feeling generous with my toys.”
His blood boiled as fire burned through his lungs, smothered by impotence. Rory was a master at bending others to his will. His demented taunts could abolish every moral principle from the holiest of men.
When would he learn? The harder he swam against the tide, the rougher the rapids. It became a puzzle he couldnae solve, and he wondered if he ever would.
Every man there had Rory’s permission to torture and murder Innis and the child if Callan raised a hand to their boss. No matter what, he’d lose. It came down to his willingness to let go. But he couldnae do that until he was certain Innis, the baby, and Rhys would be safe.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Saratoga Springs, New York—America
Present Day
The defense seemed to be angling for a speedy trial, but nothing would save Emery the pain of testifying. It seemed no matter how much time passed or how much effort went into healing, outsiders kept forcing her to relive those horrific events.
The preliminary hearing would at least take place in a private setting, closed to the public and far away from the accused, with only the judge, district attorney, and defense lawyer. But Blaine’s attorney wouldnae take it easy on her. He knew this and, unfortunately, so did Emery.
The defense lawyer would have the opportunity to cross-examine her, force her to regurgitate painful details. She’d be eviscerated by the facts detailed in cold, dead ink on the medical records and polis reports.
More than anything, he wished he could save her that pain. But the only person who could save Emery the pain of testifying was Blaine. But that might make him look guilty.
Hurt (The Hurt Series, #1) Page 21