None of those options are good enough. I want him to hurt as he feels death chilling his flesh, snuffing the life out of him. I need him to bleed like my wife. I want him gasping and physically trying to grasp his breaths like my daughter did.
“What are you waiting for?” Freddie asks Leo from behind me, his impatience palpable. “Wake the motherfucker up!”
Not waiting for him to take action, Freddie steps around me and strides over to the bed. Without hesitation he wraps his glove sheathed hands around Jack’s throat, pulling him up until he’s wide awake…eyes bulging…
He can’t lift his cuffed hands to fend Freddie off, but his legs are kicking like that will help him. Eyes finding mine, they round in plea or something before they snap to Leo, and I wonder if he really thinks that we would help him.
Coming closer, I take a good look at his face. I’m trying to find something that will make me regret this.
“Drop him.”
Freddie looks back at me, demented. “No fucking way. This bitch is done. Arabella… Cassie… Kit… Grandad…”
He lists out all the names one by one. I don’t know if he’s doing it to rile him or to make sure that Jack knows who this is for. All I know is that the more I hear her name, the deeper the wound gets, the more it festers, and I can feel it take over me. Every part of me lusts for blood.
“Drop. Him,” Leo snarls at him, his eyes never leaving his cousin.
“You don’t get to change your mind,” Freddie spits at him before fixing his scowl on me. “This piece of shit is done.”
Dropping Jack into a twisted heap on the bed, Freddie takes a half step back. “If you two are too fucking chicken, I’ll do it.”
“Chicken?” A dry laugh erupts from Leo’s lips as he pulls the medical trolley towards the bed.
Jack’s petrified gaze flickers between us. He wants one of us to help him—too bad, we’re not saviours. Not today and definitely not his.
Opening one of the drawers, Leo takes out some packets of gauze. He rips them open until there’s a healthy wad in his hand. He arranges them on top of the trolley carefully with all the other paraphernalia he pulls out.
He’s so meticulous with everything, opening and closing one drawer and then another. I can’t help but follow his every move with my gaze, just like Jack.
Standing, Leo rounds to the end of the bed, filling one of the urine sample cups with some of the hand sanitiser clipped onto the frame.
Casper pulls the empty bed beside him closer to Jack’s, and when he looks at me, all I see is controlled rage.
I can’t wait anymore; I want this done with so I can get back to getting my errant wife back.
Sitting beside Casper, I lean forward, over the edge of Jack’s bed. His wrists are bleeding from all the pulling he’s doing on the handcuffs cuffed to the lowered sides of the bed.
“Where is he?” Leo asks Jack, his voice devoid of any emotion.
Jack shakes his head without so much as a peep. He knows Leo’s asking about their grandfather.
“Okay.” Freddie stands beside Leo, arms crossed over his chest. “Here’s the thing. You’re going to die regardless of what you tell us, but the more you do, the less I’ll hurt you.”
When he drops his arms to his sides with purpose, Jack tries to fumble himself higher up the bed, feet kicking, fingers spasming from the way his limbs are pulling taut. “I don’t know.”
“Sure you do, you’re his favourite grandson.” Leo yanks him back down by his calf.
“I don’t!”
Throwing the bottle of water he brought with him from the car at Freddie, Leo says, “Give him a drink. His mouth is too dry to talk.”
Slowly Freddie pours him a drink into one of the plastic urine cups Leo left open on the trolley, and taking it from him, Leo brings it to Jack’s lips. He’s whimpering as he refuses to sip it…
“Drink.” Squeezing his cheeks together, Leo tips some water into his mouth. When most of it pours out of Jack’s mouth, Leo holds out the cup to Freddie, who fills it back up.
“Where is he, Jack?” Holding his chin, Leo pulls the cup away to give him a chance to answer him.
“We need to hurry this shit along,” Casper says beside me.
“Well?” Standing, I take the cup from Leo. I don’t have time for this shit. I don’t want to play. I want to kill and be done with it.
Squeezing Jack’s mouth open, I ask, “Where’s Kinsley?”
“I don—” Before he can finish, I crush the cup to his mouth. The hard plastic stabs into his mouth, and blood dribbles down his chin. Holding my hand over his mouth, I pinch his nose closed.
It doesn’t take long for the snivelling prick to start kicking with his lack of breath, and I wonder how long it would take to drown him like that.
His face goes from pink to red to purple, and it’s only when his eyes start to roll that I remove my hand, slapping him on the back to get the water out.
There has to be something he knows that we can use to our advantage.
“Let’s try it again.” Leo raises the side of the bed to bring Jack’s hand up, and taking one of the blood-drawing needles he’s got lined up on the top of the trolley, he holds it over his fingers so he can see his intentions.
Pressing the sharp tip to his nail bed, Leo inches the needle in, wiggling it from side to side as he separates the nail from the flesh holding it in place. Jack is desperately tries to tug his hand back in vain.
“Tell me where he is and who he’s working for or I swear to God that I’ll let him keep going until every one of your fingers bleeds.” I lean right over his skinny frame. He looks like he’s shrunk a couple of sizes from the moment we walked into the room.
Pulling the needle out, Leo shoves Jack’s finger into the pot of alcohol-based sanitizer. A scream starts to erupt from his mouth, but before it fills the room, Freddie’s plugging it with the wad of gauze.
“Is this what you want, Jack? Do you want to die like this?”
Leo chuckles vacantly as he takes Jack’s finger out of the sanitizer. When Jack doesn’t answer my question, he pulls another finger. As he’s about to push the needle in, Casper stands over him and says, “I want nothing more than to rip you apart—give me an excuse not to.”
Jack shakes his head frantically.
Still not talking.
Motherfucker!
Leo presses the needle all the way in, as deep as he can. He pushes and wiggles it so violently that I’m waiting for it to poke back out or snap.
The gauze does nothing to stop his screams from making my insides loosen.
Pulling the gauze out, Casper squeezes the hollows of Jack’s cheeks so tight that the outline of his teeth is visible. “You have a name. My niece didn’t. My sister will never meet her daughter…so, you either start talking or I’ll rip your tongue out of your mouth and watch you drown in your own blood. You think you know what it’ll feel like to die…but you don’t.”
It’s not so much the words as the cold, promising look on his face that chills me. I’ve known him for as long as I can remember, and Casper isn’t a man of many words…but what he says, he means. He doesn’t do empty promises.
A high-pitched whimper leaves Jack’s mouth as Leo pulls the needle out and throws it onto the trolley.
Fuck, there has to be something that will make him talk.
Getting up from the bed, I take my phone out of my jeans pocket. Holding it up, I unlock the screen and come face to face with my beautiful daughter one more time.
I don’t know how it’s possible, but every time I look at her photo, I fall in love a little more.
How’s that even possible when I know she’s gone?
My eyes glaze over as I turn the phone over. The screen lights up his bloodied face, and I keep waiting for any kind of emotion to flit over his features.
It doesn’t. The fucking prick looks at me like it’s nothing. Like my daughter means nothing.
Well, he’s going to die like not
hing. He will disappear from this world like a nobody.
“Do you think she was in pain?” I hold my phone closer to his face.
Freddie shudders as he looks away, his eyes falling to the floor. Even the ruthless killer has a heart.
“Do you see what you did? You murdered my girl, so it’s only fair you go too.”
Slipping my phone back into my pocket, I round the bed to the trolley and search through the drawers for the biggest syringe they have. When I find what I’m looking for, I open it up and fill it with air.
Eyes wide, Jack opens his mouth, closing it again as I approach.
“You have one last chance.” Plugging the air-filled syringe to the IV port, I look down at him.
I’m not offering him his life. I’m offering penance.
“You don’t know who you’re messing with…” Jack stutters.
That’s where he’s wrong. It’s him who doesn’t know who he’s dealing with. He’s clueless to what I am willing to do to repay my daughter’s life.
Casper shoves the gauze back into his mouth, looking over at Leo with a nod.
I tried to show him some mercy, he chose not to take it. That’s on him.
“It’s a pity you’ve chosen this moment to be brave.” Leo pulls Jack’s hand down so that the cuff holds his forearm in place. When Jack doesn’t say anything else, he folds his wrist over on itself. The crunch and crush of bone is barely disguised by the muffled scream that fills the room.
Tears pour from his cold blue eyes, and every drop feels like an insult to my daughter. She didn’t have tears to cry. Or a voice to scream her pain.
Injecting the syringeful of air into the IV, it takes a while for anything to even happen; there’s just stagnant silence.
Freddie starts to discard of everything, and I begin to think that Jack might just be the luckiest son of a bitch, because he’s lying there with the same look of confusion that’s on my face.
But then his face drops, and he’s coughing and coughing as he tries to clutch at his chest desperately. His bruised face starts to purple, and his eyes bulge…
“We have to go.” Casper starts for the door with Freddie following.
I can’t move though. I can only watch as the air that’s meant to give you life robs him of his.
I watch him like I watched my daughter, and although there isn’t a single drop of consolation in it, I take a deep breath as he stills.
“Let’s go.” Patting me on the back, Leo pushes me towards the door. “It’s done.”
Laughing, I can’t help but think, This is nowhere close to done. That prick was just the first one.
Chapter 7
Christopher
There’s a false notion that revenge and justice make shit better. I keep waiting for the weight to lighten, for the relief to seep into my bones, but it hasn’t.
It never will.
Just like my daughter will never come back. She was a carrot dangled in front of me, and now my tongue is bitten and bleeding. The pain and the hatred are a violent need that have forced my hand. I can’t turn back. There’s no forgiveness left.
I’ve barely made it into the office the last few months, and my assistant is looking at me with surprise as I walk down the dark corridor of the law chambers I’m a part of.
“Morning, Mr. Sinclair.” Henry fumbles with the papers on his desk. “I was just about to send these files over. Your calendar said you were working from home today.”
“Change of plan.” I drop my wool coat on his desk. “Can you ask Julian to come see me?”
Eyes widening, he nods as he picks up the coat and jots a reminder down on one of the many papers he has scattered on the desk.
I’ve got a plan. Arabella wants to fuck with me. That’s fine. I’ll take it.
In spite of everything, I love her more today than I did yesterday, when I loved her more than the day I married her.
I’ll take it because I failed to keep my promise to protect her and our family. I’ll take everything she throws at me. But I won’t lag behind her.
She wants to fuck with me, I’m going to fuck with her just as hard.
“Don’t take note, do it now.” I watch him pick up the phone and dial Julian’s extension before I head into my office.
Settling at my desk, I take it all in as always. It’s something I’ve always done. I like to remind myself of everything I’ve done to get here. Except this time when I look around and the photo of me and Arabella stares back at me…I don’t know if it was worth it. I used to be so certain.
Now, looking at it all—I don’t know. Nothing is worth all the shit that’s happened.
I look up at the loud knock on the door. That was quick.
Pulling my notes from my briefcase, I pause when it’s my father who walks through the door.
He has that pissed look on his face he gets when someone goes against his instructions. Benedict follows him in, and the impassive look on his face is enough to let me know they’re here to tear shreds off me.
I guess they’ve found out about Jack. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.
“I’m so sorry, I tried to…I…” Henry stutters behind them.
“Close the door,” Benedict tells him dismissively.
“Of course, Mr. Gladstone…sir.” Shutting the door quietly, Henry practically bows his way out of the room.
Dad sits in one of the dark green leather chairs in the small sitting area, and Benedict joins him. They both sit there in silence, looking about the room like they’re studying the place.
They’ve been here enough times that they’re no strangers to the surroundings. Benedict used to be one of the silks here. I’m not stupid enough to believe I’ve made it this high up so quickly without his influence. Even if I have worked my arse off for it.
“Do you like this office, Christopher?” Dad’s the first one to speak. The tone of his words is curt to match the expression that hasn’t budged from his face. “Because if you do, then you need to stop whatever the fuck you boys are up to. I don’t have time to spend my morning getting schooled about your games. I told you all that Jack Breckenridge was off limits. Do you know what that means?”
I say nothing. There is nothing to be said. We took care of the problem when they hesitated. He should’ve never stood in our way.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done? I told you to stay away. We’re now in the middle of a fucking inquisition. We’re all under scrutiny.”
“You think I give a fuck about an inquisition?” Pushing away from my desk, I stand tall. If he thinks he can come in here and shove all this shit down my throat, he has another thing coming. “They can dig into anything they want, because they won’t find shit. And you know why they won’t find it? Because we both know that to dig into us, they have to dig into themselves.”
“Careful, son, it’s a long way down to fall from the top.” Benedict stands. “I won’t let you jeopardise everything we’ve worked for. I won’t let you ruin what’s left of Arabella. I won’t let you drag my daughter down into whatever pit you end up in.”
A dry laugh leaves my mouth, “Arabella doesn’t need me for that. She can do it all by herself with her Russian boyfriend.”
He turns to my father with a shake of his head. The look they exchange is glaringly obvious.
Motherfuckers! “You already know.”
“It’s my job to know what the fuck is going on. It’s your job to keep your fucking head down and keep a crystal-clean image.” Benedict sits back into one of the chairs. “I’ll handle Arabella and the Russian. You handle this.” He circles his finger in the air, motioning around the office.
Perching on the edge of my desk, I laugh at his words. He really thinks I’m going to sit back and wait for him to fix my marriage?
“Get out.”
“Christopher!” Dad launches from his seat, stopping right in front of me. “You have no idea what’s at stake.”
“There’s nothing at sta
ke. Not for me. You can protect whoever you want, you can do the right thing by the bigger picture. But I’m telling you now, this isn’t over until every fucker has paid their due. This isn’t politics anymore—this is personal.”
“Christopher…”
“My daughter won’t be some fucking sacrifice for the better good. And if you choose to stand in my way, I’ll hold you just as accountable as every single person that had a personal hand in taking her from me.”
“If you continue being reckless, I can’t protect you.” His face softens as he takes a step back.
“I don’t want your protection. I’m not your client.”
“You’re my son! It’s my job!”
“Yeah, well, it’s my job to get my family the dues they deserve.” He’s still looking at this all wrong. “It’s too late to protect them.”
He doesn’t reply, because he knows this is the only thing I can do to make things as right as they can ever be again. Because in spite of him being the older and wiser man, I’m the one that’s lost the one thing he holds dear. His family.
“I don’t have anything else to lose. This…it doesn’t matter anymore. You want me to be a leader. I can’t be that person if I cower away and let this go. I can’t let either of you take care of this. This is on me. It’s my responsibility.” I meet Benedict’s gaze with mine. “It’s my duty as a husband, even if your daughter never comes back.”
She will. I’ll make sure of it.
“She’s lost, Christopher,” Dad sighs, his eyes soft, filled with pity. “She’s trying to come to terms with her grief.”
“I know Arabella. She’ll be back.” Benedict nods to Dad. They share another look, and this time I can’t make out if it’s pity or if it’s some kind of shared knowledge.
I don’t care. As far as I’m concerned, this is no longer their business.
“We’re done here.” Standing, I round back to my chair. “You can see yourselves out.”
“Don’t touch the Russian,” Benedict says as he heads for the door.
“He touched my wife.”
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