He wouldn’t keep that video—surely not.
To my surprise, he did. My father really did believe he was untouchable. There was video footage of him shooting John, video footage of me arriving with Brody and Rourke—video footage of him immediately trying to pin the murder on them. The audio wasn’t the best, but the video confirmed that John didn’t even know the bullet was coming. He was sitting in front of my father having a casual conversation. My father pulled a gun out of his desk, said something about payback, and as soon as John stood, he shot him.
This is what I need. It’s exactly what I need. But I have to get it in the right hands—I don’t know if I can trust the police or the District Attorney. I don’t know who is in my father’s back pocket.
The media. They would run the story—they would play the video. I started searching every news station I could find and collecting email addresses. After I had about a dozen of them, I started an email—an email from my father’s account. I titled it: My Confession. With one click of a button, the video was out in the world. I didn’t want to leave anything to chance though, so I sent it to the police and the District Attorney for good measure. They would have to act on it once the video became breaking news. They wouldn’t have a choice.
All I can do is wait, but I’m not going to wait here. That’s too risky. I don’t know what my father will do when he realizes I’ve violated the sacred motto—I certainly didn’t put family first.
I grabbed what I could from my room, put my laptop in a bag, along with a few necessities and planned my escape. I walked downstairs and grabbed the keys to one of my father’s cars. A bodyguard tried to follow me, but I quickened my pace and got the car before he did. The men at the front gate started opening it as soon as they saw me approach. They didn’t realize I was all alone—and they were violating a direct order not to let me leave the house without a bodyguard—until it was too late.
I got away, now I just have to hope that I’ve done enough to save Brody and Rourke from my father.
I was pretty sure they would be taken to the police station first, but I didn’t know that with absolute certainty. I just wanted to be as close as possible when they were finally released. I found a parking spot that was close enough to the entrance for me to get a good view and put my laptop against the steering wheel. My fingers went to my lips instinctively and I started chewing on my nails. I hadn’t done that since I was a little girl—a bad habit my father forced me to break by having them painted with bitter polish. I stared at the screen and waited—hoping—praying.
A crowd is gathering. Maybe that’s a good sign. The media wants to get a good shot of them being paraded by in handcuffs—I’m sure they’ll make a spectacle of it.
The front door of the police station opened, and my heart stopped beating for a moment—it was my father. He took a spot at the top of the steps and a few seconds later he was joined by a man who appeared to be in charge of the cops. Within a few minutes, they were joined by a man I had only seen on television up until that point—the mayor of Chicago. If I didn’t know that my father was the king before that point, it would have been hard to deny. He was positioned between the two of the most powerful people in the city.
Wait—I recognize that guy in the crowd. Steve?
I hadn’t seen Steve since returning to Prescott Manor. My father told me during one of the conversations he had with me after my return that he fired Steve for not protecting me. If he wasn’t working for my father, why was he in the crowd of people—it was mostly made up of media journalists that were searching for a story. My heart started beating hard in my chest. Steve—wouldn’t do anything stupid—would he?
Oh my god. My father is going to have them killed in broad daylight—as soon as they arrive.
I pushed open my car door and tossed my laptop beside me. One of the reporters said that Brody and Rourke were about to arrive. I scanned the street—there was an armored van approaching with the Chicago PD emblem on the side. The crowd certainly noticed it. Camera flashes went off—all of the video cameras were turned in that direction. My father just smiled—like he was waiting to enjoy the best moment of his life. I saw Steve move to the front of the crowd as the van approached.
I have to get there.
The van came to a stop and two men in riot gear hopped out. They walked to the back and started opening the doors. I saw Steve reach into his jacket—he had to be going for a weapon. Brody and Rourke were pulled out of the back of the van. The crowd applauded—everyone except Steve. I bolted across the street, dodging cars—making them come to a screeching halt. I screamed at the top of my lungs. The crowd didn’t hear me. They were making too much noise. I saw a flash of silver. Steve aimed his gun. I was too far away. There was too much distance between him and the gun. I was going to be too late if I lunged for him. Someone finally noticed me—one of the guys in riot gear. He tried to get his hands around my waist, but I dodged his attempt.
“Brody! Rourke! Look out!” I screamed—and I was close enough for them to actually hear me.
I got past the guy in riot gear and threw myself in front of Steve’s gun. I heard my father’s voice—louder than the rest. It was too late. Steve pulled the trigger. He didn’t see me until the bullet had already left the gun. I accepted my death—it was the ultimate price for my sins. I set Brody and Rourke up. I put them in handcuffs. I put them in a cell. I took a year of their life, but I wouldn’t take another day. I would just let myself die on a cold Chicago sidewalk instead. I prepared for the pain—the agony—and the dark conclusion of my life.
But that didn’t happen. When I finally stopped wincing and realized I was still standing, I saw a horrified expression on Steve’s face.
Then I saw why.
The bullet didn’t hit me. It didn’t hit Brody. It didn’t hit Rourke.
It hit my father, who was laying at my feet.
“Daddy!” I screamed and dropped to my knees—turning him over immediately.
I had learned to hate the man staring back at me, but nothing prepared to see the blood on his lips—to see him gasping for air as he choked on his sacrifice. He lifted his arm slowly and I grabbed his hand. The crowd of people around us took a step back as I started screaming for someone to help me. Steve dropped his gun and started pushing against them—trying to get away. I looked back at Brody and Rourke. I wanted them to help, but they were being restrained by the men in riot gear. The mayor and the chief of police came running down the steps. Other police officers joined them. Some of them tried to help—one of them tried to pull me away, but I refused to let go of my father’s hand. Tears were streaming down my face as I realized that my father was dying.
“Family…” Blood sputtered from my father’s lips. “Family comes first.”
I felt his hand go limp. I couldn’t hold onto him any longer. The police officer pulled me away. Brody and Rourke were taken into the police station and paramedics arrived. I knew there was no way they were going to be able to save my father. The bullet hit him in the chest and there was too much blood. He threw himself in front of the very bullet he put in motion—to save me. All of my fury—all of that desire for vengeance. It left me in screams of anguish as my tears flooded down my face.
The King of Chicago was dead.
Brody
Several hours later
“Miss Prescott, can we get a statement? Why did you try to save the two men that you previously accused of murder? Miss Prescott!” The reporter was aggressive, refusing to leave us alone as we walked down the steps of the police station.
“You’re about to get my fucking fist in your face if you don’t back off!” I turned towards him and snarled.
He immediately cowered.
“Leave them alone, Brody. We have to get Anabelle home.” Rourke grabbed my sleeve.
“Lucky for you,” I growled at the reporter and then continued walking.
I was still trying to wrap my head around everything that happened. One minute we were bein
g taken out of a van and the next, Adrian Prescott was on the sidewalk bleeding to death. Anabelle tried to take a fucking bullet for us. Her father jumped in front of it. It was poetic in a way—the asshole that tried to have us executed had to give up his own life in order to save his daughter before she could sacrifice her own. I might have even felt good about it if I wasn’t holding the heartbroken shell of the woman I loved that his sacrifice left behind.
I wasn’t sure the light would ever return to Anabelle’s eyes. She had witnessed something truly horrific—and we set her on the path that led to her father’s death. After we were taken into the police station and locked in a cell, we waited for two hours until we finally found out what she had done to save us. She found a video of her father committing the murder he pinned on us. It didn’t take our lawyer long to get us released after the video was played on the news. We found Anabelle waiting for us—or maybe she was just too stunned to move from the spot they put her in after she made it inside the police station.
Anabelle didn’t say a word on the drive to Prescott Manor. Most of the workers that met us at the door were in tears. Adrian Prescott might have been an asshole, but they apparently cared enough to shed tears. A doctor came to check on Anabelle after we got her upstairs. He put a needle in her arm and she didn’t even flinch. Her internal pain was stronger than any physical pain she could endure. The doctor could have probably amputated her arm without her even noticing. I watched until her eyes were closed—then I watched until I was sure she was asleep.
“Fuck, I need a fucking drink.” Rourke exhaled sharply.
“Yeah, me too.” I nodded and sighed. “She’ll be out for a while.”
I followed Rourke to Adrian Prescott’s study—well, technically it wasn’t his anymore. Rourke poured two glasses of whiskey that was so good that it made the stuff I had been drinking since being released from prison taste like garbage. The asshole certainly knew how to live, it was just too bad he used all of that wealth to hurt others instead of doing good with it. I pulled a cigar out of his humidor and lit it up, taking a seat across from Rourke after he did the same.
“Decide to give up that health kick you tried to go on?” I chuckled under my breath.
“After today? Yeah, I’d say it’s on pause.” He shrugged and sipped his whiskey. “I’ll start back up tomorrow.”
“Where do we go from here?” I puffed the cigar and exhaled sharply. “This is going to be a huge fucking mess.”
“All we can do right now is be there for Anabelle. She’s going to need us. It won’t be easy for her to deal with everything that has happened.” Rourke shook his head back and forth.
“This fucking asshole.” I picked up a picture of the Prescott family and sighed. “Even in death, he finds a way to make someone miserable.”
“I think he loved her in his own way.” Rourke sipped his whiskey. “He truly did believe that family was supposed to come before everything else—even if it meant that it cost him his own life.”
“It was all about fucking control.” I lifted the cigar to my lips. “He wanted it on his terms and when he realized that he didn’t have his daughter in his grasp anymore, he was willing to do anything to change that. I don’t think that’s putting family first.”
“He should have realized what we realized—she doesn’t like being told what to do.” Rourke stood and walked over to the photos on the wall. “Look at this shit—he’s shaking hands with mayors, presidents—he had everything at his fingertips.”
“Yeah, but how many bodies did he have to bury in order to get it?” I shrugged. “Some things aren’t worth your soul.”
“And some things are.” Rourke turned back towards me. “Like you—and Weber. I guess your soul had a price.”
“My soul is fine, Rourke.” I shook my head back and forth. “Weber doesn’t rest on my conscious.”
One day before the escape
“Josef Weber, you son of a bitch.” I sat down across from the older man and glared at him.
“Brody.” A slight smile formed on the corner of his lips. “Where’s your buddy—he get out early?”
“He’s with our lawyer.” I tilted my head to the side. “There’s a price on your head—one million dollars. That’s a lot of money.”
“I figured there would be.” He exhaled sharply. “I pissed off a couple of very powerful men—all in the name of fucking love.”
“Love?” I blinked in surprise. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“The woman I asked you to find for me—Hannah Clark?” He shook his head back and forth. “Stupidest mistake of my fucking life.”
“I thought she wasn’t your girlfriend.” I couldn’t hide the amused expression on my face.
“She wasn’t when you found her, but that changed. Unfortunately, I was just caught up in a twisted game from the start. I needed her—for something else. Turns out she needed me too, but her plan was a lot more ruthless than the one I cooked up.” He shrugged. “Now it’s going to cost me my life. Why not? It’s already cost me my company—all of my fucking investors.”
“I guess we’re just in a hell of our design then.” I chuckled and nodded. “I didn’t love the woman who put me in this cage, but it still got me here.”
“I take it, by this conversation, that you intend to collect that bounty?” Weber leaned back. “It wouldn’t be hard—you could snap my neck as easily as I could snap my fingers. That’s why I wanted you working for me.”
“You have a funny way of courting people. Did you try to shank Hannah Clark too?” I folded my arms across my chest.
“No, but maybe I should have.” He shrugged. “So, what’s it going to be? Are you going to just kill me here in front of the guards or wait to take me out when I’m in the shower later?”
“Truthfully?” I raised an eyebrow. “I should kill you—return the fucking favor after you tried to have Reggie stick a knife in me. But I’m not going to do that.”
“Really?” Weber seemed perplexed. “I’m not sure I’d make the same choice.”
“Something is going down tomorrow.” I nodded and started to stand. “That’s when it’s supposed to happen. I don’t know if I’ll be the only person they expect to come for you, so you might want to take some precautions.”
“Why aren’t you going to do it? You don’t want the money?” He looked up at me. “I’m dead anyway if what you say is true.”
“Nah, some things aren’t worth the cost.” I shrugged. “I’ve learned that the hard way. I told you that I’d kill you if you ever came back to the South Side. We’re not in the South Side right now, and I’m a man of my word—that still means something.”
A few hours later
“Brody—hey, come here.” Weber motioned to me and I walked over to the front of my cell.
“What?” I looked over my shoulder at Rourke, who was asleep and then glared at the man across from me.
“I got something set up. I talked with one of the guards—he’s going to help me, but I need something from you.” There was desperation in his eyes.
“I don’t do favors for you anymore.” I shook my head back and forth.
“You can collect the bounty, because as far as anyone knows—I’ll be dead.” He nodded quickly and looked at the guard that was approaching.
“Okay, I’m listening.” I narrowed my eyes.
“Just come into my cell tomorrow when everything goes down. I’ll tell you what you have to do.” He nodded again and walked away from the front of his cell as the guard reached us.
Interesting. Well, it sure as fuck wouldn’t hurt to have a million dollars in an account somewhere if we’re going to have to make a break for it.
Present day
“You let me think you killed that bastard…” Rourke shook his head in disbelief after I told him what really happened. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“I couldn’t.” I chuckled under my breath. “If I would have told you that, then you wouldn’t have be
lieved I was capable of killing someone in cold blood. You wouldn’t have worked so hard to change Anabelle’s mind about her betrayal.”
“Well, you seemed pretty determined to kill Weber when we talked about it in jail.” Rourke narrowed his eyes at me.
“I was curious to know how you would react if we were forced to make that kind of choice with Anabelle. Truthfully, after she escaped—my darkness almost won. I think I really would have killed her, or at least I believed I could.” I nodded aimlessly.
“Any other secrets you’re hiding from me?” Rourke took a sip from his drink and eyed me suspiciously.
“No, but we’ll have to be cautious. If those two rich assholes found out that we didn’t really kill Weber, then there’s a damn good chance they’re going to want revenge.” I exhaled sharply. “If they were willing to pay to have Weber killed…”
“Hopefully that bastard enjoys his second chance at life and doesn’t decide to resurrect himself.” Rourke shrugged. “If he does, then we’ll handle business just like we always do.”
“Do you two gentlemen need anything?” One of the workers at Prescott Manor, a Latina woman wearing a maid’s uniform, walked into the study.
“Huh?” Rourke looked over his shoulder.
“Nah, we’re fine. Thanks.” I waved her off.
“I don’t think I’m going to be able to get used to having people around me all the time if we end up staying here.” He watched as the woman walked away. “It’s weird.”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I’m sure we’ll get used to it.”
“Maybe…” Rourke sighed and turned his head back towards me.
“I can certainly get used to this.” I raised my glass and took a sip, then puffed on my cigar. “Makes me feel like a fucking king.”
“Just make sure you remember that I’m not one of your fucking subjects—don’t keep anything else from me,” Rourke growled under his breath and took a sip of his drink.
Ravaged by Them Page 14