Inflict

by Bethany-Kris

  By the time Connor and Killian had crossed the overgrown field, his slacks were soaked, his body was cold, there wasn’t a bit of feckin’ light in the sky, but he couldn’t manage to feel a thing or care a bit about it. All that mattered in that moment was the fact he could see a cottage.

  A rundown, moss-covered house with puffs of smoke coming from a crumbling chimney. Several windows covered the cottage, but most looked to be dark and covered. It was only one toward the back of the place that had some kind of light filtering through the curtains. The white siding on the place had more dirt and moss on it that it had turned a brown over the years, though some white peeked through. The black sedan was parked on the side, nearly hidden from view entirely from the road that was quite a ways away.

  “Why the feck wouldn’t they tear this place down?” Connor wondered out loud.

  Killian checked his gun before wiping his hands down on his wet pants. “The deed belonged to somebody, I suppose.”

  “It looks ready to fall in on itself.”

  “That’s accurate, but people don’t just tear things down around here. They can always be fixed.”

  Connor took a moment to survey the land through the darkness, noting the cliffs to the east and the miles of fields all around them. Land that would be perfect for animal grazing, though it clearly hadn’t been used for that in years.

  Something familiar irked at his mind.

  He knew this place.

  Or maybe he’d seen it before.

  Connor was sure if it was light out, he might have a better idea about what was so familiar, but right then, he just couldn’t put his finger on it.

  “What’s wrong?” Killian asked.

  “Feels familiar.”

  Killian cocked a brow. “You don’t recognize it at all?”

  “If you do, don’t feck around, just spit it out.”

  “Your father’s office, Connor.”

  Ah.

  There it was.

  All the pictures on Sean’s office walls reflected this very landscape in one way or another.

  “Yeah, that’s what it is.” Now, more than ever before, Connor had no doubt that they were in the right place. Sean—despite claiming his homeland had betrayed him for years—had clearly clung on to the pieces of his past that he was unwilling to leave behind entirely. Go back to the beginning … “You hit the front, I’ll hit the back.”

  Killian looked to him. “Want me to make a scene?”

  “A big one. Distract him. I don’t need to make a show of killing him, he just needs to feckin’ go. If he’s concentrating on you, he won’t even see me coming from behind.”

  Connor had never spoken truer words.

  He was ready for this whole thing to be over, to have Evelyn safely back with him, and to go home. He wasn’t asking for much.

  “All right. You’ll know when I’m there, I’ll make sure you hear it,” Killian said.

  Connor nodded once, and then headed toward the cottage, leaving Killian to do his own thing. He only thought of it afterward, as he skimmed along the side of the building, keeping his head low when he came near a window, but he should have thanked his friend again.

  He reminded himself to do that the first chance he could.

  As Connor neared the rear of the house, where the one light filtered out of the window, he stilled against the wall, hearing something … strange. It was muffled a bit, but not quite enough that he couldn’t make out what exactly the sound was.

  Screams.

  A woman’s, specifically.

  The numbness that Connor had been feeling—the one thing that was getting him through these awful minutes—bled away in an instant, leaving him with simmering anxiety and overflowing rage. The woman’s screams continued, high-pitch and terrified. The sound was so grating, so horrible, that it propelled him toward the back of the cottage at a faster speed than before.

  All he could think of was her.

  Evelyn. Evelyn. Evelyn.

  That it was her screams. Her pain.

  The back door looked rotted around the sides, like one good kick was all it would take to tear the feckin’ thing down. Connor knew he should have waited for that sign from Killian, as the man had promised, but the feminine screams made him crazy.

  He wasn’t thinking rationally—he wasn’t thinking at all—when his booted foot slammed into the door just under the knob, and sent it crashing open with a bang loud enough to wake the devil. It wasn’t a hallway he entered, but a room of sorts. A family room, given the old, rotting furniture and crooked photos on the walls. The place was just as horrible looking on the inside as it was on the outside.

  Connor didn’t have much time to think about it.

  Damn near to the second he had entered, a figure appeared out of a hallway near the other side of the room. A figure he recognized, even in the darkness.

  Sean.

  Connor had his gun raised and ready to shoot, but found himself slamming against the closest wall to avoid the sudden bullets flying at him. He heard Sean curse under his breath, and then the heavy footsteps moving further away.

  He looked to the side, finding his father was gone again.

  The screaming coming from the room toward the front of the house stopped when the sounds of gunshots cut through the air.

  One pop.

  That was all it took.

  Just the one.

  Connor’s gun fell from his hand, clattering to the rotted floor and forgotten. He no longer cared—he wouldn’t need it, not if his father had done what he believed he did. He pushed off the wall and headed in the direction he had seen his father, his body numb again, and his mind suddenly hazy with pain.

  Evelyn.

  Evelyn.

  Evelyn.

  Her name became a mantra in Connor’s mind, repeating over and over again, taunting him almost. You’re too late. You were always too late.

  Connor stepped into the back hallway of the house at the same time his father appeared from a doorway, his gun raised and pointed directly at his son. Sean’s face was devoid of everything—emotion, concern, and fear.

  Like always, the man was dead inside.

  Connor was sure, in that moment, he was looking into a mirror.

  “You couldn’t let me have this one feckin’ thing, could you, lad?” his father asked.

  Even his voice was flat and cold.

  “She wasn’t yours to have,” Connor replied in the same tenor.

  “She certainly wasn’t anyone else’s. I’ve waited a long time for this, Connor. And you’re not going to feck it up for me, now.”

  Connor didn’t move as his father came closer. He didn’t even look away from the gun that was pointed right at his head, ready to blow any second. He almost wanted to ask his father just to get it over with—to hurry the feck up.

  This was misery.

  Already, he was dying.

  Why make him wait?

  “I should have killed you the day that whore pushed you out onto the bathroom floor,” Sean said quietly, the barrel of his gun pressing to Connor’s forehead. “It would have saved me a lot of trouble over the years.”

  “Would it?”

  “You barely even cried, and you were blue all over. For all that effort she put into hiding she was carrying you, she damn near killed you. I wish she had, lad. You were never worth the effort—you didn’t understand me, or how I thought and what I wanted. As much as I tried over the years to make you be more like me, you were never quite the same.”

  Connor smiled, though he was sure it looked cold. “Two sides of the same coin. One will always be a bit better, won’t it?”

  Sean nodded.

  Connor saw his father’s finger twitch on the trigger.

  Never bring a knife to a gun fight.

  Sean thought he had won, but Connor wasn’t going to go down quite that easily. Certainly not without a fight. He never brought a knife to a gun fight, but it was only a gun fight until Connor said differently.

>   That triple-edged blade he had slid into the sleeve of his jacket fell down into his hand, and in a flash, he drove it into his father’s leg before Sean could even see the weapon coming. Right into the artery, as deep as it could go, straight to the hilt.

  Sean stumbled back a step, grabbed at the knife, and yanked it out, not realizing his biggest mistake. He didn’t seem to care about the pouring blood rushing from his leg as he raised his gun at his son again. “You feckin’ cunt!”

  “Kill me,” Connor urged, “but you’ll bleed out before you ever make it to the road.”

  Connor watched his father’s finger wrap around the trigger, and in that second, he felt peace. Nothing more, just peace. He’d be where he wanted and needed to be soon. Surely, if there was a God and heaven, Evelyn would be the angel that let him in, even if his sins were so great and too many to count.

  And then Sean’s eyes grew wide as another loud crack cut through the air, and sent him flying forward. Connor moved out of the way just in time to miss his father hitting the floor. The blown-out back of Sean’s skull was a grisly sight as more blood pooled over the rotting floor.

  Killian stood at the very back of the hallway, likely having come from the front door, with his gun still raised. “Front door was unlocked. Apparently you were the distraction, mate.”

  Connor wasn’t sure what to do.

  He didn’t know whether to hate his friend, kill him, or thank him.

  He wanted to die.

  Connor didn’t say anything, instead moving forward, checking the room his father had come from. There, he found her. She was tied in a familiar fashion, one he had seen over and over again as he had flipped through too many images of the same scene. Hogtied, with a tension rope attached to her ankles and throat, ready to choke her to death as her body became exhausted and too weak to hold the tension loose. Her body was naked, limp on a dirty floor, her blonde hair matted with blood around her face.

  Welts and split skin covered her back.

  Her bare, uninked back.

  Connor was down on the floor in a second, his hands brushing away the bloody, sweaty hair of the dead woman so he could see her face. He ignored the blood staining his hands and seeping into his pants, instead focusing on the features of the dead woman in front of him. Her slack lips and opened eyes—though dead—were familiar, but not quite enough.

  It wasn’t Evelyn.

  His heart started beating again.

  He breathed.

  “Connor?” Killian asked at the door.

  “It’s not her.”

  “What, mate?”

  Connor held the young woman’s face tighter in his hands, unsure if he should be thankful at her death, or horrified at his own relief. “It’s not Evelyn. This isn’t her.”

  It was Terri, the slave his father had taken from the house when he left, although in the midst of all the nonsense Connor had dealt with over several days, he’d forgotten about her.

  Connor let the woman’s face go, though he closed her eyes before standing. “We need to find her. She’s here. Somewhere. I know she is.”

  His father had said so himself.

  Sean waited a long time for this. He would not have simply killed Evelyn the first chance he could, not when she was the one victim he had held off on killing for this long.

  “Find her,” Connor snarled, pushing past his friend in the doorway.

  Connor slammed open the two other bedroom doors to find them empty, each room wafting the scent of mustiness and death. Even the closets held nothing, except rotting clothes and forgotten belongings. He found the same emptiness in the kitchen, and in the mud room at the front of the house. Since the place was old, it didn’t seem to have a proper bathroom.

  Where the feck is she?

  “Connor!” Killian shouted. “Out here, mate!”

  He bolted for the sound of Killian’s yelling, finding his friend on the outside of the house, standing over what looked to be a cellar door. It was on the other side of the house, facing the cliffs, where Connor had not come. While everything about the house was old, the brand-new lock on the cellar door holding the rusted chain together was certainly out of place.

  Connor lifted his gun, aiming at the rusted chain. Three shots were all it took for the chain to break, and he couldn’t get those feckin’ doors opened fast enough.

  “Stay,” Connor said over his shoulder as he headed down the cellar stairs. “Stay up here.”

  Killian looked down into the darkness. “But—”

  “Stay!”

  Connor stumbled down the last two steps, or rather, one had given way under his weight. He caught himself just in time, straightening to a scene that damn near put him on the ground again. While the house had been mostly dark but for the one lamp, the cellar was lit with oil lamps and candles.

  His lungs stopped working.

  His heart clenched painfully.

  He felt sick.

  Evelyn hung from her wrists with the same kind of rusty chain that had locked her inside the cellar. The chain was wrapped around a rotting beam, and her feet were dirty and bloody from dragging across the floor, probably in an attempt to keep balance.

  She wasn’t entirely naked, as she still had her knickers and brassier on, but the rest of her clothes were nowhere to be seen. Welts crisscrossed her body in a pattern that made his rage swell all over again, from her ankles to her neck. A pile of ropes rested at her feet, waiting to be used.

  Her chest barely moved, and her eyes were closed, but he saw the faint puff of white come from her lips. It was cold enough down there for him to see her breath.

  Connor couldn’t move fast enough to get to her. “Lass … love … open your eyes for me, Evelyn. Look at me!”

  He struggled to get her free from the chain, his attention distracted by her eyes fluttering open and the hard breath she released at seeing his face. Finally, he got her down, and he felt her goddamn shoulders crack from the pressure being released as she fell into his arms.

  Connor fell to his arse on the damp cellar floor, holding Evelyn in his lap, his arms circling around her to warm her up as she blinked up at him.

  “She was screaming for so long,” she whispered. “I wanted to tell her that it was what he wanted, for her to scream, but I couldn’t.”

  Her eyes watered, her guilt climbing.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  Her shivering became worse, but she didn’t stop staring at him.

  “I messed up the studio,” Evelyn mumbled.

  “It doesn’t matter, love.”

  Tears raced down her dirty cheeks. “He was angry because I wasn’t scared of him.”

  Connor held her closer.

  She shouldn’t have had to do any of this at all.

  She shouldn’t have had to be anything to Sean.

  “I’m sorry, lass. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You’re here, Connor.”

  He was.

  And he couldn’t wait one more second to tell her why.

  Connor pressed a soft kiss to her trembling lips. “Is breá liom tú—I love you, Evelyn.”

  “That’s a word I didn’t understand for a long time before you.” She smiled faintly. “But I knew you loved me.”

  “Oh?”

  “I felt it.” She held his hand to her chest, and her heart thrummed under his palm. “In here, you know. It felt like how I loved you, but better, because it’s ours.”

  “You’re not making much sense, love.”

  “I am, Connor. You simply don’t think anyone should or could love you. That doesn’t make how I feel any less true.”

  “The jet is grounded,” Killian said from the other side of the hotel room, “so we’re stuck here until the fog lifts. Probably morning, at least.”

  Connor resisted the urge to bang his head against the nearest wall. He had always wanted to visit Ireland, and spend all the time he could learning about a culture
and his history that had been mostly erased, other than the nuances he had grown up around. But not like this, not under these circumstances. He wanted to get back on familiar soil; he wanted to get Evelyn safely back home, and far away from all that she had seen while being here.

  “Brian has them on standby, should something change,” Killian added when Connor stayed silent. “He doesn’t think it will, though.”

  “Grand.”

  Killian nodded at the closed door behind Connor. “She all right?”

  Connor wasn’t sure how to answer that question. “She’s … I’m not sure.”

  “Do you want me to run out and grab something—clothes or whatever?”

  They had found some things Evelyn, and the other girl, had been wearing before Sean stripped them of their clothing. Evelyn had been horrified at the idea of putting the dead woman’s dress on, as it was the only piece of clothing that hadn’t been ruined. She settled for a blanket from the trunk of Sean’s car, instead. Connor had carried her through the field and back to their vehicle while Killian burned down the house.

  “Something warm,” Connor said in reference to what Killian should look for. “She keeps shivering.”

  He wasn’t sure if it was because Evelyn was cold, or if it was something else.

  “Sure, mate.” Killian checked his watch. “I’ll grab something for you to wear, too.”

  Connor glanced down at his bloodstained pants and shirt. He’d forgotten about his own mess in the chaos of everything, but he didn’t care. “Whatever.”

  “Try to get some rest. If we do have to wait until morning to take off, it’ll be early as hell. Sleep while you can.”

  Connor would sleep when he was dead.

  Killian clearly noticed Connor’s disinterest in his expression because he added, “Seriously, we left a mess back in the States, Connor. You’re going to need the rest to deal with it when we get back.”

  Well, there was that, too.

  “Set the clothes outside the bedroom door when you get back,” Connor said instead of replying to Killian’s other statement. “Don’t bother me, or her, tonight.”

  “Got it.”

  Connor waited until Killian was gone before he slipped back into the bedroom. Evelyn hadn’t moved from her spot, sitting in the old windowsill of the hotel, staring out over the dark cliffs. They had been lucky to even get a room, considering it was a popular hotel, and tourists typically booked ahead. He reminded himself to give Killian’s distant cousin another thanks, the next time he saw him for making a phone call to get them in.