24. Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jacob
“This fuckin’ tosspot ain’t stopping me going to bingo.”
My head aches, and I count down from twenty in my head to find a spot of calm. Arguing with Grandad never usually ends in my favor.
“Look, we’ll catch the bloke soon, but till then, you need to stay put. I’ve got security on the house, and they’ll take you to the hospital to see Ruth when she gets here, but they’re not going to watch you play fucking bingo.”
Grandad stares at me the same way he did when I was twelve and he caught me smoking. The old bastard made me smoke a whole pack, one after the other, not letting me stop even when I puked. Just the smell of it still makes me want to throw up.
His eyes are red-rimmed, whether from whiskey or tears, I’m not sure. He’d die before he let me see him cry. Even at mum’s funeral, he never shed a single tear in front of me, though I once heard him bawling when I bunked off school and came home early. I never let on that I’d heard.
“I could drop dead next week, my boy. Gotta make the most of each day till then. I’m going, and that’s the fuckin’ end of it.”
Short of locking him up, there’s no way for me to stop him. Under any normal circumstance, I’d just stay here with him, but I can’t leave Quinn alone for another day. The timing of all this couldn’t be worse. Was it deliberate? Is someone in the Compound in contact with this guy, slipping him info about Quinn?
It’s not a good thought. I need to spend more time with Hadrian and see what he’s learned, but I can’t do anything if I’m worried sick about Grandad. I clench my fists, searching for an answer that isn’t there.
Grandad decides the conversation is over and potters into the kitchen to cook up a feast. As a widower who found himself in charge of two tiny kids, he had to learn how to do everything his wife used to do very quickly.
I never met my nan—she died before I was born—and Grandad went to work on the oil rigs right after she passed. He didn’t realize how bad things were at home until he got a long-distance call from social services telling him Ruth and I had been taken into care.
I was four and still remember eating fish and chips from the paper in his living room the day he brought us home.
He went from barely being able to fry an egg to feeding a whole family. He made sure Ruth and I learned, too, and it’s one of the many things I’m grateful to him for. With a sigh, I push down my frustration and go to help the stubborn old fucker out.
After a mountain of bacon, eggs, black pudding, and toast, things feel better. So what if the Gilda have to take the old man to bingo? He’s as safe at the pub as he is in the house. I’ll make Brackis double the security, and it’ll be fine.
I promise Grandad I’ll call him as soon as I have news on Ruth and say my goodbyes. I’m twitchy and anxious to get back to Quinn. We spoke briefly when I woke up, and she looked bored. I need to get her training back on track.
I drive myself back to the Compound. My car is one of the few really expensive things I’ve bought since money stopped being an issue, and I drive it every excuse I get. It’s a classic 1960s Aston Martin in British Racing Green, with the insides all redone to modern high-performance standards. I wish I could take Quinn out for a drive in it.
Just as I hit the winding forest road that leads to the Compound, my phone rings. It’s an unfamiliar number, and I answer it warily. “Hello?”
“Jacob? It’s Hadrian.” He sounds as jumpy on the phone as he does in real life.
“Great. I’m just on my way back. Do you have news?”
A woman’s voice interrupts. “Is that Jacob? I want to talk to him!”
“Candice. No. Behave.”
The CI lets out a grouchy huff worthy of Quinn, and it sounds so human it sets my skin tingling. Hadrian sighs. “Sorry about that.”
“Uh. No problem.” I’m way out of my bloody depth here. “So. Any news?”
“Nothing too substantive, but I wanted to flag an oddity. We’ve been tracking all the posts made by your attacker’s bots, and we’d narrowed down the age to thirties or forties and the location to Britain.”
“Yep. I remember.” Get to the fucking point, I know all this. My fingers tighten on the steering wheel.
“I hadn’t thought to ask about sex until Candice pointed it out. Your assailant is most likely a female, based on the tone and word choice. Candice has the probability at eighty-five percent. I just thought it might help you narrow the field.”
“Yeah, that’s a big help. It really is. Shall I swing by later?”
“Yes!” Candice again.
“Shush. If you like, Jacob. I’ll call if I get any further with this.”
“Thanks, mate. See you then.”
A long pause. “Great. Goodbye.”
Doesn’t sound like he’s used to people calling him mate. I’m not sure he has any friends in the Compound. It’s a bit sad. I’ll have to get him over for a beer, away from bloody Candice.
A woman. That’s the absolute last thing I’d expected to hear. I’ve lived most of my life surrounded by blokes, first in the army and then in my academic life. There are women, of course, but few and far between. What have I done to piss one of them off this badly?
An ex-girlfriend? I don't have many of those, and I can't see any of them doing something like this. It's so far outside of likely that it's ridiculous.
The wife of a soldier who died on a mission I led? Again, possible but unlikely. Then again, there isn't anyone who fits the bill for likely.
I reach the gates, and a sullen young Gilda soldier checks the car in silence. I have a feeling I'm unpopular with them at the moment. First my run-in with Brackis, and now consigning some of them to babysitting an old man. Not exactly glamorous work.
I park my car in its special cage in the underground garage. Gabriel laughs at me for taking such obsessive care of my car, but he has no soul where vehicles are concerned. I practically had to bully him into upgrading from his shitbox Ford.
As I get closer to Quinn, my excitement creeps up. I'll torment her for a while and then, if she's good, maybe let her have a little fun too. After all, she wasn't wrong. I did lie to her. I didn’t want her to freak out about the tracker, but with hindsight, I did the wrong thing.
We need to talk about that, too. It won't happen again, and she needs to believe me. Later, though. She's been lazing about by herself for too long, and I need to remind her this isn't a bloody holiday camp.
I open the door carefully, wary of flying toasters, but nothing comes my way. Quinn is sprawled on my sofa like she owns the place, surrounded by a bunch of different takeaway containers. She looks up, pauses her show, and takes a bite of something dripping with chocolate. I watch in despair as a blob of it falls onto one of my cushions.
“Gabriel and Eve showed me how to use the intercom to order takeout. It’s so nineties, real menus and having to talk to an actual person. I thought this place would be more high-tech than that.”
She takes another bite of whatever the hell she’s eating. I shift a box containing a gourmet pizza with one slice taken out and sit down next to her.
“We’re an odd bunch here. Some of the older Brothers don’t like change, except where their own special area is concerned. Still using chalk boards to work out equations that could change the world. That sort of thing. You can order online too. I’ll add it to your phone if I think you can be trusted.”
I eye the mess pointedly, and she rolls her eyes. “Anyway, I thought I’d order one thing from every place. This bakery, though, oh my God. This is called a chocolate taco. Try some.”
She shoves the gooey mess at me, and I back away from it. “No thanks.”
“What, scared you’ll catch my germs?” She waves sticky fingers in my face.
Christ, I’m only just in the door. The fucking brat.
“You’re going to clean this place up right now. We live here. You don’t just trash it.”
She eyes me, and a dangerous smile touches her lips. “You really are OCD, aren’t you? Would you hate it if I did this?”
Before I can stop her, she upends all the chocolate mess onto the floor. “Whoops.”
I know she’s bored and trying to wind me up. By giving in to her childishness, I’ll only be giving her what she wants. I know it, but my blood still rages, and the knowledge doesn’t make a blind bit of difference.
Fuck it. This will be fun.
“You want to be a messy girl? Okay then.” She yelps as I grab her arms and force them behind her back. Holding her immobile is almost too easy. One hand on her wrists, a fraction of my weight pressing down on her body, and she’s trapped. I reach down, grab a handful of the chocolate mess and smash it into her face, rubbing it all over her skin.
She struggles and yells, but her eyes are bright even as I grab more and rub it down her neck and over the exposed part of her tits. She’s wearing a bright green crop top and a little white skirt. The bra underneath is hot pink. Tarty clothes, and now they’re stained with chocolate from her writhing.
An idea starts to form. My cock is rock-hard from watching her struggle, and I’m dying to fuck her, but I can wait a little bit longer to teach her a proper lesson.
“Messy girls get punished.”
I pick her up, and she kicks at me as I cart her into the bedroom. I grab a pair of cuffs from a drawer, dump her on the bed, and fasten her hands behind her back. Her top is askew, half her bra on display, and smears of chocolate cover her face. She glares at me.
“Have you ever had your arse cropped?”
Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “No. Please. I was just messing around. I was bored and—”
“And you wanted a reaction. You’re getting one.”
She manages to shuffle to the edge of the bed, gets her legs down, and takes off toward the door. Where the fuck does she think she’s going? I snatch her up with one arm and collect a crop from the rack with the other. I swoosh it through the air and smile at the noise. God, I love that sound.
I land her face down on the bed. “Run away one more time and see what happens.”
Her skirt has ridden up, showing a pink G-string underneath, matching the bra. Christ, I love her tight little arse. I raise the crop and bring it down in a hard smack.
“Fuck!” She jerks like I’ve hit her with a taser. I press a heavy hand into her back, holding her still, and slash down again. Red welts form where the crop lands, and it’s so fucking beautiful. I want to paint her whole body with it.
My fingers itch, my blood races, and I strike again. And again. I’m moving down her creamy skin, and when I hit the soft spot at the top of her thighs, the tone of her cries change. The anger is gone, and it’s more of a whimper.
Music to my ears.
Two more, and she’s mewling into the bed. I tap her sore ass with my hand. “Don’t move.”
She doesn’t, and I collect the two special items and the lube.
I slash down with the crop again, halfway down one thigh. She squeals, and I part her thighs. “Stay still now.”