6. Lose My Shit in a Murderous Way
LOSE MY SHIT IN A MURDEROUS WAY
September
My phone dings with the email I’ve been waiting for about my angel.
I begin unwrapping the tape from my hands and thank Lachlan for the sparring match. The castle has a room in the dungeon dedicated to fighting. I planned to beat the punching bag, but found Lachlan down here and decided to practice with him instead.
This weekend, we’re taking part in a fight at a club about an hour from here.
No one knows who we truly are at these illegal events.
We wear masks and use different names. He goes by The Reaper—believing he causes death to others.
I go by The Punisher, not only delivering it with each fight, but for the constant punishment I endure from the rage that burns inside me.
Without fighting, Lachlan and I would go mad.
It’s also an easy way for me to make a shitload of money.
The events are exclusive to posh fucks who love to bet on fights.
I intend to make even more money through the asset management firm Lachlan and I are starting.
I won’t have the capital I did when the trust fund was mine, but I have enough to come in as a minority partner.
I’ll sit on the board and serve as CEO. And because I enjoy it—because I’m good at it—I’ll also oversee the technical and surveillance operations for Dunhill Castle and the surrounding village.
In a year or two, I’ll be a top investor and hold equal equity with Lachlan at our start-up, and in others, if everything goes as planned.
I manage to peel the last bit of tape from my fingers and trash it before grabbing my phone from the bench and sitting to read the text.
William, the man I hired to watch Fable in my absence, sends me regular updates on her.
As soon as I was healed enough to put my plan into action to help her, I hired him.
He’s known in that area as a guy who can make things happen.
He’s also a solicitor, which is what I needed to devise a way to give a substantial amount of money to Fable.
William created a backstory and an Ltd. so our plan was legal. Shortly after Lachlan rescued me, he left a letter in Fable’s mailbox, informing her mum, Lola, that she was the latest winner from Robin Hood, a wealthy entrepreneur who donates money to the less fortunate.
Lola never activated the account to get the donation. A couple of weeks passed, and I had William send another letter. Nothing. Two more weeks and another letter. Still nothing. Either Lola keeps throwing them away, mistaking it for junk mail, or she thinks the donation isn’t authentic.
I instructed William to hand-deliver the fourth letter and explain the situation, assuring her this is legitimate.
It’s risky with how my father’s security surveils the property, but I’m out of ideas.
With William’s solicitor’s credentials, Lola will have to believe it’s authentic and take the donation.
Hopefully, this update is good news.
If it isn’t, I’m willing to FaceTime Fable to let her know the money is from me so she can convince her mum to accept. I hoped to avoid contact, not wanting my father to know I’m alive. Yet.
A few weeks after Lachlan rescued me, my dad declared me missing.
Without a body, he can’t declare me dead.
I like how the uncertainty of whether I survived or not after I escaped is, no doubt, haunting him in the worst way.
I want to take him by surprise when I announce I not only lived to tell the tale of his brutal attack but suffered no permanent damage.
I can’t do that until I’m able to protect my sister, Fable, and her mum, and anyone else close to me from his retribution.
He has a wealth of powerful friends at his disposal.
I need more time and resources than Lachlan and I have right now before he can know anything.
The email from William says that Fable and Lola are gone, and he’ll call when he’s off the property.
Gone? What the bloody hell does that mean?
I shoot up from the bench and call William, my pulse thumping.
It goes to voicemail.
I call again.
Voicemail.
I call again.
Voicemail.
My phone rings. I answer at once.
“Sorry,” William says, “I had to make sure I wasn’t being followed.”
“What do you mean, Fable and Lola are gone?”
“The apartment door was wide open, and the place is empty.”
“For how long?” He’s supposed to be watching them weekly. “When was the last time you saw them?”
“I checked in with Archie”—the only maintenance worker at the manor whom he trusts— “just over a week ago. Nothing about their situation had changed. I left him a message and should hear back from him soon.”
Panic brews inside me, mixing with the rage I struggle to keep caged.
I’ve mastered the art of locking that demon away, but right now my control is being tested—hard.
I hate that William can’t go directly to Archie without raising suspicion at the manor.
Going to Fable’s apartment was bad enough. I have no choice but to wait.
“Call me as soon as you hear from him.”
“Will do.”
If anything happened to them because of me, I’ll lose my shit in a murderous way. Anger burns through my veins as I stride to the punching bag and pound on it until my knuckles bleed.
My ribs ache like I re-fractured them. I haven’t felt pain like this in weeks.
Forcing myself to stop my assault on the bag, I step back and work to catch my breath.
No tape to remove from my hands this time, but plenty of blood to wash off.
I wipe my face and hands with the small towel and sling it over my shoulders as I climb the stairs to my bedroom on the third floor.
After a shower, I distract myself by opening my laptop and searching for anything about Fable.
It’s useless. No social media accounts come up for either of them, and I can’t remember the name of the one Fable mentioned when she was healing me.
An agonizing hour later, my phone shatters the silence with its ring.
It’s William.
I answer, “Tell me.”
“You’re not going to like this.”
“Fuck.”
“Your father offered a five-hundred-grand reward to the staff for anyone who could tell him who helped his son. He claims he heard you were injured on the property and someone stepped in. The money is his way of showing his gratitude.”
“Lying bastard.”
“Fable came forward and offered you up on a silver platter for the reward. Rumor among the staff is Fable wanted the money so her mum could stop working, and they could move even further away to a place where her abusive father could never hurt her or her mother again. Upon hearing this, your father took pity on them and offered to hide them in a secure location as a bonus.”
“My dad’s not the generous type. If he rewarded them, it’s because he got something he thought was worth the trade. Still…” I shake my head. “It’s hard to believe that sweet girl would betray me—least of all for money from my father.”
“Your dad can be a charmer if it serves his purpose.”
“He can. And the part about her dad being abusive is true. How else would he know that if she didn’t confess? It’s just hard to accept. I didn’t get the impression Fable was naive.”
Most people who endure the kind of trauma she did aren’t so trusting.
They survive by being careful. She only confessed to me because I was beaten and left for dead.
She saw a person she could relate to, and maybe she needed to share what happened with someone other than her mom.
Maybe she’d never been able to. Fuck. Why did she have to betray me to the man I hate most in the world—a man who was abusive to me and my sister in ways Fable could never understand?
“With all due respect, Wes, you didn’t know her. Not really. She helped you when you were in a bad state and unable to think clearly.”
“True.” I mash my lips together and puff hot air through my nose. “I wish I knew exactly what she told my dad.”
“Enough for him to know you got out.”
Every muscle in my body hardens. The text! Instead of deleting the message I had her send Lachlan, she must have kept it and showed him. As cryptic as it was, my dad knows I sent for help and got it.
Goddamnit.
“What about Fable’s dad?” William asks. “Do you still want him to get paid?”
Meaning, have him killed. William has a contact in America who collected information on him and summarized a report for me.
Kip James Farrington is the second son of James Farrington, the owner and ancestor of the renowned shoe brand.
He was a reckless teen who partied and enjoyed the finer things he got from being born to a family of great wealth.
He continued this behavior into his twenties, was arrested for intoxication and drugs on several occasions, but was released with no jail time due to family friends in high places.
He started an affair with Lola Navarro, his parents’ housekeeper, and, against their wishes, married her when she became pregnant.
As a result, he was disinherited but able to keep what he had left in his dwindling trust fund and given ownership of one of the family’s vacant estates on Martha’s Vineyard.
For a few years, he tried to make a living for himself through his elite network of friends.
He even lavished gifts upon his wife and daughter.
That all changed when Fable was three years old.
Kip started getting arrested again for intoxication, possession of cocaine, and assault at clubs.
He was in cities more than he was home, and Lola went back to work as a housekeeper to affluent families on the island to support herself and her daughter.
No abuse was ever reported, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.
His assault record shows he can be confrontational and violent.
His family refused to acknowledge Fable as their own due to her lower status and mixed ethnicity—the half-Spanish granddaughter of a housekeeper who was raised in foster care.
When I read the part about Fable’s ethnicity making her an unworthy grandchild, I almost got on a plane and killed her grandparents myself. The plan had been for Kip to be captured and held for me until I could get to the US and finish him off. He got arrested again and wasn’t bailed out this time.
“When does he get released?” I ask. It wasn’t documented in the report.
“A year.”
Anyone who physically abuses women and children should always be taught a lesson. Even if that lesson is death. “We’ll revisit the topic in a year once he’s out.”
“Anything else?”
“See if you can locate where my dad hid Fable and Lola.”
He has many properties throughout Europe but only one in America.
A home in Martha’s Vineyard, of all places.
I never minded visiting it. My parents didn’t host their special parties at the house there.
They went to several though. Unfortunately, in the world of rich-as-fuck aristocrats any sick fantasy can be indulged for the right price.
“Will do.”
Ending the call, I walk to the window overlooking the front of the castle and the two gardens that flank the tree-lined driveway.
Everything is a blur as rain pounds the glass, driven by a storm off the coast. Being perched on a cliff means shite weather more often than not.
The downpour mirrors my feelings. Part of me still can’t believe Fable offered me up for a reward.
Maybe William is right, and I remember her differently because I want her to be the angel who saved me.
If I didn’t have my own mess to sort, I’d search for Fable and Lola myself.
I’ll have to trust William for now.