25. Claire
Chapter twenty-five
Claire
I left the house when it was still dark out and was on the plane before the sun even rose. I left a note for Rhea on my bed, figuring I had hours until she woke and read it. And when she reads it, I’m hoping she doesn’t do anything rash.
Moose leaving so abruptly is the best thing that could have happened to me, given that I finally have an address from my mystery benefactor. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about him… or I guess, more appropriately, his sister.
I sent him a text before I turned my phone off, just asking him to let me know if everything is okay once he gets there. I’ll likely never even get an answer since I intentionally left that phone stashed in the seatback pocket of my first flight. I have the burner from Dimitri, which he gave me so that I wouldn’t be tracked, but I’m not putting it past him to have some sort of tag on that one, too. I also don’t trust myself to turn it on without calling Rhea to assure her I’m fine. Her number is the only one I have memorized; I could call her right now and make sure she isn’t pulling her hair out. I’m sure she’s already called four or five times—at least once for every hour she’s been awake.
But I have to do this for myself. I can’t move on when I’m still stuck in the past, even just a little. It’s why I’ve been hunting Wes down—or rather, why I’ve been paying someone to hunt Wes down for me.
After he disappeared from the veterinarian’s office in Costa Rica, where I literally saved his fucking life, he stayed missing. Part of me hoped he was dead in an alley somewhere, but a greater part of me hoped he made it. It’s a selfish part of me, really, because that hope has nothing to do with him and everything to do with me. I want him alive because if he is, he can help me trap his father.
I considered, early on, just going straight for the head of the beast. I looked up pictures of what he looked like—his face is all over the internet as a benevolent donor, a wealthy investor, a ‘brilliant entrepreneur working to make the world a better place’, one large donation at a time. The more praise I saw for the man, the more my bloodlust for him grew. But I’m not trying to go on a suicide mission.
Even if I don’t know what I’m living for, I want to live.
And more importantly than that, I don’t want to fail at taking him down.
If I fail at killing Alexandre Davos, I will fail every one of his victims. I don’t know how many there are, I just know that Remy made it sound like there were a lot. Just like I couldn’t kill Giante just for myself, I can’t go after Davos just for my own revenge. But I can go after him for what he did to Remy, to Rhea in an off-handed way, to their mother, to Monica and who knows how many others. And I can go after him even for what he did to Wes.
Monsters aren’t born; they’re made. And it seems Davos finds as much pleasure in making monsters as he does in destroying innocence.
I’m taking a gamble here that Wes will actually help me. Aside from the fact he didn’t seem to have much love lost for his father, he does owe me. I’m just not sure he’ll see it that way.
I’m about to find out, though. I glance ahead to the driver’s GPS, which shows that the destination is just ahead on the right. I think she’s been trying to talk to me, making idle conversation the whole way from the mall she picked me up at. I suppose it may have seemed a bit strange, picking up a woman alone outside the sporting goods store in the afternoon with no bags. It’s probably even stranger that I haven’t really talked to her, and that I used the cashier’s phone to order this car, but she seems undeterred by my silence. I’m not trying to be a bitch, I just don’t have the mental capacity to stay focused on what I’m about to do and make small talk with her.
When she pulls up to the big brick house, I’m not surprised that it’s a miniature mansion. Of course, even on the run, Wes has to hide in style. I wonder if this house belongs to him or his father, or if he’s just renting it from a friend… or if he broke in, killed the homeowners, and has taken the place for himself.
It seems unassuming, honestly. Nothing about it looks like it’s owned by a criminal mastermind… there’s an American flag mounted by the white garage door, and flowers planted around a mailbox. When I thank the driver and walk to the front door, there’s even a floral welcome mat on the doorstep.
The doorbell camera blinks at me, and I get the ‘something is wrong’ feeling in the pit of my stomach. It’s so much easier to feel in control when I have people behind me who won’t let me fail.
But I’ve come this far.
Besides, I’m not fucking scared of Wes.
The blade I bought at the mall is tucked against my hip, a little extra peace of mind. I might have bought a gun if they sold them, though I don’t know how to actually use one. They seem better for making people compliant, but I’m comfortable with the knife.
And I am going to make him compliant, one way or another.
I’ve just rung the doorbell when one of the big black doors opens, and a man stands there in a navy suit, his eyes running quickly over me. He’s an unassuming man, neither attractive or unattractive, and he doesn’t let any emotion show on his face, whether he’s surprised to see a strange girl on the doorstep or not. He’s just… there.
“Hello,” he says, his eyes studying my face.
I hesitate, wondering if maybe I entered the address wrong. “I’m looking for Wes.” I say, realizing that I don’t know if he has the same last name as his father. Everybody calls Alexandre Davos by his surname, to the point I nearly forgot Davos wasn’t his proper name.
“Yes, yes,” the man says, looking mildly annoyed now. So, he does have emotions. “Come inside. He’s down in the basement.”
“The basement?” I nearly laugh, taking a small step backwards. “Who are you? His butler?”
The man looks at me with irritation written over every inch of his face—he’s middle-aged, probably closer to his fifties than not and with black hair that’s obviously been dyed to hold onto an illusion of youth. He looks like he wants to be somebody important, not like the kind of man who would be comfortable with a life of servitude. And he sets alarm bells off in every part of me, so I take another step back, my heel catching on the first of three stone steps that led to his porch.
I want to call the car back and abandon this plan, but I don’t have the app on the phone in my pocket, which is currently a useless brick since I neglected to turn it back on. So, I reach for the other pocket, letting my fingers smooth over the blade there. I can wrap them around it in an instant and draw it against him if I have to… and I might have to.
The man takes another step forward, raising his hands. “He’s been staying in the basement… he’s in hiding, after all.”
I glance out of the corner of my eyes, trying to gauge the distance to a neighbor’s house. They’re close enough that I can see them, but also far enough apart that all I can see of them is the shapes.
“Right…” I say. “Why don’t you send him up here so we can talk?”
The man laughs, coming closer still as I take the last step down to the driveway.
That’s when the doorbell chimes.
The voice that comes over the intercom is decidedly feminine, and also full of confusion. “Honey?” She asks, causing the man’s entire body to still. He tilts his head just an inch, refusing to take his eyes off me. He also doesn’t say anything, his jaw clamped shut so tightly that I can see the muscle twitch. “Hello? Honey, are you out there? The doorbell detected motion.”
The man lifts a finger to his lips, and his eyes are full of warning as he cautions me to stay silent. Based on the all-American home and the woman calling him honey, I’m assuming it’s his wife. And based on the fact that he immediately tried to lure me to his basement, I’m guessing Wes isn’t really here and someone set me up.
“Honey? Are you okay?”
My eyes cut back to the doorbell camera. We have one of those on our apartment, and I know well enough that it can’t see us from this position. It’s why the stranger is trying to make me stay silent. Whoever is watching him on the doorbell, he doesn’t want them to know he’s here… or that I’m here.
My options are so limited that I’m not sure any decision is a good one, but I have to do something. I don’t know what this man’s play is, but I’ll put him in check however I have to.
He doesn’t expect me to run at him, and that gives me the advantage I need to sprint past him and up the steps before he can get his hands out to grab me.
“Help!” I yell, dashing to the doorbell camera and beating it with my fist to try and raise some alarm for the woman watching, wherever she is. “Call the police!”
I’ve just closed my fingers around the blade in my pocket when the man’s weight slams into me, knocking me against the wall and pinning my arm to my side as he grinds my face into the brick.
Something wet trickles down my lip as pain explodes across my face. The crunch tells me I may have just broken my nose.
“Stupid bitch.”
The growl in my ear is almost an echo of my own thoughts. This was a stupid decision, trusting a stranger to help me find the man I’m looking for. It was a desperate decision, but that’s exactly what I’ve been these last few months… desperate .
I’m struggling to breathe, my chest being squeezed too tight and my bloody nose not letting air pass, but I’ve still got the knife in my hand, waiting to get the leverage to use it.
“Daddy?”
The small voice that speaks is so shocking, I don’t even take advantage when the man freezes, his body going slack against mine.
“Hey, pumpkin.” He says, his voice syrupy sweet and betraying nothing of the venom with which he just called me a stupid bitch.
The voice is obviously coming from the camera—I wonder how much she can see right now. He’s pushing me further into the corner, trying to get me out of view, and it gives me the leverage to use my arm, just enough to slip the knife out of my pocket. A heavy hand on the back of my neck keeps me from moving, but he’s trying to make me eat the brick wall, grinding my face against it in an effort to keep me silent.
“Where’s your mommy, baby?”
“She’s in the kitchen. Want me to take the phone to her?”
“No!” The man blurts out. “Don’t go to mommy. I have to go to work right now, so I can’t talk, but I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Okay,” the girl agrees.
“Go back to watching your videos, okay pumpkin?”
“Okay, daddy!” she says excitedly.
“I love you, pumpkin!”
“I love you, too, daddy!” There’s a moment as I get a small amount of leverage and draw air into my lungs to cry for help, but then he grips the back of my head and presses me harder into the wall, the rough brick scraping at my skin. “So, anyways, bye!” His daughter rushes out.
It takes a minute for the man to relax, but then he seems assured that his daughter has quit watching, because he yanks me toward him by my hair. “You like to do things the hard way, don’t you, Claire?” He growls, wrapping an arm around my neck and one under my ribs, lifting me off the ground .
I seize my chance, stabbing him in the arm. I’m not going for depth right now, so as he howls in pain, I pull the blade out and stab him again, higher this time as his grip on me falters. He cries out again, a pathetic bleating sound like a sheep, but it rolls into a growl as he says “You definitely like things the hard way.” He’s just got me by the arm around my neck, now, constricting my air even more as he squeezes like a python trying to crush its prey.
And there is no mistake that I am the prey. Whatever this man wants with me, it’s not good. He confirms as much when he hoists me over the threshold and slams his door shut with a fancy shoe. I’ve pulled the blade out, ready to stab him a third time—I’ll stab him as many times as I have to—but I can’t find purchase, so I wave it around blindly, hoping to catch him beneath it.
I’ve got no leverage, my feet still dangling above the ground as he moves with me ahead of him toward a set of white double doors. I don’t want to know what’s waiting on the other side of them, and my chances at escape are diminishing rapidly. I fight him every step he takes, trying to wriggle out of his grasp so I don’t end up trapped on the other side of his door.
But instead of opening them up, he throws me against one, letting me take in deep, greedy breaths of air through my mouth as he pins me there with his own weight. “You’re really pretty with all that blood.” He pants, seizing both wrists at the same time.
My free hand, he immobilizes above me as he twists my other arm so sharply that I cry out in pain. “Drop the knife, baby. You can’t really think you stand a chance against me.”
I have no idea who this man is or who he thinks he is, but I stood a chance against Wes, even before Remy saved me. I sure as hell stand a chance against this guy, and I’m not willing to believe otherwise. I hold it tighter, refusing to open my fingers.
The blood that covers us could be mine, or his, or both. It coats the hand that I can see about to rip my shoulder out of the socket, but I can’t look at my arm twisting back at an angle it definitely isn’t supposed to be capable of without feeling sick .
“Lucky for you, I like doing things the hard way.” He laughs, letting go of me so suddenly that the tears in my eyes turn from pain to relief.
It doesn’t last as he smirks at me, and then he balls his hand into a fist and sinks it right into my stomach.
The force knocks the air from my lungs, and I gasp in agony as I fold into myself… into him. The knife falls from my hand, clattering on the marble floor, as he pulls me against him, hoisting me over his shoulder.
Everything went black for a moment, though I didn’t pass out. I can still hear him, still feel the pain, still think… I just can’t see.
When my vision returns, I realize maybe I just squeezed my eyes shut too tight. Whatever happened, I see the receding form of the upstairs as he jostles me down the steps.
At the bottom, he reaches for something hanging from the ceiling. I assume it’s the light switch, until I feel the chain slip around my neck.
Panic consumes me as he throws me off of him and I imagine being hoisted up until my neck breaks. But he doesn’t mean to hang me… at least, not yet. I know, because the slip around my neck doesn’t pull taut when I land in a heap on the cold basement floor. He’s already looping a smaller one around my wrists, taking advantage of my panic at choking to bind them together over my head.
The force pulls my shoulders up until it feels like they’ll be ripped from the socket, and I cry out in pain as it tugs me backward.
I can see the outline of him because of the minimal light left from the open door above us, and I know he’s watching me as I get to my knees, trying to find the energy to stand.
“I like that you prefer things the hard way.” He laughs, though I can’t make out his face through the dark. “Just like your mother.”