Chapter 20 Wesley #2
“You deserve to fucking rot in hell,” I spat. “You deserve everything that’s coming to you for what you did to Ronan, his family, every single person you’ve ever hurt.”
He didn’t bother pretending to be offended, laughing brightly. He leaned down close enough that his cologne hit me—the expensive kind that smelled like money and old roses—and watched me with a manic spark in his eye.
“You’re very dramatic, Wesley.” He drew the word out, as if he were savoring the sound. “I like it. Makes everything more interesting. But… I think there’s something I should clear up.” His smile grew.
“What?” I forced the word between my teeth. My mouth was dry; my head thudded. The ropes bit into my wrists when I shifted. “What do you need to clear up?”
He crouched to my eye level, the smile never leaving his face. “I didn’t kill his family.”
The room that had been full of air thinned. My brain misfired—misheard. “You—what? Do you think I’m an idiot?”
“No, no.” He shook his head like a man correcting a misremembered anecdote. “But I don’t think my dear Ro’s been completely… forthcoming with you.”
I swallowed the hot, sour bile in my throat. “Bullshit.”
Elias’s smile became predatory, stretching all too wide across his face. “Oh, I did kill the children,” he said casually, like he was telling me the color of the curtains. “But the parents, no.”
“Sure, they just shot themselves then? Is that what you want me to believe?”
“Can’t you see where I’m going with this?” Elias rose an eyebrow. When I didn’t respond, he rolled his eyes. “I’ll spell it out for you. Ronan killed them. Shot them both dead.” He brought his hand up in a gun-like gesture. He mouthed “bang, bang” as he mimicked firing.
“No. You’re lying.”
“Am I?” Elias asked, eyes glittering. He moved a foot closer, until his face was only inches from mine. “People do… reckless things when they’re terrified.”
My hands curled into fists against the ropes. The men with him stood on either side of the stairs, looking bored.
“What did you make him do?” I asked through gritted teeth.
Elias’s smile dropped a hair, his eyes dimming as if he were relieving the memory.
“What. Did. You. Make. Him. Fucking. Do?!”
His eyes flickered back to the present. “I didn’t make him do anything. He had a choice.” Elias’s voice was almost reverent when he said it. Like he was talking about a holy moment. “He had a choice, Wesley. The kind of choice that defines a person forever. He just chose to survive.”
“Shut up,” I hissed, but it came out weaker than I wanted. The words scraped my throat raw.
Elias tilted his head, amused by my reaction.
“Oh, you don’t want to hear it? That’s sweet.
Protective, even. But you need to understand who you’re dealing with.
” His eyes flicked upward, to the ceiling above us.
“It was right up there, in the living room. He was crying, shaking, but he did it anyway.”
“You’re lying,” I bit out again. “You fucking sadistic bastard!”
“I was there,” Elias said simply, his voice like velvet over broken glass. “I stood right beside him. I told him to stop if he wanted. He didn’t.”
My stomach twisted. I didn’t want to believe him—wouldn’t—but there was something in his tone, that steady confidence of a man who never bluffed unless he could back it up, that made my blood run cold.
“I gave him an opportunity. If he were to kill his parents, he and his siblings would be spared. That was his first major lesson under my tutelage. Never trust anyone. Promises mean nothing in the real world.”
“What the fuck,” I rasped. My pulse thundered behind my eyes. “What the fuck?! He was fucking nine.”
“Yes, he was pretty young,” Elias laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “God. Do you have any idea what it’s like, watching a boy realize what he’s capable of for the first time? The look on his face when he pulled that trigger?” He smiled faintly, almost fondly. “It was beautiful.”
I yanked at the restraints until the chair creaked under my weight, a wild heat clawing through my chest. “You twisted fuck! I’ll kill you!”
“I think,” Elias said, leaning in to whisper in my ear, “that I showed him the truth. That love is meaningless without suffering. That death isn’t tragedy—it’s liberation. He learned that here. In this house.”
I jerked, my teeth bared, but I couldn’t move fast enough to land a bite.
“I’ll kill you,” I seethed.
And I would, if I survived this.
What I needed was to get untied, but the rope bit into my wrists every time I checked the knot. My mind ran through the toolbox of things I knew to do in a bad situation: wiggle, shimmy, work the knot, use friction, wait for an opening.
Elias chuckled, “It would be fun to see you try.”
I glared at him. None of the rope tricks were going to work. I realized with a cold, bright clarity that there was one brutal option left if I wanted to try to get my hands free on my own terms: something irreversible, painful, and probably stupid.
I flexed my fingers and looked down the length of my right arm. I measured time in breaths. My head throbbed and my vision narrowed—the world compressing into the rope at my wrists.
“Don’t,” one of the men said softly, surprising me.
Elias looked over his shoulder at the man. “Don’t what, Ripley?”
The man nodded toward me but remained silent.
Elias looked back at me, his brows knitted together in irritated confusion.
I stopped thinking and moved.
Muscles in my shoulders and back burned as I pulled, twisted, then slammed my over-extended wrist hard against the back of the chair—once, then again, the way you smash a hinge until it gives.
The pain exploded like glass. It was white and hot and all-consuming, then a lower, duller throb that buried itself behind the first flare. The taste of iron filled my mouth. I bit down until my jaw ached.
Something inside my wrist cracked and rearranged itself with a sound that was smaller than I expected and too big to ignore.
I closed my eyes and breathed through it, breathed through the heat.
The ropes tightened as I moved; the knot bit like a pitiless animal.
I shoved my hand, shoulder-first, through that loop—slow, clumsy, jaw-closing on the scream that wanted out.
It came free.
The motion felt unreal, like watching someone else. My fingertips, numb and slick with sweat and warm blood, found air. The sudden relief was its own kind of agony. My right hand hung, useless for a moment, then I willed it to work—fingers groping under the knot, searching for the weak spot.
Elias leaned forward. “Did you just break your wrist?”
I ignored him, focusing on the rope.
“I think he did, sir,” one of the men said, a tinge of apprehension in his voice.
“Damn,” Elias murmured.
Finally, I was able to slip free of the rope, but before I had the chance to try anything, the sound of footsteps on the stairs made me freeze.
When Ro appeared at the top of the stairwell, the light behind him made him look celestial, like an angel descending into hell to save a lost soul.
He didn’t look at me—his eyes were locked on Elias with a focus that bordered on inhuman.
“Ro,” Elias greeted, his voice smooth as ever. “I was wondering when you’d join us. You’re late.”
Ro didn’t answer. He descended the stairs with a calm that set my nerves on edge, one slow step after another. His clothes were dark, simple, his expression blank.
This was a version of Ro I hadn’t met yet.
And as much as I would like to say that my faith for him stood strong, I couldn’t help but falter at this stranger. Why wasn’t he looking at me?
“Elias,” he said finally, his voice steady but quiet.
“Ronan,” Elias purred. “It’s time for you to complete your assignment, sweetheart.”
My mouth went dry. Assignment. I wanted to say his name, to reach him somehow, but Ro still wouldn’t look at me. He even held himself differently.
“Here?” Ro’s voice was low, controlled.
“Obviously.”
Ro’s jaw flexed.
“It’s time to put an end to this. Where is your loyalty, my boy?” Elias continued, taking a slow step toward him. “To me? To him?” He flicked his gaze toward me, his smile turning cruel. “Or are you trying to have it both ways again?”
Ro’s hand went to his jacket pocket.
“Ronan,” Elias said softly. “You’re not—”
The click of a gun’s safety being released cut through the room.
Elias’s men reacted instantly—two guns lifting toward Ro—but before they could fire, Ro’s shot cracked through the air. The sound was deafening in the small basement. Elias stumbled, blood blooming bright against his shirt.
“Don’t shoot!” Elias gasped, but it was too late—one of the guards had already fired.
And my world splintered into chaos.
Ro jerked back as the bullet hit, his body twisting with the impact. His gun clattered across the floor. I shouted his name, the sound ripped out of me raw. Elias collapsed to one knee, clutching his side, eyes blazing.
“You idiots!” he screamed at his men.
Ro fell to the concrete, one hand clutching his upper chest where the blood spread fast. He was still breathing, still moving, but barely.
I didn’t think—I just moved. My good hand worked the ankle knots loose, my head filled with static, and I surged forward, nearly falling out of the chair. The guard turned, but I was faster, grabbing for his gun. The next few seconds blurred—another gunshot, a struggle, someone screaming.
When the ringing in my ears faded enough, all I could hear was Ro’s labored breathing.
“Hey,” I said, crawling toward him, my wrist throbbing like hell. “Hey, Ro—stay with me, you hear me? Baby, please.”
He blinked up at me, eyes glassy but alive.
“Wes…”
“Yeah, I’m here,” I said, voice breaking. “I’m right here, doll.” I pressed my hand to the wound, making him weakly hiss. “I’ve got you. Just stay with me.”
Somewhere behind us, Elias laughed weakly, the sound jagged and breathless, before rasping out, “Stay alive, Ro. Stay… alive…”