CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
AINSLEY
F ucking flabbergasted.
That was a whole lot of buildup for a five-minute wipeout. Our jump in took longer. These guys don’t mess around. I grew up around formidable men, and, yes, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that they had five hundred ways to dispose of a body. But this stream-lined execution of a plan was something else.
And most importantly, they secured me a gift, like Wells tagged him.
Theo is fucking mine.
I’m downright giddy.
I’ve lived my entire adult life always waiting for the other shoe to drop. And now is no exception. That nagging in my gut, warning me that, somehow, this will all unravel until I end up back on that motherfucking altar of sacrifice while the metaphorical other shoe crashes onto the floor? Still there. Even with most of my hunters dead or captured, it’s hard to shake that anxiety of being the lamb again.
Maybe it’s paranoia brought on by years of torment. Or maybe it’s intuition. Hard to say.
But having these men on my side morphs that fear into something palatable. They’re better than the angel who stopped Abraham from butchering his son, Isaac. They take out anyone who even considers me a burnt offering.
I guess they had already proven that to me. But to bear witness to it is a whole new level of comfort. Yes, I just referred to a houseful of dead foot soldiers like it was chicken soup for my soul. What can I say?
You’re either the hunter or the hunted. The lion or the lamb.
Today, for at least this snippet of time, I get to be the damn lion.
I’m grateful for all the strength and endurance training I did the past several years because I climb down from my perch in the tree with ease, and Ty and I trek to the cabin. Liam already secured the outside and gave us the all clear.
“You good?” Ty asks.
He switches hats between gentle friend and ruthless warrior so effortlessly. Well, that’s probably not accurate. He makes it look effortless. But he’s got scars that mine recognize. He does a remarkable job of not allowing those demons to gain purchase though. It’s impressive.
“I’m good,” I promise before tacking on a nugget of truth. “Eager.”
“More than you were with the others?” he presses, and I know what he’s asking.
Why so eager to kill Theo? It was Nick who kept me under his thumb, used my body, and tormented me. It was my father who ripped me away from Gage— Josh —manipulated me, and killed George. And it was Tony who raped me and beat me until I was numb. Other than permitting it, which my own mother was guilty of in many regards, Theo didn’t do anything directly to me.
But that’s enough, isn’t it? Those who excused evil, permitted it, ignored it were no less monsters than those who hurt me with their own hands. I’ve known that for a long while, but survival mode didn’t afford me much time for convicting others of crimes.
“I wasn’t able to look them in the eyes,” I explain, referring to when I killed Nick and my father. “But tonight, I’ll look into Theo’s—and when the life drains out of them, I’ll see every person who dared to look the other way when I desperately needed to be seen.”
Those scars matching mine are big and bold as Ty tucks me under his arm and pecks my temple with no words, only a choppy breath.
And something inside me screams that I need to follow up that statement, right here in this quiet moment between us. “Ty,” I whisper, a lump forming in my throat as his gaze slides to mine, “you’ve always seen me. I’ve never thanked you for the way you took care of me when I first—”
“No need,” he interrupts, and we emerge out of the trees to dip into the front yard.
“That’s not true,” I insist as Liam motions for us to hurry up. “I didn’t realize it at the time, but your calm assurance, no matter how messed up and combative I was, saved me. It helped me trust, believe people could be good, and led me back to Gage. All of you have in different ways, but you were the first.”
“You always belonged with us,” he says right as Liam flutters his eyes in feigned annoyance and greets us with his smart-ass charm.
“Jesus Christ, I know we’re in the woods, but it’s not fucking Girl Scout sharing time. No one’s selling cookies. Get the fuck in here, you two.”
No matter the setting, he’s consistent.
“I expect a box of Thin Mints with my Modelo when we get home,” I quip, to which Liam smirks.
When we enter through the front door, there’s a grand foyer, showcasing one of those antler chandeliers, a curved staircase with hand-carved banisters, and a great room filled with several dead guys and crimson-stained wood floors.
And Theo. Disheveled and tied to a chair.
It’s a hunting cabin full of dreams.
I strut inside, rifle in hand, and plant my eyes on his rolling ones.
“I fucking knew it,” he hisses.
Gage lunges forward, snaps one of Theo’s fingers back until the cracks fill the cabin, and snarls in his ear, “That is your judge, jury, and executioner. You will treat her with goddamn respect.”
Theo bites back a groan, but it’s there. His winces of pain. His internal cries for mercy.
Hiding any reaction I have to that sight, I keep it all business. That’s what he did the night Tony raped me in front of him and Nick.
The only thing he said to me was, “Sorry, sweetheart. A deal’s a deal.”
Bastard.
“Thanks for the gift, guys.” I smile at Gage and Wells.
Gage dashes over to me and cups my chin, his entrancing ambers capering all over my face with so much adoration that it seeps into my bones. He seizes my mouth in a searing kiss, right here in the midst of carnage, and I clutch his jacket to tug him closer. It’s swift but all-consuming, like always, our tongues and spirits tangling with equal fervor. And maybe a massacre is the perfect setting for our love to be flaunted. Blood always seems to set us free.
God, I’m sick in the head.
He releases me with a quick nip to my lower lip. “You never have to thank me, Wicked. I’ll capture any motherfucker who’s ever even thought of harming you and deliver them all to your feet like palm branches. We can beat them, burn them, and dance on their ashes.”
At least, he’s sick in the head too.
I chuckle and brush my hand over his scruff. “Let’s put a pin in those plans for now and focus on this one. But in case I forget to tell you later, you’re far more than brilliant. You’re fucking invincible.” I peck his lips once more and relish the way he puffs up from my admiration. “Did you get the card?”
He digs into his pocket, holding up what we came for. It’s about the size of a credit card with a button and a small screen on it.
“It’s a onetime password generator. In order to gain access, you press this button, and a new password is given that only works for a short time,” he explains, but he grimaces and flips it over. “It has a two on it.”
That’s unfortunate. We hoped that if we secured this one, we could appease KORT with it while we searched for the other. We never divulged that there were two cards to find, so the glaring number two on the back kind of shoots that plan to shit.
“It’s probably two-step authorization,” Liam says before slipping into the office and returning with a laptop. He fires it up and thrusts the computer in front of Theo for a retina scan. “Give me the website.”
Theo grumbles, but he’s cooperative. “It’s in the media folder on the home screen.”
“You’re not all that deep, are ya?” Liam mocks. “A hide-in-plain-sight type. What’s the second part of the password, asshole?”
“Six, two, lowercase h , eight, three, dollar sign, five, capital T , seven, question mark, nine,” Theo drones, as though he’s bored.
There’s a reason he assumed the role of Don when his father passed. Yes, he was the oldest. But if either of the other two had been the oldest, his father still would have picked him. He’s smart. And right now, he knows his fate is sealed, so he’s not going to provoke them to torture him.
“I gotta say, I like you a hell of a lot more than your cocksucker brother,” Liam snarks, typing away.
“While we’re waiting for that, tell us where the other card is,” Wells demands.
“If I knew that, I wouldn’t need this …” He trails off, holding his tongue while leering at me.
“I’m gonna let that slide.” Gage tromps back over, fists Theo’s hair, and wrenches his neck into an unnatural position. “But next time you even think something disrespectful about my girl, I’m going to wedge my tomahawk all the way up your goddamn urethra.”
All righty then. That is not a visual I wanted.
Liam grabs the passcode generator and starts playing around, his fingers hammering the keys. “I’m in,” he announces. “It’s pretty straightforward as far as sending the blast to the news outlets.”
Ty peers over Liam’s shoulder, scrutinizing whatever is on the screen. “And how did you get into this racket?”
Theo huffs, but again, he answers, “Years ago, I had a buddy from college who ended up working for the parent company of three news outlets. I started feeding scripted stories to them and made more contacts, and it bloomed from there.”
Ty arches a brow, clearly not a fan. “Maybe broke an arm or two, sold a few ladies or something of the like to get to where you wanted to be.” When Theo doesn’t take the bait, Ty pushes further on the trafficking subject. “Got a brothel address for us?”
Gage swings his tomahawk in front of Theo like an ultimatum, and it works as well as truth serum.
“Anything the Morellis ran in that arena has been dismantled with their administration dead and the Feds up their asses,” he grits out. “The address is under M-holdings and is now vacant.”
“Yep,” Liam confirms after several punches on the keyboard. “It sure as fuck is. And”—he pauses like he hears a drumroll—“I’ve got the site for the contracts for our media venture. Tweedledum really has a knack for organizing clandestine affairs in his super-secret folders. Brave shit with Goldilocks lurking around. She could steal a glance from a blind guy.”
That makes Ty and I bust up laughing.
“That was just stupid,” I chime, entertained by how blasé they all are. I envisioned these sessions so much more violent. “Tell me this isn’t how all your interrogations go.”
“They’re not usually this docile,” Wells supplies before he directs an order at Ty. “Get this called into York. No plotting. He can have artistic freedom for this one. That should keep him from bitching about the number of bodies.”
I’m guessing York is a cleaner—a temperamental one, by the sounds of it. They informed me they had one on speed dial when I peppered them with a myriad of questions about how this would all go down. That’s yet one more thing that separates these guys from an old-school Mafia. This Thing of Ours is just that —ours. Ours to kill, ours to clean up. Not that I did either on their behalf. But dirty laundry and gore are kept in the family.
“And call for pickup when you’re done,” Wells tacks on as Ty steps into the threshold of the kitchen to make the phone call.
Our pickup will arrive in the form of a helicopter, since we dove out of our transport here. The same company they employed for that is picking us up. Apparently, they specialize in these types of high-discretion affairs.
I almost wish my father were still alive to see how Gage outplayed him.
More power. More connections.
More skill and money and prestige.
More life.
“Docile doesn’t mean shit to me, baby.” Gage gawks at me with the same sweetness that he extends when showering me with snacks. “If you want to rip out his nails or something, say the word.”
Who said chivalry is dead?
“I’m good on that front,” I assure him, realizing my original violent picture was probably right on the nose. “But if we have everything else we need, I’ll happily—”
“Not until we get some answers about the other card,” Wells cuts in. “He must know something.”
“I don’t know shit,” Theo contends, anger stiffening his frame. “Wish I fucking did. I’d have been long gone, but the son of a bitch took it and refused to tell me where it was. He insisted he was waiting for the perfect moment to impress Fulvio and wasn’t willing to risk it. I told him that if I died, he’d know where mine was because it was hooked around my goddamn neck. And all that motherfucker said, after he swindled it from Tony—all because that piece of shit—” He abandons that train of thought quickly while side-eyeing Gage’s tomahawk before finally darting his narrowed brown eyes between Wells and me. “All Nick would say is that if he died, his would be with the Grim Reaper.”
Holy. Fucking. Hell.
“That’s it,” he continues. “He deserved what he got. I should’ve killed him myself. I don’t have—”
Whiz.
One shot, landing exactly where I aimed. The silencer is unfortunate. I would have relished the cracking sound. But this is beautiful nonetheless. The bullet sinks into his throat, and I don’t pay any mind to the barking questions or the exasperations or the four sets of astonished eyes trained on me. Right now, it’s just me and Theo and every goddamn motherfucker who bound me to an altar.
“Sorry, sweetheart. A deal’s a deal,” I croon as a crimson fountain spurts out of his throat, and he gurgles and gasps for air, choking on his own blood, his shocked and pleading eyes still locked on mine.
Fuck, that’s satisfying.
“Ains? What the hell, baby? The fuck happened?” Gage’s gruff tenor smashes through my monumental victory.
“What?” I breathe.
“We were in the middle of interrogating him,” Wells states. His voice is stern and yet threaded with something else I can’t place because my eyes are still glued to the monster bleeding out across the room.
“You said I could kill him when I got the answers we needed,” I respond, finally peeling my gaze away to note their bafflement.
Liam’s lips twitch, and it’s then that I register how they’re all tamping down a bit of amusement, albeit blended with aggravation.
“Christ, I love this girl. In the fucking throat. Brutal,” Liam acclaims. “Did you snag us a location from his prattling, Goldilocks?”
“Grim Reaper.” I fling my attention to Gage—whose grin is both demented and proud—certain he’ll remember this about the asshole I was married to. “Nick was a brat—the worst kind of youngest-sibling scooch . Pest,” I amend for Liam’s sake before going on. “He loved manipulating people, one-upping someone. So, he would’ve taken great pride in giving Theo the answer in code, feeling like he’d outsmarted him.”
It’s clear they’re all waiting on bated breath. Maybe I hear a drumroll in my head, too, because I stall for a few beats, my own pride swelling. After years of abuse, years of lies, years of fighting for my life and the souls they stole from me, I’m the last one standing. And I bested them at that.
There is something so cathartic about where I’ll be tying it all up. The burnt offering has finally fucking risen to be the butcher.
Freed by the same hands that counted my fleeting breaths.
My heart thunders in my chest, declaring victory with its violent chant. “I need to stop by the Morelli mansion. Nick hid the card in my father’s clock.”