17. Nyx
Chapter 17
Nyx
No matter how many shots you throw, how many hooks you slip, life will always land a calculated jab to the chin the moment you lower your guard.
The world goes white.
Gravity yanks you to the ground.
And there’s nothing you can do but lie there reeling as the ref slaps the canvas.
Donny’s body is sprawled on the concrete floor a few feet away. The heap of guts spilling out of him in thick coils seem too much to ever fit back inside. They look wet and slimy, like they haven’t even dried out yet.
Is his body still warm?
Someone steps forward into the pool of light. He should look ridiculous in his transparent plastic coveralls, but it only highlights how large the man’s body is. The plastic under his soles sticks to Donny’s congealing blood as he walks right through the puddle. It pisses me off when I realize he could have avoided it with just one step to the left. That he chose to walk through it.
When my gaze finally works its way to the man’s face and I catch sight of the cruel curve of his mouth, my stomach bottoms out.
He wears his dark hair longer now, carefully tousled like he spent a while in the mirror laying it out just-so. His face is slimmer, faint crow’s feet at the corner of his intelligent brown eyes. But I recognize him instantly.
Sullivan O’Brien.
Chief of the Irish mob.
He steps closer, stamping another set of footprints on the floor in Donny’s blood.
“Good evening, Mrs. Domingo.” His voice, more than his words, sends a hard jolt through me. It’s darker, more refined than I remember, like the suit and tie visible beneath the plastic coveralls. He looks like a guy killing it in finance. Literally, with the blood splattered all over his arms, legs, and torso.
I’m too dumbstruck to get a word out, even though I’d prepared for this.
Okay. Donny’s guts piled out on the floor of a warehouse wasn’t anywhere near what I was expecting. But the end of this grisly rainbow always had to end with a pot of tainted gold.
O’Brien smirks at me like he’s psychic before stripping out of his plastic overall. I was right about the suit. It’s fuck-off expensive, the kind of threads Vito wears just because he can.
It looks a million times better on him than it ever could on Savage’s cousin.
“I delivered my end,” Patrick says. “I need your word you won’t be contacting me or my son again. We’re out.”
“You really thought it would be this easy?”
My heart gives a painful thump in my chest at his unspoken threat. I know his words are meant for both of us.
“We had a deal!” Patrick roars.
I can’t look away from Sullivan and his eerie smile, but I have excellent peripheral vision. Patrick appears for one brief second, surging forward as if he’s intent on doing bodily harm to O’Brien…which I’m sure he might have done, if he’d gotten close. But Sullivan’s uniformed soldiers stop him before he even reaches Donny’s puddle of blood.
I watch, stock still and silent as I try to get a grip on my reeling thoughts.
Sullivan must have been pissed off when I didn’t kill Bryan. Maybe he even thought I’d become a turncoat, shacking up with the cartel. He must have taken my sisters as punishment when he couldn’t lay his hands on me.
Liam said the mob had been looking for me. But I’d been a moving target—either holed up in Savage’s villa, or trying to escape said Domingo. Did the Brennan’s have an arrangement with O’Brien? Maybe they’d be rewarded if one of them turned me in.
But the only Brennan who knew I’d be at The Foundry tonight, was Liam. Maybe he was lying about not being able to reach his father. All it would have taken was a single phone call to Patrick once I’d left his apartment.
It would explain why Patrick was here in the first place.
Was that what all of this was about? Patrick struck a deal—the Gray’s lives for the Brennan’s? A cold shock goes through me as the pieces slot into place.
Fuck. I can’t even blame Patrick. If the roles had been reversed, I’d have done the same.
Family comes first.
Patrick is still struggling when I make eye contact with him.
“You betrayed us,” I murmur.
Patrick looks away, jaw clenching.
“You know, what? I’ve had a change of heart.” Sullivan holds his arms out wide like a benevolent leader. “Congratulations, Pat. After all these years of begging and pleading, I’m letting you out of the mob.”
Patrick’s shoulders rise and fall as he takes in one big breath after the other, like he’s preparing himself.
“Your son, however…”
“No.” Patrick’s voice belongs to a broken man. “Mr. O’Brien, please. Please .”
“I never said anything about letting Liam go.”
Patrick sags as if his legs have given in, but he doesn’t show relief or happiness. Brennan obviously figured out what was coming before I did, because the only thing on his face when he forces himself to stand again, tall and proud, is resignation.
Sullivan had the gun concealed in a holster so well fitted that I didn’t see it under his suit.
Dark metal gleams as Sullivan aims, his arm barely registering the recoil when he squeezes the trigger.
Bang !
I’m frozen, staring at the scene like I’m watching a horror movie. Sullivan walks closer, and pulls the trigger again.
Bang !
The muzzle follows what’s left of Patrick’s skull every time the force of the blow moves it around on his limp neck.
Bang, bang, bang !
Bile rushes up my throat before I can close my eyes and try to wipe out the image of all the blood-wet bone and brain matter.
“You motherfucking psycho.” My voice is husky and uneven.
Sullivan clicks his tongue. “Aw. Poor Nyx. Are you going to miss Pat?”
The only way I still know I’m alive is because of the slow, painful thudding of my heart. Because I’m empty inside, like someone scooped out my guts with a melon baller.
Like poor Donny.
Sullivan tests the gun’s muzzle with his finger, clicks the safety back on, and slips it into the holster under his suit. He cocks his head, and the two goons holding Patrick’s slumped body drag him away.
“Never knew you were so close. Pat spent more time around your mother than he did her girls.”
Now the nausea rolling through me has nothing to do with the brain matter splattered on my arms, and legs, and black cocktail dress. The fact that Sullivan knows more about my own mother than I did is just…it’s sickening.
His eyes burrow right into my fucking soul as he tilts his head to the side in a coy gesture that does confusing things to my insides. The two goons tighten their grip on me, but they needn’t have bothered.
I’m a fucking deer in the headlights.
Sullivan inspects me up close as his expensive cologne with its crisp citrus notes envelopes me. He smelled good back then…but even his scent has evolved into something more dangerous and powerful. Savage wasn’t kidding about this guy. He’s as toxic and insidious as carbon monoxide fumes. By the time you realize how screwed you are, it’s already too late.
“Bring her.” He turns his back on me and ascends the steps, and I’m forced to follow him into the structure above.
This must have been the foreman’s office where he could supervise whatever sweat-shop production line they were running below. Or maybe O’Brien had it installed to get a bird’s eye view of all the murders taking place below. Those barrels I saw looked fucking dodgy. I wouldn’t be surprised if they contained bodies dissolving in acid.
Sullivan goes over to pour himself a drink like the stuck-up prick he is while his goons drag me into the room. My furious gaze latches onto him.
I glare at his back, willing him to vaporize. “Tell me where my sisters are, you fucking sicko!”
Sullivan turns to study me, lifting a glass of something amber and top-shelf up to his mouth. “In my bed.”
I surge forward so unexpectedly that one of the guys holding me almost loses his grip. But they make me pay for it by twisting the arm attached to my already dislocated shoulder. Nausea wells up at the agony, and I let out a pathetic whimper before I can clamp down my lips to stop the sound.
O’Brien chuckles.
He fucking chuckles.
People hardly ever frighten me, but after what he just did, the fact that he didn’t flutter a fucking eyelid while blowing Patrick’s brains out, makes me realize just how psychotic this man is.
And here I am, trapped with him.
Just like my sisters are.
In his bed.
“You have me now,” I force through a tight throat and quivering lips. “Let my sisters go.”
Sullivan gives me another one of his enigmatic smiles. Out of context, it’s mysterious and sexy. Side-by-side with images of Patrick’s destroyed head and Donny’s spilled guts, it’s terrifying.
“I don’t give up my toys that easily. Especially when I’m not done playing with them yet.”
I’ve never wanted to punch a smirk off someone’s face as much as I do right now.
He’s toying with me like a cat with a cornered mouse. Drawing out every ounce of misery and suffering for his own sadistic pleasure. But I refuse to wither under his dark, knowing smirk.
“You know I’ll do anything to get them back.”
He takes a series of small sips from his drink like he’s savoring its taste as much as that of my desperation.
“Look, just because you’re obsessed with me, doesn’t mean you have to drag my sisters into this. You got my attention. I’m here, aren’t I? Stop with the games and just tell me what the fuck you want.”
“Obsessed?”
I throw my hands into the air. “You’ve been keeping track of me for years. Kidnapped my sisters. Killed two of your men. God knows what else. All to get your hands on me. How the hell do you explain all of that without using the word obsessed?”
“Savage.”
My blood congeals in my veins.
Patrick ordered Liam to follow me around before I ever met Sullivan at The Foundry. I don’t know exactly which day Athena and Phoebe were kidnapped. Was it after I’d nearly been sniped next to the food truck? After I took off with Savage and hid out at their safe house? From the outside looking in, I was in cahoots with the cartel.
Like I’d been working for them all along.
This might not be as personal as I think. Sullivan could be using me and my sisters to send a message.
“That’s what this is about? The fucking Domingos ?”
Sullivan’s eyelids are at half mast like he’s really enjoying our little chat. “You’re one of them now.”
“I’m a fucking Gray!” My hands clench into fists. “And you’re batshit delulu if you think kidnapping my sisters hurts anyone but me. Savage doesn’t give a fuck about me, or them. He wouldn’t even blink if you killed them.”
“Your husband went to considerable effort to find those girls.” Sullivan tilts his head. “Like a dog with a bone.”
“Bullshit,” I mutter. “If he’d put in so much effort, he’d have found them.”
“You underestimate me, Mrs. Domingo. No one comes into my room and steals my toys, no matter how hard they try. And hell, did he try.”
Another teasing half-smile just to grind it in, and I’m losing my fucking mind. I’ve never been one for games. I don’t have the patience for that shit.
“Then why don’t you just fucking kill me already?” It’s nearly a shriek, the last of my patience evaporating. I’m cold, hurting, desperate, confused. I don’t need this asshat evading every question with a slimy comeback.
I want my fucking babies back.
He takes another sip of his drink, and then carefully sets his glass down on one of the desks near the wall of monitors. This office is so gloomy, I hadn’t even noticed they were there. They’re fitted above the large windows overlooking the floor below, but I can’t even begin to guess their purpose. Everything in the warehouse below is clearly visible through the wall of glass. Maybe they’re for security cameras outside of the building?
Then he reaches into the pocket of his suit. I swear to God, if it’s a finger, even a lock of hair, I’m going to attack him with my bare fucking teeth.
He pulls out a small remote control, points, and clicks.
I jerk in shock as the row of monitors come to life. Their pale light coats everything in a sickly glare. When I turn to face them, Sullivan comes up behind me. I don’t react to him, because if he wanted to attack me, he had ample opportunity. I’m more concerned with what’s visible on the screens.
From the decor and furnishings, it’s obvious all fifteen of the screens are recording from the same house.
Or, should I say, mansion, judging from all the marble and gold.
All except two of the rooms are empty. In one, the faint glow of a night light shines on the back of Phoebe’s head. In the other, Athena is sitting on a white bed, legs propped up, reading a book. I can’t see what it is, but there’s an instant burst of relief inside me when I realize they’re not bound and chained to a radiator in a dirty basement, like I thought they’d be.
In fact, they look…calm. Comfortable, even.
Whatever prison this is, it’s a shit ton better than any of the places we’ve ever lived in, even when Mom was still alive.
“When was this taken?” There’s a tremble in my voice. I wouldn’t put it past him to negotiate on pre recorded videos when my sisters are already decomposing in a shallow grave somewhere.
My chest is so tight, I can barely breathe.
“It’s a live feed.” Sullivan puts a hand on my shoulder. It should be icy cold, to go with his fucking arctic heart and black soul, but it’s warm. Almost reassuring.
“Livestock is more valuable alive than dead.”
“So that’s why you haven’t killed me yet.” I’m transfixed.
He chuckles. “Don’t flatter yourself. My customer base prefers much younger stock.”
There’s a sickening lump in my stomach. Savage was telling the truth about Sullivan’s auctions? I didn’t want to believe it. Thought he was just trying to scare me.
“No. Please. You can’t sell them.” I turn in his grip, staring up into his eyes as cold dread washes over me.
He tosses down the last of his drink with a cold smile, his eyes never leaving mine. His warm fingers grasp my chin, so gently the touch feels sensual.
“I’ve grown quite fond of them. Especially Athena. You’d have to give me something incredibly valuable in return.”
“Anything,” I whisper.
Maintaining eye contact is sickening. I feel like his evil taint is infecting me the longer we look at each other, his touch spreading a slow poison through my skin and into my veins.
He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip, then slides his finger inside my mouth. My first instinct is to bite it off clean at the fucking knuckle, but instead, I let him invade me and spread his toxin even deeper.
Anything he wants.
His eyes drop to my mouth, lips parting as if he’s mesmerized by the power he holds over me.
Fucking psycho.
“Do what you do best, my pretty little assassin. Your target is Sergio. Send me proof that he’s dead, and I’ll repay a life for a life.”
I can’t speak, because he’s holding down my tongue, so I nod, careful to keep my gaze locked with his.
Just the corner of his mouth turns up.
He uses the thumb in my mouth to drag me closer.
“Do you know why it’s so much fun playing with toys, Nyx?”
He slides his thumb out of my mouth and grabs my hair, yanking my head back so sharply that I gasp in pain.
“They don’t have a choice but to play along. Even if you play rough.” He twists his hand, bringing tears to my eyes. There’s the soft clink of metal, and a shock goes through me as I recognize the sound of a belt buckle.
“Even when they know you’re going to break them.”