Chapter 4
IVY
We edge cautiously around the side of the Bexley mansion, our backs pressed against the red brick. The traditional building is beautiful, yet I only see a prison when I look at it. The walls are steeped in the bitter memories of my and Spencer’s shared history. A history I want to erase.
Returning takes me back to another time. When we first started dating, Spencer pulled out all of the stops to impress me. Back then, I enjoyed the attention being with him brought and felt special to be on the receiving end of jealous glares from other women, knowing he’d picked me over them. In those early euphoric days, I was blind to his true nature. Spencer never showed a hint of the cruel man lurking underneath the surface. He was charming, funny, attentive, and surprisingly down to earth. But my judgment was wrong. He was a predator grooming his prey.
For our third date, instead of going to another five-star Michelin restaurant, Spencer insisted I visit his home. From our conversations and my internet searches, I knew he was wealthy. Even without online sleuthing, it was clear he was an important man from how others treated him like a celebrity.
On my first visit to the mansion, I recall thinking that he lived in the most exclusive area of London. His house was worth tens of millions, not including the opulent decor and historical artefacts filling its corridors. When I arrived for the evening, Spencer took my coat and led me to the grand dining room. The impeccably laid table boasted flickering candles and fresh flower arrangements. He’d hired the most prestigious private chef in Europe to cook for us, and I felt like the luckiest girl in the entire world. His charm swept me away, and I didn’t hesitate to move in shortly afterwards, believing I’d met my very own Prince Charming. How wrong I was.
Bram squeezes my hand and brings me back to the present. The clouds have turned a murky grey overhead, casting us in shadow. The road is quiet, with no pedestrians wandering around. We hug the path as I take Bram to the staff entrance. I let my instincts guide me. I’ve lived this moment out in my fantasies for five years. Spencer hunted me once, and now it was my turn to return the favour.
“Copy that,” a stranger’s voice says in a hushed tone. A man, presumably a security guard, stands a few feet from us around the next corner. “Almost time for shift change.”
Spencer’s guards watch over every entrance. We saw two men at the front door upon our approach. Both appeared to be too preoccupied with their conversation to pay us attention as we passed. Spencer should have hired better security, not that he’d need them for much longer.
We pause and wait, listening to see whether the man speaks again. Nothing. He must be alone. Taking one out is easy enough.
My eyes find Bram’s. His green-eyed gaze shines with determination, and he drops his chin in agreement. It’s go-time. He goes first. For a man built like a fortress, he moves with the gracefulness of a ballerina. His opponent has no chance. He doesn’t see him coming or have time to respond before Bram’s muscular arm wraps around his neck like a Boa. Bram tugs in a swift, clean motion and the man’s eyes roll back into his head, then his limbs go limp.
I breathe a low whistle. “Not bad.”
Although he’s been out of the saddle for a while, he’s impressive. I’d questioned whether Bram would come through for me, but there’s no doubt now. By bringing me here, he’s proved I can trust him. While he didn’t agree with my reasoning, he hadn’t tried to stop me and stood fighting at my side. Unfortunately, I couldn’t say the same for the other Dukes. I push thoughts of Freddie’s betrayal from my mind. I’d waited years for my retribution, and one traitorous arsehole—no matter how handsome—wasn’t going to ruin it for me. I had to savour every second.
I survey the scene, noting a camera mounted on the wall to monitor the area. However, the red light that should have blinked has failed. Bram’s tech skills and disablement have come in handy. Next to the door, there is a keypad with a retina scanner, which looks to be in working order.
“The scanner must run separately from the rest of the system,” I comment.
Bram drags the guard across to the scanner, and I force his eyes open long enough to let the red light run over them.
I grin as it beeps in agreement. “Bingo.”
Bram hauls the man effortlessly to the side, dumping his body behind a hedge. To my surprise, I see his chest is still moving. Well, damn. That’s pretty impressive to have enough self-control not to break his neck when using excessive force.
I raise an eyebrow. “He’s still alive?”
Bram shrugs bashfully, making me roll my eyes. Maybe he’s not such a tough guy after all. I’d rather turn the mansion into a bloodbath, but there’s no time to chastise Bram for showing mercy when we have real work ahead.
Over the years, Spencer has had work done on the building. His kitchen has been extended to include a giant window and oak cabinets have been replaced with sleek, black cupboards with no handles. The awful chandelier that dwarves the room is still present, though.
There’s no one around as we push the door open. Bram takes the first step inside, then bows his head for me to pass like a true gentleman.
The distant sound of the television comes from another room. Hopefully, this means Spencer is home. If he isn’t, we’ll have to find a comfortable hiding spot until he returns.
Ghastly paintings still cover the walls. The unmoving eyes of generations of Bexley’s watch from their frames as we creep past. Thankfully, I pocketed an emergency sedative injection from Torean’s bag earlier as a backup measure in case Trout regained consciousness.
The floorboards creak under Bram’s weight, and the television stops playing abruptly. We freeze.
“Hello?” Spencer calls. Hearing him sends a shiver trickling down my spine. We were close to each other at the Collingsbrook Ball, but this is the first time I’ve been in close proximity and able to act on my impulses.
Bram holds his breath. A few seconds later, the television resumes. My palms tingle with excited anticipation, but I don’t advance yet. We wait, not saying a word, listening to see if Spencer talks, but nothing.
From the Dukes’ previously gathered intelligence, we know Spencer’s paranoia had set in. Despite his security, he’s been selective about who he lets inside.
I beckon for Bram to follow, inching closer to the noise. Memories flood back of hours spent pacing these corridors, weighing up whether leaving was a good idea. Even when I left the house for an afternoon, Spencer subjected me to an interrogation upon my return because he convinced himself I was seeing other men. He wanted me to be his pet. His prize. A pretty piece on his arm to show off. His. If he had his way, he’d have kept me locked away like an artefact in a museum, like all of his awful paintings.
The living room door is ajar. From my position, I can see the place is a mess. Bottles, papers, cigarette butts, and half-eaten plates of food litter every surface. I wrinkle my nose at the stale smell. With the curtains drawn, the only light comes from the show he’s watching. Spencer sits in a hideous high-back chair, one of his arms rests on the side, his hand clutching onto a glass of his favourite scotch.
This is my moment.
“Hello, Spenny,” I drawl.
He jumps up in a flash, turning to face me. His face turns a stark white as he looks me up and down like he’s seen a ghost. In a way, I suppose he has.
“Surprised to see me?” I ask, unable to stop a chilling smile from stretching over my lips.
His mouth gapes open, speechless. What do you say to a woman you thought you killed five years ago? Conversation killer, or what?
“You… you’re…” he stammers. “I… It can’t be… You’re d-d-d-dead.”
“Correction,” I say, holding up one finger. “You left me for dead. I think you’ll find I’m very much alive.” I narrow my eyes menacingly. “No thanks to you.”
He backs away, edging towards the fireplace. If he thinks grabbing a poker will change things, he’s delusional.
“Can you make sure Spencer is comfortable, Bram?” I ask.
Spencer predictably lunges for the poker, but his sweaty hands make it impossible for him to get a decent hold. It falls from his damp fingers onto the wooden floor with a clang. He lurches towards a panic alarm button on the wall and almost trips in the process.
“You should leave,” Spencer warns, thinking he’s in the clear as his palm triumphantly slams on the button. He straightens his spine, looking like he might not shit his pants after all. “My security team will be here soon.”
Bram smirks and grabs Spencer by the throat.
“Yeah, about that…” I say, twirling a strand of my hair around my finger casually. “You may have a bit of a security problem. No one is coming, and even if they do, your team is no match for us.”
Bram squeezes Spencer’s throat in his giant hands, making the bastard’s cheeks flush as he forces him back into his armchair.
That’s it. Stay down like the dog you are.
“If you move,” I threaten, “things will get ugly real fast.”
Bram retrieves cable ties from the backpack and gets to work on Spencer’s restraints. He’s the perfect killing partner, acting before I need to ask.
“There’s no need for—” Spencer begins.
“You move, and he snaps your neck,” I say, finishing Spencer’s sentence.
Spencer swallows hard, not resisting as Bram binds his wrists and ankles to immobilise him. Spencer seems to realise how fucked he is as the grovelling starts.
“Come on, Ivy. We have history. Is it money you want?” he asks while I yawn. Naturally, Spencer thinks flashing his wallet and credit cards will fix everything. “I can give you that. Just name your price. You know I can.”
“Money?” I shake my head. “Money won’t change what you did. You and your friends raped me and my sister, then left us for dead. You left us to die in a ditch like we were nothing.”
“What do you want?” His panic gives way to a wave of fresh anger. “Tell me. I’ll do anything.”
“I think you already know the answer to that,” I say, holding my hand out for Bram to pass me a knife. The hilt feels comfortable in my palm, like an old friend. “Why don’t you get the rest of my toys out, Bram?”
Bram unpacks all the other weapons from the kill kit, and Spencer’s piggy eyes widen in fear.
“It was you,” Spencer stammers, putting the pieces together. “You’ve been the one killing them.”
“Anthony Steel, Graham Baldwin, and Christopher Trout.” I reel off their names. “I enjoyed nailing Steel’s balls to a bench and cutting him up into little pieces. I was a little rushed when I killed Baldwin at the Collingsbrook Ball, which was disappointing, and Trout’s blood is all over me now. None of that matters now, though. You’re the one I’m here for, and we have all the time in the world to get reacquainted. As you said, we do have history.”
I step forward, and Spencer screams. A high-pitched girly cry that makes me question how I could have ever been scared of him. A dark patch spreads over the front of his pale trousers. Eurgh, that’ll make cutting off his cock a slippery business, but I’ll have to make do.
Five years ago, he rendered me helpless and overpowered me with ease. The tables have turned. The power is all mine. There’s nothing he can do about it. A smug satisfaction rolls over me. I’m looking forward to showing him everything I’ve learned over the years.
Suddenly, a bang comes from above, and footsteps come down the stairs. Bram jerks his head towards the noise.
“Who else is here?” I demand.
Seconds later, someone throws the door open. Maria, Spencer’s trusty housekeeper, stumbles inside. Her eyeballs bulge in surprise when she sees me. Maria has always been loyal to Spencer, but she still helped me when I struggled. I’d prefer not to kill her, but I wouldn’t hesitate if she stands in our way.
Bram acts fast, so I don’t have to. Maria squeaks and doesn’t resist as he searches her briskly, patting her down. She never carried a phone back in the day, and that doesn’t seem to have changed, so her aversion to technology benefits us.
“Don’t hurt her,” I urge.
“Ivy, is that you?” she croaks. “You’re... alive.”
“It looks that way,” I say. “Not that anyone would believe you when there’s a gravestone with my name on it in the cemetery.”
“Is she safe?” Spencer asks Maria, looking straight through me.
“Is who safe?” I whirl around. Maria inhales deeply, panic-stricken, her ashen cheeks turning greyer with each passing second. Her eyes give her away, darting to the door as if she’s worried that someone will come in. We’re not alone. “Who?”
Bram holds a shaking Maria in his grasp. She’s used to having men raise their hands to her after working for Spencer and his father, but Bram isn’t hurting her, only holding her firmly enough to not escape. She purses her lips, keeping her mouth sealed and ignoring my question.
“Who else is here?” I press.
Spencer and Maria exchange a knowing glance like they’re communicating in a secret language.
“Maria.” I soften my voice, even though my patience is wearing thin. “You’ve always been nice to me. We wouldn’t want to hurt you.”
She opens her mouth, then snaps it closed again. It’s not every day you’re confronted by the woman you thought had died at the hands of your boss. I’m sad that she’s still working here. She was always too kind for her own good and fiercely loyal.
“Tell me!” I order. “Now!”