56. Conrad
W here is she? Where is my wife?
I know this bitch has the answers. I know she’s behind this entire thing.
There’s a voice in my head telling me I should be more careful, that to go up against the Monclere’s in broad daylight is not only reckless, it’s suicidal.
And yet I don’t care.
I don’t give a fuck.
I kick the door in, storming through the entrance hall.
One of Quinn’s men comes running and I pull my gun, shooting him down before he even gets close.
Another follows right after and he’s dead, lying on his mate before he can even blink.
I walk in, heading through to where I’m certain the bitch will be. As I reach the Great Hall, Quinn appears with a golf club in his hand, holding it like a bat.
“What is the meaning of this?” He snarls.
I let out a snort, a sound of derision. He really thought they were a match for us. He really thought that the Monclere’s were as big a name as the Blakes.
And then I hear those stupid little click-clack heels. She all but struts in, and she pauses when she sees me, running her hands down her body to smooth her dress like I’m here to fuck her.
“Husband, really, is this any way to behave around your in-laws?” She cooes.
“You’re not my wife. You’re not anything to do with me.” I state.
She puts a hand on her hip and rolls her eyes. “Conrad, Darling. We’ve been through this. The marriage is next week. You can’t back out of it now…”
“I can if you’re not around to meet me at the altar.”
“And what reason would I have not to show?” She half-laughs.
I cock the gun, pointing it right at her face. “Maybe because you’ll have a bullet in your brain.”
Quinn looks between us, clearly not quite sure what is going on. “Conrad, be calm. Whatever this is, we can work this out. We had an agreement after all, the Monclere’s and the Blake’s are uniting. We’re one family now.”
“Not with her.” I sneer.
“I’m your fiancée.” Giselle says. “And this time next week, I’ll be your wife.”
I don’t bother to deign that statement with any meaningful reply. Instead, I toss the diary, and it lands right in front of Giselle. She stares down at it for a second before she crouches to pick it up.
“What is that?” Quinn asks, but we both ignore them.
“And where could you possibly have found this?” She says with that twisted, know-it-all look on her face.
“You know exactly where it was.” I reply.
“What is it?” Quinn repeats again, looking between us.
“Maybe you should ask your daughter.” I reply. “And while you’re at it, ask her where Brynn is.”
“Brynn?” Quinn scoffs. “What has any of this got to do with her?”
The way he says it, the way he speaks her name, the way he’s so dismissive makes me see red. It makes me lose control, more control. As if I had any to start with.
I raise the gun, pulling the trigger and he howls, grasping his leg as the bullet lodges itself right above his left kneecap.
“Daddy,” Giselle screeches. “Daddy, are you okay?” She asks before turning to look at me. “You shot him.”
“If you don’t start giving me answers, then I’ll shoot him again.” I state.
“Answers to what?” Quinn snarls.
“Why Giselle faked a diary about Brynn’s mother. Why she planted it with her things. Why she made her believe there was some great love affair between her parents.”
Giselle draws herself up, folding her arms. “I knew it, I knew you had her. I knew you were too obsessed to let her go. I was even willing to turn a blind eye, to marry you anyway and pretend that she didn’t exist.”
“None of that explains the diary.” I retort. I don’t give a fuck what her feelings where, what she did or didn’t know. She’s acting like she’s made some great revelation, when in reality, it’s yesterday’s news.
“Why the fuck are we talking about Brynn?” Quinn shouts.
“Because he was fucking her.” Giselle replies, pointing a bony, manicured finger at me.
Quinn’s eyes seem to explode, and his jaw drops. He stares at me in shock. “Whaat?” He says. “Brynn?”
“He was fucking her.” Giselle cries again. “She was just as much a whore as her mother was. Stealing the man I wanted…”
“Just like last time, eh?” I taunt.
Giselle narrows her eyes. “He was mine first. I saw him first, then she stole him away.”
I shake my head, mentally doing the math. Ophelia was older than Giselle by a good ten years, why would any man be interested in a child that young?
“He was mine.” Giselle screeches, “Ophelia knew it, she did it on purpose. She was always taking my things, always playing the perfect daughter,” She turns her head to look at her father with something akin to hate in her eyes. “You never saw a fault in her. She could have done anything, and you let her get away with it.”
Quinn frowns, clearly not following half the conversation, but then with the amount of blood he was losing, I wasn’t all that surprised.
“I watched as she led him on, as she took his gifts and she smiled at him, and then suddenly she changed her mind. Suddenly she tried to play hard to get.” She lets out a nasty little laugh then, one that sends goosebumps across my skin. “He came round one night, came to see Daddy. I knew what he wanted, so I showed him to her room. I wanted him to see what a whore she was, I wanted him to realise that she wasn’t worth his time, that I was the better sister. That I would give him whatever he desired. Of course, she ran away after that, stupid bitch got pregnant didn’t she? And well, we all know how that ended…”
God, I knew she was a bitch, I just never realised how far she’d go.
“Who?” Quinn asks.
Giselle pauses, glancing at me, like she knows this secret is worth something. “I tell you that and you kill me.”
“I’m going to kill you either way,” I state. “I guess you get to decide if I do it nice and quickly, or if I draw it out and make you suffer.”
Her eyes widen, and she glances at the door so far from where she is. Even if she wasn’t wearing those stupid heels, she’d never make it.
“Who was it?” Quinn asks, reaching up to grab her. “Who is Brynn’s father? Tell me.”
She draws herself up, that same look of derision she had for Brynn now etched across her face. “God, Daddy, you were an idiot. You never even saw it. You can’t even put it together now, can you? All those times he stayed here, all those times he went out hunting with you, and you never saw how he looked at me, at Ophelia, at both of us…”
Quinn narrows his eyes, “No, surely not.”
Giselle cackles again, clapping her hands together.
“But, but he left years ago…” Quinn stammers.
“Do the math, father.” She screams, “It all adds up.”
“Lucas would never…”
“Lucas Asher?” I gasp. That’s her father? But he’s so old, he’s almost sixty. And Ophelia was barely sixteen when she ran away. My stomach churns as I do the math. I might be a sick bastard, but even I draw the line at girls that young.
Giselle tilts her head, her eyes sparkling with triumph. Only she doesn’t get it, she’s too smug, too ignorant to realise what it means. Brynn is an Asher. Not a Monclere. And that makes her even more of a catch than she was before.
“Where is she?” I snap.
Giselle shrugs, “Damned if I know. You’re the one who said to make it look like she’d run away.”
“Why the fuck would you do that?” Quinn splutters.
“Because Daddy, Conrad fucked her while I watched.”
Quinn’s eyes widen, and he stares from his daughter to me. “You, you…”
“How does it feel, to know your granddaughter is as much of a whore as her mother was?” Giselle sneers.
“Only, she’s not.” I reply.
“Yes, she is. They’re both the same, both stealing the men I want…”
“She didn’t steal anything.” I snap, losing my patience. “And I’ll be damned if you speak about my wife like that again…”
“Your what?” She hisses, cutting across me.
I grin the biggest fucking grin of my life, and I hold my hand up, letting her see the ring on my hand. I haven’t worn it before Brynn got taken. It felt too precarious, too risky, but now? Now it’s like I need every reminder I can get. And this ring, it feels like a good luck charm.
“My wife.” I state again.
“But, but, I’m your fiancée.” She gasps. “Our wedding is next week. I’m..”
“Nothing but a conniving little bitch.” I say. “You really think I would have married you?”
“Where is she?” Quinn asks. “Where is Brynn?”
“That’s the point.” I state. “My wife is gone, she’s been taken. And I think Giselle here knows more than she’s letting on.”
Giselle shakes her head, “I don’t…”
“Why the fuck did you make that diary? Why the fuck did you want my wife to believe that her parents were some sort of Romeo and Juliet bullshit?”
She blinks back at me, and then it’s like something hits her, like she realises how fucked she truly is. She ditches the ‘caring’ daughter act, and she turns, running as fast as she can.
Of course, she can’t outrun a bullet.
I pull the trigger, and watch with zero emotion as she screams, as she falls, as she lays there with her ankle shattered, bleeding profusely all over that pretty floor.
“Please…” She says, suddenly looking contrite.
“Where the fuck is my wife?” I ask again.
She starts sobbing, shaking her head. “I didn’t, I didn’t. I don’t know.”
I pull the trigger again, this time aiming for the hand nursing her damaged leg. It blows her fingers off. Three mangled digits go skidding across the floor, leaving a smear of blood while she starts screaming bloody murder.
“I told you Giselle, I’m going to kill you. But you get to decide if it will be quick or not.”
“I don’t want to die.” She gasps. “I don’t want to.”
I pull the trigger again, narrowly missing her hip, and it leaves a nice little hole in their pretty paraquet. “I don’t give a fuck what you want.” I state. “You will tell me where my wife is, or I will rip every inch of flesh from your rancid body, do you hear me?”
“For fucksake, Giselle,” Quinn growls. “Tell the man.”
“Really?” She says, “You’re siding with him, over your own flesh and blood?”
“He won’t kill you if you just tell him.”
I keep my face blank. I have no intention of honouring that, but whatever, if it gets me to where I want to be quicker, then fine. Let the bitch imagine there’s a cosy way out of this.
“It was a joke,” She says. “It was meant to make her think she was wanted, to make her go looking for him.”
“You mean the fake diary?” I clarify.
“Yes, I wanted her gone. I knew you were looking at her too much, I knew you wanted her. I thought if she was removed, then maybe she’d forget about her.”
“So, what happened then?”
She sniffs, her mascara now smearing her cheeks. “The maid,” She stammers. “She said she wanted to help. That she could get rid of her for me, that she could help me.”
“And what did you have to agree to in exchange for that?” I asked.
She blanched, “I..” She mumbles something so quietly I can’t make out a word of it.
I pull the trigger again, this time taking out a nice little Louis XIV cabinet. It splinters as if it were made of paper and Giselle screams, covering her ears.
“Fucking tell me.” I order.
“They wanted me to kill Magnus.” She whispers.
Of all the things I expected, this was not it. I stare at her for a second, trying to figure out if that’s just some sort of sick joke.
“Magnus?” I repeat.
She nods. “They said it was for the future of the Brethren. That in doing so, I would then become head of the Blake family alongside you as my husband. That we’d be given great honours too…”
I snort as it all sinks in. All those nasty little pieces. She sold Brynn out for her own greed and power.
“You stupid little fool.” Quinn says.
I drop my gaze, looking at him. So, he wasn’t involved then. He’s not tied up with the Esau. Too bad that fact won’t save him.
I raise my gun, pointing it right at his forehead. His eyes widen. “Conrad,” He pleads. “I wasn’t part of this. I would never have condoned such a thing. I’m loyal to you, to the Blakes.”
“The Blakes?” I repeat as my lips curl. “My wife is a Blake now, and you made her life a misery. You and that bitch of a daughter. You bullied and belittled her, and treated her like shit.”
“Please, if I’d have known…”
I pull the trigger before he can finish that sentence. I don’t give a fuck what he has to say, what futile words come out of his mouth. He disrespected her. He hurt her. He has to die.
I look over to where Giselle is bleeding, whimpering and repeating over and over that she’s sorry. As if that fixes it. As that undoes the years of damage, the abuse, the treachery too.
“You’re coming with me.” I declare, and her eyes light up like I’m about to put a veil on her head and marry her. Fuck me, she’s insane, isn’t she? “I want Brynn to witness your death.” I state. “I want her face to be the last thing you see before you depart this life for hell.”
As we reach the main doors I catch sight of a shadow, a figure. I raise my gun, but pause when I see who it is; Paige. She’s sporting a black eye and a split lip, no doubt her husband did that.
“He’s dead,” I state. “Quinn is dead,”
She stares back at me, like she’s waiting for me to pull the trigger and kill her too.
“Go home, Paige,” I tell her. “Go back to your parents. Your marriage is over, so you’re free of him. Free of them.”
Someone deserves a happy ending in all this, might as well be her.
Giselle hisses like she’s about to throw herself on her stepmother and start ripping out her eyes, so I tighten my grip and drag her out. Nasty bitch won’t be hurting anyone else from now on.