60. Ethan
“Are you sure you don’t know what this is about?” Cassidy asks for about the hundredth time.
“I’m as much in the dark as you are,” I say, hating to admit it, even though it’s true.
She seems convinced I’m in on this surprise, but after the shit we went through, we’ve been keeping things as predictable as possible.
“I can’t believe I had to get out of my sweats for this.” She tugs on the hem of her slinky red knee-length dress as we make our way through the crowded Devil’s Den nightclub.
We’ve both been wearing nothing but pajamas and sweatpants the past few days, and it’s been a fucking dream.
We were cuddled under a blanket on the sofa, binge watching a reality show, when Myles called. Cassidy saw two episodes when she was lying in bed recovering and got hooked. I never cared much for television, but I’d do anything to see her smile, so I watched a few episodes with her a few days ago.
Never thought I’d be so hooked on Netflix and chill.
One good thing about watching that much television and guzzling down gallons of chicken soup? We both healed remarkably fast. Cassidy barely has a limp anymore. It feels so good to be walking around without a fucking headache or the dizziness that’s been plaguing me the past week.
And we’ve had so much sex, the sofas need to be reupholstered.
“I’m sure this won’t take long. He probably just wants to pester me about doing another job for him.”
Myles simply hung up on me when I asked him why the hell he wanted us to come through to the Devil’s Den on a random Wednesday night.
Honestly, all I want to do right now is climb back under that blanket, order a pizza, and fuck Cassidy while we watch our TV show. But I haven’t cleared my debt to Myles yet, so I’m at his beck and call until he says otherwise.
“And you’ll say no, right?” Cassidy looks up at me with big, concerned eyes. “I know it’s Myles, and you owe him, but he doesn’t own you.”
I give her a faint smile, laying a hand on the small of her back as I guide her into the Den’s elevator. “Maybe they just want to check in with us, see how we’re feeling.”
She grumbles something under her breath about video calls and how then she wouldn’t have had to put on a bra, and I don’t blame her. Wearing underwear feels so constrictive after going commando under sweatpants the whole week.
Troy is waiting outside the Den’s door for us. There’s a grim look on his face, but I don’t think anything of it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile. He waits until we’ve come to a stop, then turns and opens the door.
I stop immediately. Cassidy walks on two paces before stopping to look back at me expectantly. It’s almost exactly how I remember when she first arrived at my house. How I halted at the threshold of the manor’s kitchen, already wanting to violate her.
But it’s not a kitchen we’re walking into.
It’s a scene from a motherfucking nightmare.
She doesn’t know it yet, because there’s a wall of plastic sheeting in the way, but I’ve seen this before.
I interrupted one of Myles’s special play sessions in the past, and had nightmares for a week.
“The fuck is this?” I grate out to Troy as he comes past us with a slow, measured stride.
He glances back at me, then waves for us to follow.
“This isn’t like last time,” he says. “Trust me.”
I don’t think I trust any of the Balmont Boys as far as I can throw them, but when Myles peeks out from behind the plastic curtain and beckons me with a flick of his fingers, what fucking choice do I have?
“Will you two hurry the fuck up?” he calls.
“Ethan?” Cassidy’s voice is steeped with panic. “What the hell is going on?”
“It’s okay,” I murmur, wrapping my arm around her shoulder. “You’re safe with me.”
She walks hesitantly at my side, her gait uneven as if she’s still considering bolting out the door.
I force a swallow and then push aside the plastic sheeting so we can step into the sealed off area inside the Den.
Cassidy screams.
I grab her as she turns to press her face into my chest, and take turns glowering at Myles, Rich, Troy, then Smith.
Only Myles makes eye contact. The others are all focused on the man tied to the chair in the middle of the plastic-covered floor.
“Surprise!” Myles shouts, popping a bottle of champagne and gesturing toward a cocktail table filled with champagne flutes. “You made such a fucking fuss about Lady Agnew, I felt bad about the whole retirement gift thing. Thought this might be a bit more appropriate.”
“What. The. Fuck?” I bite out.
“Don’t glare at me like that,” Myles says, still grinning. “Come, get some champagne.”
“Jesus, Myles, how the fuck could you?—?”
“If everyone could be quiet, please,” Smith says. “I think he’s trying to say something.”
Cassidy shivers violently, but then turns to peek over her shoulder. Even I drag my hateful glare away from Myles, latching onto the wretched human being in the chair.
Angelo’s head lolls, and an awful rasping sound comes out his throat.
“Wa…er.”
“He’s dehydrated,” Troy says.
“Weren’t you supposed to water him?” Richmond asks, taking a glass of champagne from Myles as he passes.
“Me?” Troy frowns at Rich. “Thought that was your job.”
“No, no.” Rich tuts him with a finger. “I got the shit job, like always.” He looks at me over his shoulder. “I literally had to clean up his shit.”
“Here you go, old chap,” Myles says, walking gingerly closer to Angelo, trying to avoid the splashes of blood on the plastic sheeting. He takes one of the champagne flutes and tips it against the man’s split lips. Foam bubbles up from his mouth, first white, then pink as it mixes with the blood around his lips.
Angelo sputters and coughs, turning his head away.
“That was Cristal, you ungrateful bastard.” Myles backhands him with the flute, and Angelo gives a pathetic cry as glass slices into his cheek.
“What is he doing here?” Cassidy says in a shaky voice as she turns in my grip.
“He’s a gift, cherry pie.” Myles hands her a glass, and she takes it absently like she’s in a trance. “We thought you two might like to spend a little quality time with him before we put him out of his misery.”
“He should be in jail,” Cassidy says, taking a tiny sip of her champagne as she moves closer to the chair. I keep our bodies close, an arm slung around her chest, ready to rip out throats or smash in skulls if anyone so much as looks at her wrong. “Why isn’t he in jail?”
“You get three square meals and lodgings in prison,” Smith says dryly. “Think he deserves that after what he did to Becks? After what he tried to do to you?”
“No,” she whispers. She’s trembling, but not with fear anymore. There’s heat coming off her body, an anger I feel bubbling up inside me, too.
Angelo is so out of it, he doesn’t even seem to recognize anyone standing around him. They’ve already done a number on him—one eye is bruised shut, there’s a lump on his jaw, blood all over his throat and chest. He’s wearing a pair of blood-encrusted boxers, and I think Richmond skimped on his duties, because I can smell puke and shit from where I’m standing.
Fuck, she can’t be here.
She can’t witness this.
She’s already had trouble sleeping, waking up and yelling for Angelo to stop touching her. She never tells me what happens in the dreams, but I can tell they’re terrifying from the way she quivers against me as she tries to fall back asleep every night.
Now this?
“We’re leaving,” I say, tightening my grip around Cassidy.
But when I pull against her, trying to draw her back, she stiffens, grabs my arm, digs her nails in.
“No. Not yet.” She takes a glug from her champagne glass. “Is he like…conscious?”
“Barely,” I mutter.
Smith is watching Cassidy with a faintly bemused smile. “I have something that might help.” He takes a syringe out of his pocket, pushes the needle into Angelo’s arm and slowly presses down the plunger. “Adrenaline should give him a few moments of lucidity.”
Angelo draws a ragged breath through his lips, his head rearing back, eyes wide. He throws his gaze around, staring wildly at everyone he sees.
“Fuck you!” he yells hoarsely. Then he realizes he’s bound up and starts tugging at the ropes holding him in place. “Gemme the fuck out of here!”
Cassidy slips out of my grip so quickly I’m clutching empty air as I try to claw her back. “Cassidy!”
She walks right up to Angelo and tries to punch him in the face. But Troy catches her wrist, stopping her fist an inch from Angelo’s battered face.
“What the hell?” She plucks at her hand, but Troy simply pulls her back a step and hands her a slim, double-edged knife.
“You don’t want bruised knuckles in the morning.”
She stares up at Troy and then looks back at me. My hands are in fists at my side, my entire body vibrating with suppressed rage.
I thought I’d forgiven Angelo. It seemed pointless to hold a grudge. Toxic emotions like those will poison you.
But that was back when I thought he was dead.
Seeing him alive, even in the state he’s in, was like dropping a match into a dumpster truck full of fireworks.
I give her a nod. “Go ahead,” I murmur.
There’s a twinkle in her eyes I’ll never forget. She spins around and sinks the knife into Angelo’s thigh with a roar that sounds too loud coming from her curvy little body.
Angelo roars out in pain, spittle flying from his mouth. The chair rocks, but Smith darts forward to catch it before he can tip it over.
“That’s for trying to kill Ethan, you motherfucking asshole!” She drags the knife free and stabs him again, this time in the arm. “And that’s for trying to kill me!”
She aims the blade for his heart, but I rush forward and catch her around the waist, pulling her back.
“Seriously?” She throws me a frustrated scowl.
“You had your turn. Now it’s mine.”
She puffs a strand of hair out of her face and then relaxes in my grip. Nodding, she hands me the knife.
I shake my head, moving her aside and walking up to Angelo. The hatred and revulsion roiling inside me is so fierce, I can’t bring myself to speak. The only sound is Angelo drawing in one ragged breath after the other.
“Better hurry,” Smith says. “His tank’s almost empty.”
There’s a pool of blood under the chair, and it’s spreading.
I grab his hair and wrench back his head. “You there, old friend?” The bitterness in my voice is so strong I can taste it.
Angelo’s eyes roll in their sockets. When he focuses on me, his quivering lips jerk into a smile.
“It was worth it,” he rasps. “Fucked her right on your bed. She fought back—” he coughs, laughs “—but then she gave up. They always give up.”
They.
As I stare down at Angelo’s puffy, bruised, bleeding face, something clicks inside my mind.
“You were handling all my correspondence in April. When Rebecca contacted me to sell her jewelry, you thought you could set up a meeting with her and not bother telling me about it.”
Behind me, Cassidy gasps. She appears in the corner of my eye, face white with shock. “No,” she whispers, shaking her head.
But it’s all falling into place now.
When Angelo took over my clients, I gave him access to my laptop. I was so broken up about Becks running off that I didn’t care if I never closed another deal in my life.
Smith steps closer to Angelo, eyes narrowed. “Did she figure out you weren’t Ethan before or after the deal? That’s why you met her at Glenmont, isn’t it? So you could pretend to be someone you weren’t? Ethan was in no condition to leave his penthouse.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Angelo’s eyes flutter. He looks about to pass out, so I backhand him.
He laughs through the pain, then coughs and sputters into silence.
“We know you sold Rebecca’s earrings to Barrett,” Smith says. “Opals like that aren’t easy to forget.”
Angelo spits out blood. “I told you, I don’t know?—”
Cassidy lunges forward and drives her knife into the back of his hand. “Where is my mother?”
He screams and tries to pull his hand away, tearing the blade an inch through his skin before he realizes he’s only making matters worse.
“Okay, okay!” he shrieks. “I met Rebecca at Glenmont. Thought it would be more legit. Never told her I was you, the bitch just assumed.”
“Then what?” I growl. “She figured who you really were and wanted to leave so you stole her earrings? Is that why you never told me about the deal?”
“Like you needed the fucking money! I did all the work. Why the fuck would I give you anything?”
Cassidy twists the knife, making Angelo howl in agony as the blade carves through the flesh and tendons in his hand. “Tell me where she is!”
Angelo whimpers, then sneers up at Cassidy. “The whore thought she was better than me. They always do. Had to put her in her place.”
Cassidy plucks the blade free and holds it against his throat. “Where?” she whispers hoarsely.
“You won’t find her. She’s gone.”
She presses the blade against his skin hard enough to draw blood. He flinches when a swallow makes his Adam’s apple scrape against the blade.
“She was too old for me. No need to keep her around like I did Becks. I got rid of her.”
“How?” Cassidy’s voice breaks. “Tell me.”
“He ever fuck you in his bed there in Glenmont?” Angelo huffs out a laugh, and then grimaces as he tries to move away from the blade against his throat. “Room’s like a fucking ice box. Have to keep that fire going day and night if you don’t want to wind up with pneumonia. Thought, what better way to get rid of her?”
Cassidy pulls away from him like he’s possessed. “You burned her?”
Christ, maybe he is.
It would explain the malevolence in his eyes when he looks at me. “After I fucked her in your bed.”
A wave of nausea rolls through me.
Cassidy just stands there, knife dangling at her side.
“Mommy didn’t fight like Becks had,” he whispers as he turns his attention to Cassidy.
“When I told her she could go back home to her little girl, she did whatever the fuck I wanted.”