Chapter 4 #2
I wind my fingers together around the strap to my bag and for the hundredth time, mentally tally the amount of money I've saved. I'm going to have to do something drastic.
Maybe I could take something. Steal it. Pawn it. I have to leave this place and never look back.
He folds his hands, takes a deep breath, then gives me a sort of half-smile that makes me feel a little queasy.
“I know why you did what you did, Bryn. Why you opened up a business without my consent. I’m just surprised you never came here and asked my permission. I could’ve helped, you know. Instead of that small shop, I could’ve opened up a private studio for you. Given you starter money.”
He isn’t finished, and he’s lying anyway, so I don’t respond.
He shakes his head and pours himself another drink.
He swirls the ice in his glass, scowling at it, and for one brief moment in time I realize that he must be a very sad old man.
Lonely. For people aren't meant to be hated and unloved.
But as soon as I have this thought I shut it away because I won't let myself be weak.
I won't let myself feel sympathy for him.
He's an evil man, who’s done evil things, and he isn't finished yet.
“But we can move on from this, Bryn. This lie, this betrayal.”
I cringe at his words, because these are the two things he punishes the most harshly.
He hasn't raised his hand to me in years, but that definitely doesn't mean that he won't, or can't. I know he still hits my mother from time to time, though she rarely gives him reason to, and I doubt he’s touched her since the stroke.
He’s weak, though, I notice, as his hand trembles on the glass.
My parents were young when they had me, both just barely over twenty years old.
It was the way of the Clan back then. Often marriages were arranged, and it was not uncommon for child weddings to take place.
My great-grandmother was only sixteen years old when she wed, seventeen years old when she had her first child.
Not much older when she took her own life.
“Yes,” I say, waiting for him to continue. When he doesn’t, I continue myself. “I’m sorry if I hurt you in any way. I never meant to betray you. I wanted something that was my own. I planned on coming to you to show you as soon as I was successful.”
There are grains of truth in this.
He nods slowly. “Ah. I see. Well, sadly, Bryn, you’ve made your choice. And I’ve made mine.” He hits a button on his phone. “Come in.”
Two of his men enter. I freeze, my eyes watching their movements as I sit stock-still.
“Why are they here?” I ask.
“To escort you to your new home.” He leans back and lights another cigarette. What is he talking about?
“My new home?”
“Yes. You want to be independent, don’t you?”
Do I?
“Yes.” My voice is tentative, though, watery. I’m not sure where he’s going with this.
“Then that’s exactly what you’ll have. Independence, apart from me and your mother. A place of your own to do with as you wish. Just what you’ve always wanted.”
There’s a catch, though. There’s always a catch.
I wait to hear the rest of what he has to say. I don’t allow myself to believe even for a minute that he’s being generous or kind. No, that isn’t his way.
“What home?” I ask in a whisper.
He leans across the desk on his forearms. “If you’re old enough to have your own job, you’re old enough to be married. You’ll leave here to be the bride of one of our friends. It’s time.”
I physically shudder as if a bitter wind just entered the room. “What do you mean?”
“Our friends in Wales, we’ve made an alliance. His son is single and needs a wife.” He smiles. “And they want one of our women as payment. Don’t you think you’d like that, Bryn? I’d forgive any betrayal against me if you did this.”
His friends in Wales? Oh, God, I know the son he’s talking about.
“That son is twenty years older than I am.” I cringe. He was here for dinner once. A heavy, much older man with meaty jowls and cruel eyes, he treated our staff like slaves.
My father shrugs. “It would be a strong alliance.”
I shake my head. “No. Absolutely not. I don’t agree, you know I won’t.”
He smiles and nods, though his eyes still look enraged. “Ah, I suspected you might not be that eager. For that reason, there is an option B.”
There are no good options. There never are. I’ve gotten myself in too deep with a man who wields too much power with no means of escape.
“And what’s that?” I ask, not because I care so much as I need to bide my time, formulate a plan. He’s offering me two choices, but I know both will be horrid, and the second one may be worse than the first.
His eyes narrow to slits, and he drums his fingers on the desk. I start at the sound, like it’s the ticking of a bomb.
“What?”
“I need someone to help me pay back our enemies.”
“Pay them back?”
My voice is hoarse, my fingers at my throat. The smell of his smoking and the whisky is cloying, and I’m finding it hard to breathe.
“How?”
He leans forward. “The Cowen Clan, Bryn. I want you to infiltrate them. I want you to spy. Then bring back everything you find.”
I pause, biting my lip. “These are my only two choices?”
My older sisters married and left, but they were forced into marriage by my father. The first was arranged and the second was a thank you. I’ve known for a while the Aitkens girls were only commodities. It was only a matter of time.
He tips his head to the side. “Only two.”
I sit numbly, unsure of how to respond, as he opens his top desk drawer.
I flinch at the sound, half-expecting a snake to uncoil from the drawer.
I have vivid recollections of him taking things out of the drawer to punish me with.
Once he removed a gun and he handed it to one of his men, instructing him to shoot himself, right in front of me.
He did. I can still see it, still feel it, still hear my own screams.
You need to steel yourself against violence and brutality, he told me after.
But this time he only takes out his laptop and opens it.
"I don't know if you're familiar with the Cowen Clan," he says. “They like to think themselves elusive, but we know them well. We’ve warred with them for years.” This is the most I’ve heard in my entire life of the business he does.
I nod, wondering what he’ll show me.
I’m not prepared.
He pulls one picture after another up on his laptop.
“This is Leith, the current Captain. Married man, faithful to his wife, so he won’t be an option. Tate, the middle son, may be an easy target. And the last of the brothers is Mac.” He frowns. “There are two sisters, as well…” but I don’t hear the rest of his words.
No.
Time stands still as I stare at Mac’s picture. It's not a recent one, easily several years old. He's maybe eighteen or nineteen years old in this picture. But I recognize those blue eyes.
I look at my father sharply. Does he know about today? I don't think he could, because he would accuse me of betrayal in that vein as well.
I had no idea who Mac was. No idea.
Does he know who I am?
I focus back on what my father’s saying, hoping that he can’t see that I’m visibly shaken.