Chapter 24 #3
“It’s wild, but it fits. He’s a narcissist. He refuses to allow himself to age—and his methods might sound extreme and unlikely to us, because we aren’t inclined to think like he does—but he’s an eccentric millionaire with more money than good sense,” Franklin responded.
“Fuck!” Matthew said, in an uncommon, angry outburst. He jumped up and stomped over to the window, raking his fingers through his hair and muttering curses.
Franklin watched him as he frowned thoughtfully.
“Aren’t you supposed to—canoodle with him, or some shit?” Beckett said with obvious disdain.
“Why?” Franklin asked, brow furrowed in confusion. “Nothing I could possibly say at this point would help. The guilt he feels—he’s partially responsible for that. The music must be faced, no?”
He was right about that, even if he’d been a little cold in the delivery.
“Jesus Christ—if this is you in love—” Beckett said and gave a low whistle.
Franklin rolled his eyes and sighed. He shot his brother a small smile, like he knew something no one else did—the kind of expression that got you punched in a bar.
“You’d kill for Hayes,” Franklin stated simply.
“Obviously,” Beckett said. “And I have,” he added as a point of pride.
Franklin nodded and glanced at the distraught man muttering to himself on the other side of the room.
“Because that’s what you believe you can offer—protection,” he explained calmly.
“I can’t absolve Matthew’s sins. But I can offer understanding, if not forgiveness.
I’m in love with a mob boss. Looking the other way—pretending he’s something other than what he is would be foolish—perhaps even idiotic.
What I can do though, is hold him to higher standards going forward. ”
Beckett’s jaw dropped in total shock. But Hayes understood because—well, fuck—he understood precisely what Franklin was saying.
“I’m curious,” Hayes said, from beside Beckett. “What does he offer you?”
Franklin snorted and his trademark smile re-appeared—that all-knowing one that said you were being too obvious.
“A way out of my own head,” Franklin said, and it was disarmingly simple, as far as answers went. “I believe you’re familiar with the concept,” he said, one eyebrow raised challengingly at Hayes.
With that, he stood up and strode across the room.
He didn’t touch Matthew, not at first. He simply leaned against the window that Matthew had been looking out of and waited for him to acknowledge his presence.
It only took a few seconds. Matthew stopped pacing and faced Franklin, clearly struggling for words.
Franklin spoke quietly to him, voice too low for Beckett and Hayes to hear, despite their best efforts.
A moment later, Matthew buried his face against Franklin’s neck as they wrapped their arms around each other.
“This is worse than catching my parents having sex,” Beckett groaned and covered his eyes.
Hayes chuckled as Beckett leaned sideways and snuggled against him.
Lacing their fingers together, Beckett ran his thumb over the top of Hayes’ hand a few times before he spoke again. “How many girls do you think he’s got stashed under that factory?” Beckett asked solemnly as he contemplated the magnitude of what they were about to face.
“I—” Hayes hesitated. He’d been wondering about that all the way to the safehouse. He hated the very idea of trying to come up with an estimate.
“Hard to say.” And that was the truth.
“But you have an educated guess,” he persevered, undeterred by Hayes’ evasiveness.
Hayes nodded slowly. “I Googled it on the way over. Even if he had access to their medical records before he kidnapped them, and was able to make sure they would most likely be a match, there’s a good chance by the time they got here, their health would have deteriorated, or that they weren’t a complete match.
Then, most people need a few weeks for their bodies to be able to replace stem cells between donations, but it’s quite taxing on the body.
It’s not recommended that people do more than two donations a year.
Most likely, he’s medicating them so that the stem cells will be released into their bloodstreams and then he harvests the stem cells that way—it’s easier than extracting the cells from bone marrow but less efficient, so—I’d assume he needs quite a few victims in order for him to undergo recurring treatments. ”
“Do you think he’s selling this procedure?” Beckett asked.
Something in Beckett’s expression told Hayes that he’d been contemplating this question since first learning of Hayes’ theory.
Unfortunately, so had Hayes. His entire body was rigid with tension as he sat beside him.
Hayes knew, with a doubt, what was running through his mind.
Beckett knew all about being trapped and restrained. Held against his will.
“I think narcissistic millionaires are a dime a dozen,” Hayes sighed. Thinking about all this was repugnant, but he had to consider that someone like Mario who profited directly from another’s pain would not want to pass up a highly profitable opportunity such as this one.
“Franklin might get his wish after all,” Beckett said coldly.
“Hmm?” Hayes asked, confused.
“If I see that motherfucker—I might just kill him.”
Although Hayes was well aware that he should have objected to that statement on both moral and legal grounds, if his ideas about all this were confirmed, he knew that he’d gladly help Beckett hide the body.