Chapter Thirty Six #2
My phone is warm against my palm, the light offensive as I swipe the screen upwards with a trembling thumb.
Revealing rows of apps that remain blurry to me, I go directly to the location icon.
If I can send my location to Clay or Rhys, or anyone really, this nightmare will be over, but it can’t be that easy.
The screen swims as my thumb misses the icon.
Cursing beneath my breath, I try to slow, to steady my breath and try again, but I’m out of time.
The passenger door is yanked open, the interior light flares on, exposing me completely.
I recoil, clutching the phone to my chest, but it’s useless.
Arthur’s hand shoots out, fingers made of iron as they wrap around my wrist. Pain flares as he twists, forcing my grip to loosen and the phone is ripped from my hand effortlessly.
“No,” I gasp, my voice raw. “Please—”
Grabbing a fistful of my dress, Arthur’s shadow hauls me out of the seat, my body screaming in protest as my injured head lolls.
I claw at him, nails scraping uselessly over his jacket as my heels skid against the dirt outside.
The night air is freezing now, biting into my exposed skin as he drags me fully out of the car.
Dully, I spot the glowing light of my phone being tossed into the seat I recently occupied, just before the door is slammed closed between us.
“What are you doing, you raving, fucking lunatic?!” I scream into the night, hoping more than just the birds scattering from the branches overhead can hear me.
Dragged sideways by Arthur’s strong hands, I stumble, losing my footing.
Gravel digs into my knees, my palms scraping painfully as I fail to keep my balance.
Without bothering to pick me up, Arthur tugs me through the dirt, his fingers latching onto my hair for the final pull that sees me screaming and lifting myself into the open trunk.
I collapse inside just for the relief of his brutal grip, the lack of resistance around my movements hinting at the fact my dress has been torn in multiple places.
“Arthur, wait! We can talk about this,” I plead just before the trunk slams closed. If he answered, I wouldn’t have been able to hear him anyway.
I scream then. I don’t hold it back. I don’t ration it.
I scream until my throat burns and my lungs ache, fists pounding uselessly against the metal above me.
It doesn’t matter. The sound is swallowed whole, trapped with me in the dark.
The air feels thin already, each breath shallow and panicked.
I curl in on myself instinctively, trying to make space where there is none, my head spinning violently as the world tilts again.
The roar in my head is so loud, I swear I can almost hear the rumble of the engine.
Beneath me, a vibration shudders to life.
It’s steady at first, until the car manoeuvres through the gravel and hits the smoother road.
Then, skidding forward, I jerk and slam into the hard metal.
Pain blooms across my ribs, knocking the breath from my lungs in a sharp, humiliating wheeze.
My head pounds so hard it feels like it might split, nausea rolling through me in sickening waves.
All I can think about is the darkness closing in around me, the smell of oil and metal, the suffocating lack of space, and against my better judgment, I give in.
For the first time in as long as I can remember, I hate my deafness.
For the first time since the accident, I understand my limits.
I thought I could beat them through pure stubborn will.
I thought, if I loved myself enough, if I knew my worth, that life would come easier.
Now, in the isolation of the trunk and the abyss of the unknown, I see the truth.
No strength can be forged through weakness.
If I had just accepted that in the first place, if I’d never left my aunt’s house, I’d have saved myself so much suffering.
From Kenneth, Arthur and my own lack of judgement.
But I also wouldn’t have known love. I wouldn’t have seen Clay come out of his shell, or Rhys face the demons that aren’t tattooed onto his chest but churning within it.
I wouldn’t have understood what I was willing to sacrifice to take away the pain of those I care about.
Perhaps there is an element of noble strength there, but it doesn’t feel as virtuous when it’s probably about to get me killed.
Tears spill down my cheeks freely, soaking into my hair, my chest hitching with each sob I can’t control.
Much like with the car accident that destroyed my childhood, I should have protected myself better.
Should have been tougher. Should have recovered quicker.
There’s a thousand accusations racing through my head, and then, so quietly I thought I fabricated it myself, a word slips through.
“Well,” it says, followed by a breathy chuckle.
“At least she had the decency to try.” I freeze, the tears running down my face turning cold.
Against the juddering around me, I hold as still as I’m able and simply listen.
“Most people don’t. My pathetic brother didn’t have the balls to even attempt knocking me off his throne.
No, no. One simple threat against his darling wife, and he rolled over to obey.
Didn’t even care about his own fucking son. ”
Although distanced by space and metal, his voice bleeds through the darkness with sharp clarity.
My breath stutters as I realize what it must be.
The mic app on my phone. Somehow, in my fumbling panic, I must have opened the app without even knowing.
My phone, discarded on the front seat, is listening, and Arthur, being the epitome of a narcissist, is talking.
“You’ll thank me one day, Rhys,” Arthur hums as he sighs.
“Phillip would have sold everything to save Della. Our family would have lost it all if I hadn’t stepped in.
And when he couldn’t find a long-term cure for her, what then?
He’d have resorted to cashing in favors, gambling, or begging.
Our name would have been dragged through the mud.
The fall of an empire because one woman’s heart wasn’t strong enough to carry her. ”
My heart stutters violently. My body curls tighter, nails digging into my arms as his words wash over me, each confession carving itself into my memory. He keeps talking, voice smooth, self-satisfied, unraveling everything in the dark because he can.
“I wore his face better than he ever did,” Arthur goes on, irritation creeping in now.
“I raised you to be smarter than him, more calculated. To refuse the silly notion of love and focus on what’s important.
If you weren’t so fucking insolent, I would have shared it all with you.
But deep down, you’re weak, just like your father.
You fell at the whim of a woman just as defective as your mother.
The irony would be hilarious if I wasn’t so fucking disappointed. ”
I have the urge to scream then. I’m not defective. Love isn’t weakness. Rhys is more than he could ever know, but I say nothing out of fear that Arthur might hear me. That he might stop talking.
“Imagine my surprise when I was about to intervene and discovered that little dimwit was doing the job for me,” Arthur says lightly, like he’s commenting on a misplaced step.
My blood runs cold. He didn’t give a name, but I know he’s referring to Kenneth.
“It was poetic really, and far too easy to take over. A few bottles of pills and he was crawling at my knees, willing to do whatever I wanted. And what I want is for this bitch to stop being a thorn in my side.”
Time becomes meaningless after that. The engine drones, the road's bounce becoming rhythmic beneath me. Arthur talks. Sometimes he laughs. Sometimes he goes quiet, only to start again, circling his own brilliance, his justifications, his resentments. I listen to every word, fear slowly giving way to something hollow and numb as the reality sinks in. He’s told me everything.
We’ve got our confession, and it doesn’t matter.
I’m not the one wearing a wire tonight. I wasn’t supposed to be involved.
Eventually, the car slows. The engine changes pitch, gravel crunching beneath the wheels once more. Arthur exhales, a faint click signaling his fingers tapping the steering wheel. The car comes to a stop, and the low words that follow are heavier than everything else he’s said tonight.
“I should have tied up loose ends a long time ago.” Cracking sounds, maybe from his knuckles or his neck.
“We had a deal, brother, and you’ve broken your promise to stay the fuck away.
” With that, Arthur shifts, the sound of the car door opening and slamming closed, and the silence that envelopes me feels all kinds of wrong.
It presses in on until my inner ears ring, until the darkness feels thick enough to choke on. I don’t need to see Arthur to know what he’s doing. Every word he muttered, every self-righteous confession, every careful mile driven has been leading here. To his loose ends. To Della Mae and Phillip.
The numbness encasing my body fractures, terror flooding back in a violent surge that snaps me fully awake, my heart slamming so hard it hurts.
I can’t just lie here. I can’t let it end like this.
Driven by something feral and frantic, I twist in the trunk, knees knocking into metal, my head screaming in protest as pain explodes behind my eyes again.