Chapter 16 #2
“Pardon me?” Denis asks, pausing at the edge of the living room, just beside the couch that I stabbed violently when I really wanted to stab Cody.
Near the sofa table where I picked up the vase and smashed it when I walked in on Aspen having his dick sucked by one of the maids.
Across the room from the empty fish tank.
Denis has just spotted Scarlett. Bohnes. Widow. Alexei.
“Who are your guests?” Trish asks, too stupid to realize that her own flesh-and-blood nephew is in the room with her.
If Widow recognizes her, he doesn’t let on.
Probably he doesn’t because when his parents passed away, Trish declined to take her orphaned nephew, knowingly leaving him with a pedophile.
My fingers flex and twitch around the sword hilt.
I ignore Trish and address Denis instead, moving over to stand beside him.
“How about some hookers and coke, Mr. Rattray?” I ask, and Denis gives a nervous laugh.
He’s a short, weak man with impeccable style and perfect hair.
He also loves anal sex with underage prostitutes and snorting cocaine.
A man of varied interests. Sometimes, Chet Senior joins him at the gay club and they take turns on unwilling participants in the alley out back.
“Not in front of the ladies,” Denis teases with another anxious chuckle, his gaze fixed on Alexei. Trish laughs, too.
“Boys will be boys,” is her brain-dead response to such a ridiculous statement.
My turn to laugh.
“You’re right,” I say to her, swinging the sword up to rest on my shoulder. “Boys will be boys.”
I turn and swing the blade out in an arc, slicing through the front of Denis’ throat.
Blood spurts out as he gurgles and stumbles back, clutching at his neck and choking as he claws at the split in his skin.
Trish goes ghost pale, her eyes widening as she backs away from me. Probably still thinks I’m Aspen.
“Ash, shit, there’s evidence everywhere now!” Scarlett shouts at me, but I’m not done here.
I put the tip of the sword to Trish’s gulping throat, and my hand is as steady as can be. No shaking. No trembling. I can feel Denis’ blood on my lips as he staggers and collapses in a puddle of it. Agonal breathing follows, assuring me that he’s good and dead. Good riddance.
“Get on your knees.” I command Trish with an imperialism that would make Aspen proud, like I own other people. Like they’re toys for me to do with as I please. She scrambles to obey me, falling to the ground in her cream jacket and matching skirt. Her gold blouse. Her expensive heels.
The first thing she does is reach for my pants and bile rushes into my throat. I use the flat of the blade to knock her grasping hands away. That reaction tells me all I need to know about her usual activities with her clients. I’d feel sorry for her if I thought she had a conscience or a soul.
“Please. I have children,” she sobs, tears streaming down her face. Her makeup, however, remains absolutely perfect. Her brunette hair curled and sprayed to sit artfully around her face. “Please, Aspen. I don’t know what happened, but I’ll make it right. I swear to God. I swear it.”
“Tell them the things you did,” I say, licking my lips and tasting blood. I catch a brief glimpse of my reflection in a nearby mirror, blood-splattered and wide-eyed and psychotic. “Tell them all the horrible things you got Aspen and Cody and Chet and Jonas out of.”
Trish’s eyes flick to the others in the room, as if they might come to her rescue. I decide to turn and address them, finding Scarlett with a perplexed, angry expression on her face. Bohnes is openmouthed and curious, rubbing at his chin with pale fingers. Alexei is stoic and unreadable.
And Widow. Ah. Widow.
“Do you know who this is?” I ask him, and he frowns.
“Why the fuck would I know who this is?” he says, and I smile. Emma Jean dug up old photos of Adrian and his mother and his aunts. She’s a talented journalist, but that was a baseless theory. Widow is entirely unconnected to this mess of intrigue. This right here is pure luck.
“Trish, do you know who this man is?” I ask, redirecting the question to her. She’s weeping and sniffling and trying very hard not to look at Denis’ body. “This is your nephew, Trish. Adrian Lawless.”
Her head snaps up, gold-brown eyes widening. She looks from Widow to me. Back to him.
“Adrian?” Trish says, like she had forgotten he even existed.
“Yes. Adrian. The nephew you refused to raise, even knowing where he would end up and what would happen to him. You were the one who got the DA to drop the charges against your brother-in-law in the past. Good work, Trish.” I look back at Widow who’s now staring at me like he has no idea what to make of all this.
Scarlett is breathing hard, her hands clutched in the thin fabric of her dress. She’s trying to get me to look at her, but I can’t do that yet. I need to see this through first. Something about her makes me want to…live.
“Apologize to Adrian,” I continue, expecting Trish to comply. I have a sword pressed into her throat. Why wouldn’t she?
“It wasn’t my job to care for some brat,” she screams, her true personality rising to the surface.
Ah. There she is, the professional fixer instead of the sobbing mother.
That’s better. I can’t stand all the lies and intrigue that happen in this house.
I don’t know how Aspen and my father stand it, drowning in their own bullshit.
“APOLOGIZE TO HIM!” I shout right back, putting the tip of the sword against her forehead. I spin it, leaving blood to run down her face. “Tell him how sorry you are or I’ll carve scars into your face that’ll make you wish you were dead.”
“What the actual fuck?” Widow whispers, taking a single step in our direction. “You don’t have to do this.” He sounds uncertain when he says that last part, looking over at Scarlett. “You gonna take charge here or what?”
“We already have to burn the house down because of Bolin.” Scarlett gestures loosely and then shrugs. “Finish what you started, Ash.”
Widow turns back to me.
Our eyes meet again, and I feel something like sheepishness burn through me.
“I want you to like me. More than that, I want these people to be punished for the things they do. Actions have consequences. They should have consequences.” I drop a horrid, wild gaze onto Trish and she flinches. “Call your sister, Maryanne. Now.”
“I’m not even in contact with her—” Trish sputters.
“I SAID CALL HER!” I twist the blade against her forehead again and she cries out.
Trish fumbles her phone from her pocket, but I snatch it from her before she can do something stupid.
I search through her contacts and place the call, putting the phone on speaker as it rings.
“If you do anything but invite her to come here, I will carve you up like a roast and mail your parts to your husband.”
Trish chokes on her tears and her snot as the call connects and Maryanne, the woman that Adrian made a widow, answers.
“Trish?” Maryanne asks, voice tentative as she answers the call. “Long time, no talk.”
“Maryanne,” Trish says, sniffling again. She looks up at me, and I hope she can see in my face that she’s one wrong word from losing a hand. “Maryanne…”
“Are you okay? What’s going on?” There’s a bit of a suspicious pause there. “Did Richard kick you out?’
Richard is Trish’s husband, and I’m rapidly running out of patience. I push the end of the blade against Trish’s forehead again, and she chokes on a sob.
“I, uh, need to see you.” Trish’s whimpering is far from convincing. I take control of the call.
“Yes, Richard kicked her out. I’ll text you an address. If you can get here in thirty minutes, I’ll pay you three thousand dollars to get her ass out of my house.” I hang up and send the text.
Maryanne, I’m sure, is like anyone else. Motivated by greed.
Trish has her hands clasped together, eyes squeezed shut. She’s praying fervently which is hilarious considering her line of work.
I feel a warm hand on my arm, looking over to find Scarlett waiting beside me. Her naked feet are just barely outside the circle of Mr. Rattray’s blood. I drop the tip of the blade to the floor with a clank.
“Next time, ask first,” she says, nice and calm. Fingers light on my arm. The touch of her fingertips on my skin is electric. It’s a touch I would live for, kill for, and die for. I reach down and press my hand over hers, squeezing gently. “You’ll crawl to me later to make up for this.”
“Unmei,” I say softly (fate), and she rolls her eyes dramatically, dragging her hand away. I frown gently at Scarlett, resisting the urge to kick Trish in the face as she mumbles out prayers she doesn’t even believe in. “I was born to crawl for you, Scarlett.”
“Born to kill perhaps,” Bohnes says respectfully, and I chuckle, reaching up to put a hand over my mouth and smearing blood. “I liked your plan as it was, Kelly. I’m glad we’re not scrapping the entire thing. You’re an artist with that blade.”
“I would’ve asked for their heads anyway.” Alexei edges away from the growing puddle, nostrils flared. His throat dips as he struggles not to react to the arterial spray that’s coated much of the living room. “Any person responsible—directly or indirectly—for my papa’s death needs to go.”
“You four better get your fill of killings and bloodshed out of the way now. I already told Ash this, but it’s worth repeating: once we’re settled up with the mob and free of the mayor, we’re officially civilians.
” Scarlett raises the corner of her lip in a feral scowl, like a wild animal.
Widow comes over to stand beside us, brow furrowed, mouth in a shape that’s very similar to Scarlett’s.
I stay calm by allowing myself to appreciate these other men the way she does. If I do end up dead (highly likely), she won’t be alone. That’s comforting; I’m not jealous at all. You are cordially invited, Ash.