Chapter 41
Chapter Forty-One
Blake
This was the last place I wanted to be.
It had been almost a year since I’d heard from him. Almost a year since he’d summoned me.
A foolish part of me had started to believe it was over. That I’d finally paid my debt. That I was free.
I should have known better.
Men like Tucker Callahan didn’t let people go.
They collected them.
Owned them.
And just when you started to forget who held the leash, they tightened it around your throat.
Which was why I found myself driving beneath the wrought-iron gates of his estate in the Hamptons, the tires crunching over white gravel as the Atlantic Ocean glittered in the distance.
The mansion rose from the shoreline like something out of a magazine. Three stories. White stone. Perfect hedges. Perfect gardens. A perfect facade.
But beneath all the beauty and wealth, I knew what this place really was.
A graveyard.
There may not have been any bodies buried anywhere on the grounds, but more than enough souls had been lost within these walls.
Including my own.
I parked by the entrance and jumped out, making my way up to the front door. It opened immediately, a woman in a black maid uniform greeting me.
The place hadn’t changed much since the last time I’d been here.
Same marble floors.
Same expensive artwork.
Same suffocating scent of flowers.
As if it could cover the truth of the crimes committed here.
“Mr. Callahan is expecting you,” the housekeeper stated sweetly.
“Thank you.”
My footsteps echoed in the cavernous space as I made my way down a long hallway, pausing outside a pair of large wooden doors before knocking.
“Come in,” a gruff voice called out.
I opened the door and stepped into the office. Tucker Callahan sat behind his mahogany desk, sunlight pouring through the windows, the ocean stretching endlessly beyond the glass. The peaceful view was completely at odds with the man sitting in front of it.
“Blake,” he greeted, not bothering to stand.
Closing the doors behind me, I faced him, widening my stance and crossing my arms over my chest.
“What do you want?” I asked, dispensing with any pleasantries.
Things hadn’t been pleasant between us in a while.
If they ever were.
“Straight to business,” he remarked, a grin tugging at his lips.
“You know how I feel about this place. I’d rather not stay longer than necessary.”
“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but that may not be possible.”
My expression dropped. “Why?”
Without a word, he opened a manila folder and slid a photograph across the desk. I picked it up and studied it.
A normal person would have had some sort of reaction.
After all, this picture depicted a heavyset man in his late fifties who’d been tortured before being killed.
At least that was my opinion, considering the man had been stripped of his clothes, strung up, and mutilated to the point that his body looked less like flesh and more like butchered meat.
Bruises. Lacerations. Missing fingers. Something carved into his chest. A ball gag shoved into his mouth.
And I couldn’t be sure, but it looked like his dick had been cut off.
Whoever did this hadn’t rushed. They’d taken their time. Wanted him conscious. Wanted him afraid. Wanted him to suffer.
Years ago, I might have thrown up at what I was currently looking at.
That was before I’d become desensitized to any sort of violence or gore.
“Who’s this?”
“Robert Stanton.”
I acted as if the name meant nothing to me, schooling my expression. “And that is…?”
“A good friend who didn’t deserve this.”
He slid another photo toward me, and I picked it up. Another man stripped of his clothes, strung up, his body mutilated.
“And that’s Graham Hastings,” Tucker stated evenly.
“Should I know him?” I asked flippantly, once again pretending not to know who he was when I knew damn well.
“He’s an investment banker. Manages portfolios that would total more than the GDP of many countries… Including mine.”
I tossed the photos back onto his desk. “What does this have to do with me?”
“Two close friends are dead. I want to make sure their families get the justice they deserve.”
I shrugged dismissively. “Then call the cops.”
He barked out a rueful laugh, the sound carrying through the room. “I didn’t realize you’d developed a sense of humor. We both know the legal system won’t deliver the kind of justice I’m interested in.”
I remained impassive, knowing too well exactly the kind of justice Tucker Callahan preferred. After all, I’d spent years cleaning up his version of justice.
“What do you want from me, Callahan?”
“To find the person responsible for this.” He pressed a stubby finger to the photograph of Robert Stanton.
“And?”
“And bring them to me.”
I stared at him for several long moments, my jaw ticking.
“No.”
He lifted a single gray eyebrow. “No?”
“I’m done with that life.”
He chuckled under his breath. “That’s rich.”
“I’m serious, Tucker. Find someone else to be your errand boy. I’m sure you have plenty to choose from. I don’t do this anymore.”
I turned from him and started toward the door, a part of me convinced the next thing I’d hear would be a gunshot as he shot me in the back.
I would have preferred it to the words that came out of his mouth next.
“I understand you recently discovered you have a niece.”
Every muscle in my body locked, and I froze in place, my breathing becoming ragged, my pulse quickening.
Slowly, I turned back around. The amusement was gone from his face.
Now there was only calculation.
He opened the same folder and removed a photograph. Then another. And another.
Each one landed heavily on the desk between us.
Each one caused my heart to squeeze even more.
Each one was of Sarah.
Walking into her townhouse.
Leaving a coffee shop.
Carrying groceries.
Getting into her car.
Coming out of the gym.
I should have known this would happen. This was why I’d spent the past several decades of my life avoiding all personal connections. Because Tucker Callahan would destroy anything you loved to get what he wanted.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” he remarked with a smirk. “Looks so much like her mother.”
I gripped the back of a chair so hard my knuckles turned white, my jaw aching from clenching it.
“It would be a shame if something happened to her.” He folded his hands in front of him. “Especially since you’ve only just started getting to know each other.”
My pulse roared in my ears as hot, violent rage coursed through me. It took every ounce of self-control not to climb across that desk and beat him to death with my bare hands.
“Find whoever did this…” He tapped the photographs of the bodies, “and bring them to me.” His lips curved up into a sinister smile. “Unless you want the next photos I show you of your niece to be of her mutilated body.”
I didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Barely breathed.
I looked at the photographs of Sarah’s smiling face. Then of the mutilated bodies.
I always feared my association with Tucker Callahan would eventually be my downfall.
Especially because I already had a good idea who was responsible for this.
The only problem?
He’d ordered me to kill her years ago.
Thank you so much for reading The Chosen! I hope you enjoyed the final chapter of Henry and Ariana’s story!