Chapter 9
“Gods above,” Jasper grunted, adjusting his grip under the man’s arms. “What did he eat to grow to this size?”
“Just concentrate on the steps,” I muttered, cursing the flickering bulbs hanging above our heads as we descended to the chambers below the house.
A pang of sadness hit my chest, reminding me that I should have heeded my wife’s advice on the indoor lighting. Time and time again, I was struck by how often the little things sent me spiraling down into the dark recesses of my mind.
It seemed like ages ago when I had taken Calia down here. She had, of course, complained about the lack of lighting. At the time, I had shrugged it off, too focused on how she would react when I showed her where I had placed Jasper as punishment following her attack. I had been driven by a force I could not define, needing to show her the darkness in me. In retrospect, that same force kept me from seeing the harm I caused to someone so dear.
I had many regrets regarding how I handled my jealousy that day. When I saw her with Senna, something snapped. It was not because I had anything to hide regarding my ex—if one could call her that. I knew she would say anything to cause Calia to doubt me, especially after Senna had interrupted Calia and I’s first…encounter.
It really was no wonder why my wife had trust issues. They were more than warranted, especially as I looked back at our beginning.
I had been wrong not only because my actions affected her but also because I had taken it out on Jasper.
Calling myself an ass would have put it mildly. I had been ruthless in my attempts to dissuade her interest. And when I had succeeded, it should have felt victorious.
Instead, it felt as though I had lost my world.
Perhaps I should not have let her see that side of me, but a monster like myself was incapable of change. It was sewn into the fabric that made me who I was. I did not shy away from the knowledge. In fact, I often embraced it.
People often assumed the worst of others, judging what they couldn’t understand. For that, the label of ‘monster’ had followed me around since my father died.
I had been a topic of many hushed conversations, raising the question of nurture versus nature. Many asked where my parents had gone wrong or if they had shown me enough love as a child.
It would have been laughable had it not cut me so deep. While my father wore an intimidating mask in public, he was so different behind closed doors. He trained me in classic literature, often spending hours reading specific sections with me before discussing the ideas discussed on the pages.
My father had started my musical training from an early age. However, no one except for Jasper and Rowena had ever heard me play. I had not touched the piano since he died.
But even though I had known what my father’s love had felt like, I was a product of my mother’s making. Leonora had taken the boy my father nurtured and turned me into a man who shut the world around him out. I mourned for the life I could have lived, for the love that could have been mine, and the joy I never experienced.
She ensured I viewed the world through jaded lenses.
“You boys are doing great,” Sloane called as she trailed behind us. Her voice brought me back to the present, an excellent thing, seeing as I would have tripped over the final step had I not snapped free of my memories. “Your teamwork is truly inspiring.”
Jasper huffed, stumbling over the final stair I had almost taken a tumble on. “And you really are a pain in my ass,” he muttered, dragging the man’s massive form through the door before dropping it to the concrete below.
“I heard that, you know,” Sloane quipped.
“Good. You were supposed to.” He lifted the hem of his shirt, wiping away the sweat clinging to his forehead. I did not miss the way Sloane’s eyes slid over the defined muscled of his stomach. “Where do you want him?” he asked.
I looked around, inhaling the stale scent of old blood. It had never gone away despite hours of scrubbing the dungeon from top to bottom with the most potent chemicals money could buy.
The deprivation chamber stood in the middle of the room, in contrast with the other devices I knew were hidden behind the other doors. Seeing it now riddled me with shame and regret. I glanced at Jasper, hoping I did not see it echoed in his gaze. Knowing what I did to him here would forever haunt me.
“Let’s strap him in the chair,” I said, motioning to the right.
This cell had been my uncle’s particular preference for torture. Thick bars of steel separated the space from the main room, and inside was a large wooden chair fitted with leather cuffs for the hands and feet and a metal collar was attached just below the headrest.
Whoever had been unlucky enough to be caught in this contraption knew they would never get out.
Not alive, anyway.
For there was no way to escape once ensnared. The bindings prohibited movement of any kind. The cuffs and collar had a locking mechanism that no one could break; without a key, they would never open. They could even be tightened to the point it cut off the victim’s circulation. In short, I would have complete and total control over this man’s life—forcing him to face his mortality when he had wanted to run.
Jasper and I both bent down, groaning as we picked the man up and carried him the rest of the way. We quickly adjusted the straps, ensuring they fit snugly against his skin.
My grandfather’s antique apothecary cabinet sat at the back of the cell, filled to the brim with various poisons and torture devices. Blades of varying size were hung neatly in a row along the wall. Some were serrated, and some came to a fine point. There were cleavers and machetes and axes. One of my personal favorites was a military-grade bifurcated blade which was designed to result in fatal bleed-out.
Hell, I even saw a potato peeler.
“Search him,” I ordered, making my way toward the table to examine every instrument of torture at the ready. Their metal glinted under the harsh light, promising the most delicious pain. Later, I thought with a smile on my face. Later I would make him fucking scream, even if for no other reason than I could. He had threatened not only my life but the lives of others around me. If I let him live, he would crawl back to whoever held his leash like the dog he was.
I refused to show him mercy.
I reached for a small drawer labeled ‘smelling salts,’ grabbing a pre-measured pouch before returning to my friend. Jasper began patting the man down, feeling inside every pocket and coming up empty. Perhaps we would not get so lucky?—
“Aha!” Jasper said, pulling a crumpled envelope from inside the man’s bulletproof vest. He pulled it open, scanning the contents quickly. His face fell with each line. “Fuck,” he cursed.
He handed the document over without me asking. Jasper turned, his forehead wrinkled as he lost himself in thought.
I reached inside, pulling the contents from their creased pouch. The name Claude was stamped across the front. Black and white photographs of Jasper, Rowena, and I were the first thing I saw, noticing our personal details listed on the back in what looked like my mother’s barely legible scrawl. He had everything—names, birthdays, phone numbers, and addresses we frequented.
I braced my hand on the wall to steady myself. No, no, no, no…
Sloane plucked the contents from my grasp, scanning it quickly before she let out a low laugh. “That fucking bitch.”
Something inside me snapped, an invisible tether I was unaware of. I reared on her, grasping her throat and squeezing. “Is there something funny about this?” I asked, ripping the paper from her hands. I could no longer think straight. The rage I felt was far too potent.
“Rion—” Jasper moved toward me, stopping only as he took in the silver of my eyes.
To her credit, Sloane did not balk. She stood still as my hand remained against her throat, though the frantic fluttering of her pulse beneath my grip gave away her fear. “No,” she gasped.
Somehow I knew, in my fucking bones. I knew who had orchestrated the hit.
Sloane placed her hand atop my own, not to pry open my grip but to offer a steady, calming presence. “I’m sorry,” she rasped, though I knew she had no reason to.
If Calia could see me now, she would be ashamed.
I quickly let go, running my hands through my hair. What the fuck was I doing?
Grabbing the salts, I peeled the plastic off the top, waving it under the man’s nose. Yet, he did not move. Which was difficult to believe—the smell of ammonia was so potent that even my eyes were watering.
“Wake up,” I muttered, aware of how Sloane and Jasper watched me. “Fucking wake up.” I turned to my friend. “Did you kill him?”
“No! I mean, I know I kicked him, but it wasn’t that hard. Besides, he’s breathing.” He reached over and placed his fingers along the man’s pulse point. His shoulders slumped imperceptibly before stepping back. “Yup, there’s a pulse.”
“Gods above,” Sloane said, pushing past us. I tried to ignore the handprint along her throat. “Do I have to do everything around here?”
“I don’t remember you doing the heavy lifting, Sloane. You were all too happy to let us carry the load,” Jasper snapped back.
Her only response was to lift her middle finger toward him before slapping the unconscious man across the face. She waited only a minute before repeating the action four more times. Slowly, his eyelids began to flutter. “Wakey, wakey,” she cooed, continuing her assault until his eyes shot wide open, and he began to scream.
“He sure is a loud one,” Jasper mused, tilting his head.
“That is putting it mildly,” I replied, watching the man as he began hyperventilating.
“Shit, his heart may give out before we have a chance to question him.” Jasper stepped forward, but Sloane blocked his path as she clasped her hand over the man’s open mouth, blocking the sound of his cries.
His eyes grew wide as Sloane began to whisper softly in his ear, but his screams diminished. She looked at him the way one would a lover, yet as she turned to face us, there was a cold glint in her eye that had not been there before.
“What’d you do?” Jasper asked, glancing between them.
I was interested in knowing the answer as well. Witches were formidable creatures; their powers manifested at an early age, and they spent most of their adolescence in the coven’s school, learning to wield their magic and hone their mental shields.
There were no markers identifying what kind of power they possessed, either.
“I threatened his favorite part,” she said in a sweet, mocking voice. “Men like him often cooperate when you bring up their little buddy.
The man whimpered behind her, and each of us turned to stare at his trembling body.
His voice rang clear in my mind as soon as I broke past his feeble mental barrier. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, he chanted. Don’t give in. You can do this. You can take it. But his tone was weak, and the smell of piss filled the air as it ran down his leg.
“Gods,” Jasper said, scrunching his nose. “We haven’t even touched him yet.”
There was no time like the present.
I walked toward the desk, picked up a small hammer, and tossed it to test the weight. Claude shook his head as he saw what I held. “Please,” he whimpered. “I don’t know anything.”
Don’t let him in. Don’t tell him anything. Keep your mouth shut.
I pointed the hammer in his direction. “Your thoughts say otherwise.”
He blanched, licking his lips. “Look, I don’t know anything that would help you. We were hired by an outside source to bring you in.”
“By who?” I asked, watching the light glint off the metal of my chosen weapon.
“I don’t?—”
“Do not lie to me,” I seethed, bringing the hammer down on his splayed fingers. He cried out in agony, but it did not deter me. If anything, it only fueled the fire burning inside. “In the chapel, you and your men spoke of a woman. So, I will ask again. Who hired you?”
“I—I don’t know her name,” he whimpered. “Wasn’t nothin’ in the missive we got from our chain of command, I swear!”
“But you do know it. You have worked for this person before, correct?” His silence said it all. “We found your missive. Perhaps I would have been inclined to believe you had you not kept it on your body.” Claude’s cries filled the space. Snot ran down his lips as he blubbered incoherently. “What did you do for Leonora D’Arcy previously?”
His eyes grew wide, pupils blown with fear as I called his bluff. I did not know if it would work or if he would be quick to deny it, but to my surprise, secrets began spewing from his cowardly tongue. “My brothers answered a call a few months back. Lady said she had an easy job, a way to make quick money. We was all in debt so we took it. She wanted us to get this girl—” he nodded in my direction, “the one you was gonna marry. She wanted it done before the ceremony was finished, dunno why, but then we was caught. Guess she came calling about another job. ‘Make it look like a kidnapping,’ she said. She made us all get these tattoos, saying it’d throw you off our scent.”
“What tattoo?” I gritted out.
“Right here on my chest,” he said, gaze darting between Jasper and I. “You can see for yourself!”
Jasper reached over and pulled back the man”s collar, revealing the ankh design which signified members of the Vail wore proudly. The damned thing was etched in my mind from hours of study following Calia’s attack. I closed my eyes against the truth inked into his skin.
My mother… It had been her all along. She had… She had arranged the attack on Calia, but why? What purpose would that have served, seeing as she already had unfettered access to my wife? And what plans?—
“What happened next?” Sloane asked, running the blade of a knife along his thigh.
“It didn’t work!” Claude cried. “And then we was hunted down. Most of my men was killed and the rest of us went into hiding in our compound until that devil lady sent that letter to us. We couldn’t say no, you see. I got too many debts, especially since my brothers died. Theirs landed on me, too! I couldn’t say no!”
“And where is your compound?”
He shook his head. “I can’t tell you! But I could show you. Just let me go, and I’ll take you there! All of you!” And then the wards can rip you fuckers to shreds, he thought with smug satisfaction.
For a moment, I had considered it—letting him go. I did not need more blood on my hands than I had currently, and if he was only Leonora’s pawn in this game we played, was it right to kill him for his desperation? But just as I knew he would be, Claude was just as bad as the rest of the scum in this world. He was a contract killer. Who knows how many lives he had taken with his brothers or how many others he could still take if I let him live?
Claude began sobbing, praying to the gods for comfort and safe passage to the heavens. He already knew he was as good as dead before I swung my hammer.