Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
CHRISTIAN
A searing pain shoots through my skull, and I moan. Cranking an eye only allows the harsh florescent lights above to pierce my retina. I blink, my eyelids fluttering. Slowly, my memories return. The block in the road. The car stopping. A police officer. Smoke. Too late. Too damn late.
What the fuck happened? Where are Marshall and Dawson?
I moan again as I shift position on the uncomfortable wooden chair. My shoulders ache from being pulled behind me, and the smallest movement makes the rope around my wrists chafe.
“Wakey, wakey.” A hand strikes my cheek, and my head snaps to the right. I bite my tongue, and blood fills my mouth. “Come on, Loverboy. It’s time to face the consequences of your actions. Your privilege won’t save you this time.”
I spit blood on the floor, my vision clearing. Standing in front of me is a stranger, with dark hair, dark eyes, and a faint scar above one eyebrow. I’d guess he’s in his early fifties. Soon to be dead.
“Who the fuck are you?”
He smiles, revealing a gap between his front teeth.
“Ah, he speaks. We’ll get to that when I’m good and ready.
” Pivoting, he strolls to the other side of the small room I’m being held in.
Above me, exposed wooden struts crisscross the ceiling.
The floor is solid concrete, and there’s a single door that’s ajar.
My captor returns with a chair and plants it in front of me.
He sits down, crosses his legs, and folds his arms.
“You haven’t a clue who I am, have you?”
I narrowly avoid rolling my eyes. “You broke the code. Although I kind of gave it away when I said, ‘Who the fuck are you?’”
My sarcasm is rewarded with a punch to the face. Blood spurts from my nose. I curse. All those fights with my brothers over the years, and this twat breaks my fucking nose.
“You’re cocky for someone in an inferior position. Cocky… or stupid. Which is it?”
“Neither.” I fake a yawn. “Can we get on with it? I’m bored with your company already.”
This time, he backhands me. I slowly return my head to the center and try to ignore the pain in my cheek. The worse shape I’m found in, the slower his death will be. I’ve no idea how long I’ve been out, but help won’t be far away. It’s pitiful, really, how na?ve this dickhead is.
Whoever he is.
“My name is Daniel Taylor.”
Must’ve read my mind. I hitch a shoulder. “And that should mean something to me because?”
He launches upright, plants both his hands on the back of my chair, and looms over me in what he clearly thinks is a threatening manner.
I stare at him, unblinking.
“You knew my brother Drew. And his wife Grania. Or, I should say, you murdered them.”
Shock widens my eyes. Drew never mentioned he had a brother, although why would he? We were business colleagues not friends. I rack my brains, trying to remember if I saw this guy at the funeral. I come up empty.
“I didn’t murder them.”
He straightens and presses the flat of his palm over his chest. “Color me shocked. I’d expect nothing less than denial from a lying piece of shit like you. Money talks, huh? That’s how you buried the report.”
Well, money… and blackmail. Not that I’m about to tell this twat anything. I lift one side of my mouth in a wry smile and shrug. As expected, I get another punch for my troubles. I can only see out of one eye now, but I can’t feel a thing. Must be blocking the pain.
“You people think you’re untouchable, but you’re not.”
“If you say so.” I’ve already figured out the text to Dad was fake, although I’m not sure how he broke through our encryption. I hazard a guess. “Is my father’s lawyer alive?”
His eyes light up, mouth curving into a sinister grin.
“It was so easy to get him to send a text. Sniveling excuse of a man. Your father needs a better lawyer—one with a backbone. And to answer your question, yes, he’s alive.
His staff will find him in the morning, bound and gagged, and a bit worse for wear but breathing. ”
“And what about my driver and my bodyguard?”
“Enough with the questions,” he hollers. Smack. My head snaps back. “Tell me why and how you killed them, and I’ll make this quick. Keep up this tough guy act, and I’ll drag out your death for hours. Days, maybe.”
Good luck with that.
“I’ll say again, because honestly, you seem a little slow. I. Didn’t. Kill. Drew. Or. Grania.”
He kicks the legs from under my chair, and I fall back. A shooting pain radiates through my lower back. Leaning over, he grabs the lapels on my jacket and hauls me and the chair back into place.
“Liar!”
I shrug again, then brace for another volley of punches. They don’t come. He paces, raking a hand through his hair. From where I’m sitting, it looks as though he’s played his one and only card, and he doesn’t know what to do next. Not to worry. That decision will be taken from him shortly.
“Fine.” He gives one of those smug smiles, like he’s holding onto a secret he’s just bursting to tell. “If you won’t tell me, maybe you’ll tell her.”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out his phone and taps on the screen. When he shoves it in front of my face, it takes a second for me to work out what I’m looking at.
It’s a picture of a happy family scene taken at Christmas, four people grinning into the camera in front of a roaring fire. An elegantly dressed tree stands in the corner, its lights twinkling.
My gaze skims over Drew and Grania, and the son, too. It’s the daughter that draws my attention. Grace. My Grace. Except… different. The nose, the chin… it’s her but altered.
I-I don’t understand.
Taylor chuckles. “It’s funny watching your brain deny what your eyes are telling you.
Maybe I hit you too hard. I tell you what.
I’ll make it easy on you. Your wife is my niece.
Your wife’s real name is Grace Taylor, daughter of Drew and Grania Taylor.
Lady Grace Ambrose is as fake as your marriage.
You think you’re so smart, but a slip of a girl got one over on you.
You’re not smart. You’re gullible. You’re stupid.
And you’re going to tell me everything about what happened to my brother and his wife. ”
His words swim around inside my head, bouncing off my skull like a pinball.
It wasn’t only our marriage that was fake, but also the woman who calls herself my wife.
The entire thing was a setup from start to finish.
Deeply entrenched beliefs bubble to the surface.
This wouldn’t have happened to Xan, Nicholas, or even Tobias.
They’d have seen through the subterfuge.
Whereas me… I fell for it hook, line, and fucking sinker.
I’m the sucker. The fool. The one lacking the intelligence to see through the bullshit.
And what’s worse… I love her. I fucking love her. Except how can I be in love with a woman who doesn’t exist other than in my imagination?
Raw anger rises inside me. My tied hands shake.
Blood rushes through my ears, and adrenaline fills my veins.
She lied to me. She fucking lied to me. The whole time, from that first meeting at the masked ball right up until today, and all to uncover a truth I’ve worked so fucking hard to keep under wraps.
For her.
Okay, for me, too, but that’s a moot point now.
After this, I’ll have to tell my father everything. I never wanted Drew and Grania’s kids to find out what really happened, yet all this time, they’ve been plotting and scheming, oblivious to what really happened and how much it would hurt them to know the truth.
Fuck it. Fuck them. Fuck this piece of shit in front of me.
Grace wants the truth? She can have it—with both fucking barrels. But if this prick thinks I’m telling him anything, he can fuck all the way off.
“Oh dear, oh dear. Someone’s having their eyes opened.
” He grabs me by the jacket again. Spit gathers at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes gleam with murderous intent.
“You can deny what happened as much as you like, but I know the truth. You rich bastards are all the same. You think you’re above the law, and the worst of it is, you are.
But you’re not above my fucking law. After I’ve killed you, I’m going to mail you back to your family in fucking pieces.
They’ll come for me, but I don’t care. I’ll die happy knowing I avenged my brother’s murder. ”
A shadow moves behind him, arm raised.
I grin. “Something tells me that’s not going to happen.”
A second later, Taylor’s sprawled on the floor, unconscious.
I glare at Patrick Mahoney, head of the Irish mafia. “You took your fucking time.”
“Your watch signal died the second he brought you inside this row of warehouses. Think there must be lead in the walls or something. We had to check them all to find out which one you were in.” He unties me.
I stand, rubbing my wrists. “Marshall and Dawson okay?”
“Yeah. They’re outside waiting to take you home.” He gestures at my face. “Might want to see a doc first. You look a bloody mess.”
“Still got that Irish charm, I see.”
“For sure.” He toes Taylor, who hasn’t stirred. “What do you want me to do with him?”
If he hadn’t told me about Grace, I’d have had Mahoney give me a gun and I’d shoot him in the head. But that revelation has changed everything.
“Hold him for now. I’ll decide when I can see out of both eyes, and I haven’t got a nose clogged with blood.”
Mahoney nods, crouches, and tosses Taylor over his shoulder as though he’s six stone wet through. I follow him outside, glancing along the row of identical warehouses. His brothers, Liam and Darragh, emerge from the last two and make their way toward us.
“Christ, all three of you showed up,” I mutter to Patrick. “That’s a hell of a retainer my father’s paying you.”
Patrick grunts. “We were in London for a meeting, otherwise I’d have sent someone else.”
“Well, fuck me. I’m honored.”
“Jesus, what happened to yer face?” Liam asks, eyebrow arched before his brother can respond to my sarcasm.
“Fuck off.”
He laughs.
“Need anything else?” Patrick asks.
“No, I’m good.” I stick out my hand. “Thanks.”
He shifts Taylor’s weight before shaking my hand. “Might be a good idea to have your techy figure out why the alert signal died. If we’d arrived a few minutes later, may’ve been a different outcome.”
I nod. “I will.”
The three brothers make their way over to their car.
Liam opens the boot, and Patrick tosses Taylor inside.
I hear a dull thud and smile. A concussion is the least of Taylor’s problems. The Mahoneys aren’t known for rolling out the red carpet to their “guests”.
And you can bet I’m going to take my sweet fucking time before deciding whether Taylor lives or dies.
As for Grace…
I dismiss Marshall’s offer of a handkerchief to mop up the drying blood on my face and climb into the back of the car.
He hands me my phone. I presume Taylor must’ve made sure it was left behind, assuming it had a tracker.
It does, but even I’m not dumb enough to rely on a single piece of tech for my security.
“Thanks. You both okay?”
“Yes, boss,” Dawson answers. “Apart from a mild headache.” He catches my eye in the mirror. “We’re sorry, sir.”
“What for?”
“Should’ve clocked something was wrong long before he got anywhere near you.”
I shake my head. “This isn’t on you. Who wouldn’t stop for a supposed accident?”
“Hospital?” Marshall queries.
“No. Take me home.” I’ll have a lot of explaining to do when I get there, but first, I have a phone call to make. “And have someone call into Oscar Benjamin’s offices immediately.” I briefly recount what Taylor told me.
“On it,” Dawson replies, already tapping away on his phone.
“Thanks. I wonder what Taylor would have done if my father had decided to make the journey himself?” I’m thinking out loud, but Marshall answers anyway.
“Tried again on another day, perhaps. Or taken your father instead.”
A fiery burst of anger rushes through me. If he’d done to my father what he’s done to me, I’d have taken immense pleasure in killing him slowly. I still might. Haven’t decided yet.
After activating the privacy screen, I pull up Grace’s number. Fury crawls beneath the surface of my skin at her betrayal and subterfuge. These last few weeks have been some of the happiest of my life, yet the whole thing was a charade, a lie. She’s a bloody good actress; I’ll give her that.
I can’t stop my pulse from skipping as the ringing tone sounds in my ear.
I married Grace because I wanted to continue my bachelor lifestyle, except the lifestyle I thought I craved withered after being with her.
She found a way through to my heart, and I fell in love.
Yet all this time, she was… what… spying on me? Going through my personal shit?
What was her endgame? Supposedly find evidence of my guilt and confront me with it?
What then? Call the police and have me arrested?
Never would’ve happened. Not even if the police believed I had killed the Taylors.
We’re above the law, but maybe Grace isn’t aware of that.
I’ve never spoken to her about The Consortium and our place on the council, partially because I’m not nearly as involved as my father, Xan, and Nicholas are.
“Christian?” There’s panic in her tone mingled with a hint of fear.
She knows. She knows her uncle kidnapped me. That makes what I’m about to do simpler, I guess.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my deceitful little wife.”
“Christian, please. I can expl—”
“Shh, Duchess.” My chest tightens as the nickname that came so naturally to me spills out unintentionally. Even now, knowing what she’s done, how she’s deluded me for months, my heart yearns for her. Stupid thing doesn’t know that we’ve been gaslit by a master manipulator.
“Is he alive?”
“For now.”
“Please, Christian, I never meant for this to happen. I didn’t know he planned to kidnap you. Are you all right?”
“What do you care?”
“I care. I do. Please give me a chance to explain.”
I wall off my feelings, shutting down emotionally. It’s the only way I’ll be able to do what needs to be done. “Listen to me, Grace, and listen carefully.” Even I hear the ice in my tone.
She sucks in a breath.
“I have some advice for you, Little Miss Deceitful. Advice you’d do well to follow.”
“What?” she whispers.
I leave her question lingering in the air for a full ten seconds before I hit her with it.
“Run.”