5. Remy
“I knew you’d come for me eventually, Boudreaux.” Wes grins. I removed the rag from his mouth not even thirty seconds ago, and already he’s spouting off. Part of me wants to just shove it back in so far he chokes on it and walk away.
But I’ve been putting this conversation off long enough. Dimitri agreed to take care of my supposed half-brother while I’m busy worrying about Claire. He’s set up in the guest house to make sure Wes doesn’t get an opportunity to escape, taking him to the bathroom like a dog a couple times a day. It’s better than he deserves, but this is my guest house. I don’t need him stinking it up any more than he already has.
“If you’re going to speak, you’d better be saying something important.”
I pull the chair out from under the nearby desk and swing it around in front of me. Wes arches an eyebrow as he watches me sit backwards on it, leaning my arms against the top of the backrest. He grins, far too unconcerned given the situation he’s in.
Arrogant little fucker.
“Okay, Boudreaux. What do you want to know? You want to hear about how my father fucked your mother before you were even a thought in her empty little head? Or do you want to talk about your dead daddy some more?”
I flex my fist, trying to let go of some of the tension that has built in me. Over the course of the last few days, it’s only seemed to escalate. I need to get out of the house, to get answers, to face Davos myself. I can’t do any of that yet… not while I still have to worry over the girls.
“Neither, huh?” Wes tips his head, realizing that I’m not taking his bait. “How’s Claire?”
Wes is good. He knows what he’s doing, choosing his words to get under my skin, seeing my weaknesses and figuring out how to exploit them. I suppose he’s had to be good, growing up with a man like Alexandre Davos as his father. I thought I’d had it bad growing up with Jonathan Boudreaux, but my father was just a pawn in Davos’ game, which means that Wes probably had things just as bad as I did. His father is the gamemaster, and everyone else in his life is his to play with. But not me. Not anymore.
“Claire is great.” I lie. I dont even know why I say those words, other than that I cant stand the thought of him knowing just how badly he’s broken her. I know how lucky she is that I found her in time, and I don’t doubt that she knows as well, but that doesnt mean that what she went through before I stepped in is somehow lessened by how much worse it could have been. The depravity, the depth of darkness that she narrowly escaped, is lost even upon her. I’ll spend every minute that I can trying to make sure that she never has to learn the extent of evil she’d nearly been consumed by.
Still, Wes smirks, calling me on my bullshit without so much as a single word. “Fabulous.” He says. “Maybe we can kiss and make up. You know, prior to her getting herself involved in your mess, I had every intention of spreading that little cunt myself. Maybe we can share?”
Wes finds his mark as rage sears in the pit of my stomach, smoke curling in my soul.
He wants a reaction? I’ll give him one.
I stand calmly, the fury building in me just under the surface. I appear calm enough that Wes decides to keep going. “I like when they scream, you know? If it’s pain or pleasure, doesn’t matter.” He shrugs. “Think she’ll scream if I take her ass while you watch?”
The knife is under his throat before he even has the chance to see it. That smirk falters for one glorious moment as his eyes drift down to take in the blade. “Come on brother,” he teases, his mouth snapping over the word. “Didn’t our whore mother teach you to share?”
“My mother taught me many things.” I assure him. “We had housekeepers and cooks and drivers, but it was always important to her that we knew how to take care of ourselves, just in case. I always hated when she would teach me something about cooking. It was just so... mundane.”
I can see the question in his eyes, wondering where I’m going with this. I pull the blade away from his throat and appraise him a moment before lunging at him, the tip of the knife now sitting firmly in the middle of his pants. If he moves right now, he runs the risk of my hand slipping. “One of the most… illuminating lessons was when she taught me how to filet a fish. You start with a single slice, right down the center.” I draw the blade over the crotch of his pants, just firmly enough to leave a rip in the wake of it, the fabric giving easily under my blade. I think of how he held a camera in Claire’s face while another man dragged a knife down her chest much the same way and press harder, until I can just barely feel something under the tip of the blade.
I feel rather than see him shudder as realization settles in, his eyes wide.
There’s so much more to it, so many more threats that I could make, but that look tells me there is no need to go any further. Wes doesnt know yet whether I’m prone to violence, whether I’ll follow through on such a gruesome threat. And he doesnt need to know yet, because the look of terror in his eyes tells me I’ve earned his compliance.
“Oh, brother.” I laugh, throwing his words back in his face. “Whats the matter? You can dish it to innocent women, but you cant take it?”
“Why are you so interested in my cock?” He manages, trying to deflect.
His family may suck, and his childhood may have been unhappy, but growing up with a father as powerful as Alexandre Davos had surely spoiled him into becoming a bully. Im sure it’s easy to make threats when you have a pack of lions at your back, but Wes needs to understand that he doesnt have them anymore. He only has me.
Or rather, I have him. And I need everyone to know it.
“Don’t worry, Wes.” I chuckle, straightening and stashing the blade. I have no interest in cutting off another man’s dick. And while I’m not necessarily aroused by the idea of watching Claire do it, I would.
I laugh when his chest heaves with relief. My back is already toward him when I speak again. “You get to keep your favorite toy for another day.”