26. Ryder
“Where are they meeting?” I ask the man tied to a chair before me. He’s been crying for an hour and already pissed himself out of fear. Not so different from the two men before him over the past few days.
“I swear, I’m just a runner. I don’t know anything,” he pleads. As if pleading for his life is magically going to make me spare it. He should know that his life was over the second my men picked him up off the street in broad daylight not a single fuck given. “Please, I have a family. My wife. My wife –”
A blow to the nose shuts him up. I’ve allowed my own wife to soften me. Only weeks ago, I would have stuck a drill to his elbow until I got the information I needed. Now, I’ll settle for fear and minimal blood. We do have an event to attend tonight, after all.
Blood splattered against the wall from the blow and the thick liquid pours freely from his nose. He doesn’t attempt to blow his nose clean. People in our world know all too well that blowing a broken nose will lead to more swelling. And I’m pretty sure the majority of us have had our nose broken a time or two.
“Your boss. What’s his name?” I growl. I’m growing tired of this game but there are still a handful of details I need to know.
“I don’t know his name,” he whimpers. “They call him ‘IT’.”
Ronnie enters the room taking a seat by the door and stretches his arms over his head. This is a fucking game for him. Broken bones make his smile light up like fireworks on the Fourth of July. He’s sick and twisted. Even more so than me, but that’s why he’s the best at what he does.
“Unfortunately for you, I’m out of time and you’ll be getting to know my friend here. You could have saved yourself a lot of pain.” I wipe my hands on a rag and toss it to Ronnie before leaning back against the wall.
Ronnie stands and swipes a hammer off the table on his way to me. “You should get upstairs. The Mrs. will be ready soon. You’re going to need to clean up before you go,” his eyes land on splattered blood that is now staining my crisp white button-down.
“I need to know who IT is. I need to know where they are meeting next.” The man in the chair stares up at me with hopeful eyes. Pathetic. “And find another place for us to conduct business. I don’t want these pathetic fucks this close to my wife.”
She was visibly shaken after a close encounter the other day with Ronnie, who left the fucking door open when he ran upstairs to retrieve something from my office - a mistake he won’t be making again. I heard this from him, of course. When I asked her if she wanted to talk about it, she simply said she didn’t and rebuilt the walls around her that I’ve been trying desperately to knock down. She thinks I didn’t notice, but I notice everything she does.
He nods before turning back to the restrained man. I leave as his screams threaten to chase me through the halls on my way out of the door.
The basement is soundproof. No one hears the screams of the shit-bag men that end up here. But I can’t chance this part of my life bleeding into the one I’m creating with Devina.
Devina has insisted on having full control of our room so she can get ready without interruption, so I make my way to the guest room to shower.
She’s becoming more relaxed in our new routine. Our kitchen encounter must have left as much of an impact as intended, though she hasn’t attempted to make dinner again. Thank God. I’d do a lot for that woman, but I’m not a glutton for punishment.
My fingers trace her skin every morning. On the days I am home, I run with her. I hate running. I feel like I’m always running towards her, but she’s always running from something. From me. Every night we find peace in each other’s embrace. I’ve memorized the simple touches that make her melt. The ones that earn me a brick from her wall. The ones that make her shiver and come undone.
This is what I wanted.
My phone pings on the nightstand. A note from Ronnie: It’s done.
Good. One less thing I have to worry about. God forbid my wife stumble across a dead man in the basement. I tossed my phone back to the nightstand, knocking down the stack of books Devina left.
My wife and her fucking romance novels. Her life is a damn romance novel. But she also gets whatever she wants, so I don’t mention the books. The sound of her and MaryClaire giggling like school girls will make the darkest of hearts smile.
Reaching between the bed and nightstand, my sleeve gets caught on something between the mattress. My mind tries to compute what I’m holding in my hand. A phone. This is not my phone. This is someone else’s fucking phone.
Why is my wife hiding a phone in the guest room? I open it to find one name: Taylor.
Red. Everything is red.
My mind reels as I pace the room. Is this what she has been hiding? Taylor could very well be a woman. Right? Has she been spying for her brother?
I don’t know what to think, but I know I need answers. I deserve answers.
I want to kick another door down on my way to her, but I rein in my fury and turn the knob painfully slow.
“Ryde, is that you?” She says from the closet. I take my time to walk over to the sofa and sit, my elbows on my knees, the phone burning between my palms.
Still considering how to approach the subject, I’m interrupted by my wife’s presence as she strides into the room wearing the most exquisite satin dress and a pair of strappy heels hanging from her fingers. I almost forgot what brought me here. But her gaze, full of adoration and joy, quickly falls when her eyes land on the brick I’m holding.
Her face pales and I know. I know that whatever she is about to tell me isn’t going to be something I want to hear.
“Don’t ask me where I got this,” I begin. “Who. The. Fuck. Is. Taylor.”
She composes herself taking slow steps toward me, holding her hand out in a gesture for me to hand it over. I stand towering over her, but she does not indicate that she is afraid of me.
My usual tactic is to intimidate my enemies, but my petite wife would be having none of that. She pokes my chest with her finger, unwavering. “If you want to know, you need to give it to me.”
Reluctantly I comply. She opens it, taps the name, and places it on speaker. Our eyes never break away. It’s a battle of wills.
Ring.
I want to ring her neck.
Ring.
I should have ruined her and sent her back broken. More broken than she came to me.
“Hey, sis. I thought you were calling me tomorrow. Are you ok?” The man answers.
“Tay, my husband seems to have found the phone you gave me. Say ‘hi’,” Her posture shifts. One hand on her hip as she thrusts the phone up to my face.
And just like that, Devina has made me feel like a complete jackass again.
“Hey, too soon to call you brother?” He laughs in a deep voice. He fucking laughs. “Vi, I think it’s about time you clue him in. I have to go. I’m sure you both have a lot to talk about right now.”
He hung up leaving me speechless. Speechless, but still fuming.
“I think you need to sit down for this,” She says, taking a seat on the bed waiting for me.