Chapter 37 #2
He increased the pressure until something else cracked. Jacobs’ head lolled, the pain rendering him unconscious.
Salter watched, sweat breaking across his brow, then blinked his gaze to the floor.
Heretic tugged the constraint from Salter’s mouth. “What a shame, he’s out. Over to you.”
Salter dragged in a breath. Then laughed. “You think pain is new to me? I’ve been here for fuck knows how long. You think your crew didn’t try every trick already?”
Yet he’d reacted to the other man’s torture.
Idly, Heretic picked up the unconscious man’s destroyed hand. He shook it, the thumb flopping. “Pain is a language. One I’m fluent in.”
I stared at Salter. Same as me, he’d averted his gaze.
Odd how quickly Heretic had found the man’s weakness.
“You get one more chance,” Heretic said softly.
Salter stayed silent.
Heretic lurched and drove his fingers into the nerve at the base of Salter’s neck. Salter’s body locked. A strangled sound tore out of him as it looked like his muscles seized.
Heretic held it there. “Talk.”
Salter gasped against the disgusting floor. “Stop.”
Heretic didn’t. He reached for Salter’s hand. Almost softly, he caressed Salter’s index finger, the flesh mangled I guessed from previous chats.
The man shuddered, an awful sound of panic coming from deep inside him.
“If you answer,” I said, “he’ll let go. If you don’t, he might break that finger for a second time. Or maybe your spine.” I had no idea if that was true, but it sounded good.
Salter’s eyes snapped to mine. Rage burned there. “What do you want?”
“Why Austin?” I asked.
A pause. Another pulse of pressure from Heretic, though he left the fingers alone.
Salter gave another awful groan then broke. “He had routes,” he spat. “Legal routes. Inspected and expected. Nothing flagged. Nothing questioned.”
The words landed heavy. Not a monster. Not the architect. But not innocent either.
A truth I’d known but needed. I kept going. “Which gave you what, greater quantities? The ability to not rely on others?”
Salter snarled, “Why ask if you know the answers?”
“So you approached him.”
Salter gaped, pain creasing his features. “Jacobs did.”
“How did he know him?”
No answer. Heretic shifted his grip again.
Salter choked on a breath. “Marchant bought girls for business meetings, and they had some acquaintance in common. He said no, first time. Who are you to him?”
Behind me, I sensed Mila clinging to every word. She would hate how Austin paid for women as entertainment, but it was common for men of his type. And didn’t I know the consequence of that. I didn’t face her.
“So what changed?”
Salter tried to smile. “I’m going with granddaughter, even if you look like a porn star. You have his eyes. Work it out yourself if you’re so smart.”
Heretic laughed and adjusted his grip. “Answer her or this snaps.”
Salter jerked, a broken sound tearing free. “Pressure,” he bit out.
“From who?” I demanded.
Salter’s gaze locked on mine. “Nothing beats the peer pressure, does it?”
What did…? I worked it out.
“He means Austin’s friends,” Mila said in a low voice.
I nodded to her and turned back. “Jacobs approached others, too?”
“Just one. I’ve seen a bitch lead the show before.”
He meant Denise Harford. He had to. Austin didn’t have any female friends other than her. But when I formed the name on my tongue, Salter’s head lolled and dropped, drool sliding from his mouth.
“Ye knocked him out,” Tyler said.
Heretic stood and scowled. “Didn’t mean to. He’s weak as fuck.”
“We’ve had him a while. I should’ve warned ye.”
Mila slipped past me and booted the slumped man in the stomach. “That’s for targeting a kind man.” She kicked him again. “And for hurting Kane. He’s going to die, right?”
Tyler shrugged. “Not sure he has anything to live for.”
Cassie moved in next to them and peered at Jacobs. “Should I finish writing my word now? It’s a bit amateurish to leave it half done. Ooh, this could be my new calling card.”
I couldn’t smile. My mind was marching ahead into what else there was to uncover and who might know.
“Bring in Sullivan’s men,” I said.
Damien entered with two more prisoners, Davies and Skinner, Oscar Sullivan’s friends. The last time I saw them, they’d joked about raping me. Now, they were hauled in and thrown to their knees.
Skinner was already shaking. Davies had soiled his light-coloured trousers.
I crouched in front of them and tugged down my mask. “Remember me?”
Both men dragged their gazes off the much scarier men in the room and the broken prisoners and came to me. No recognition glimmered.
I kept my expression dead flat. “What if I was lying on my back, crying no and begging you to stop? What about the scar on my throat? Does that ring any bells?”
Something lit in the shorter man’s eyes. He shuffled until his back hit the wall. “You’re… That was Sullivan. Not me. Whatever he said was a lie.”
The other swung his head around. “Then that’s why…”
Tyler joined me. “Aye, that’s why he’s dead. We don’t like rapists. Tell me ye don’t like them either.”
“We don’t,” both rushed to answer.
“Tell me about him,” I asked.
Skinner spoke fast. “He…he thought he owned everything. People. Women. Didn’t matter. If he wanted it, he’d take it.”
Davies nodded. “Didn’t care where they came from. Just that they were there. Just like his dad.”
Well, didn’t that just bring us neatly back to the point. “Where did he get his women from?”
Their silence was short-lived when faced with a single step by Heretic.
Davies filled us in. “He bought girls at auctions. He took me with him once and bragged about how his old man had taken him to his first one when he was a teenager. I told him it was wrong, so we stuck to the brothels after.”
“Wow, how nice that you have a conscience. Do you know who Austin Marchant is?”
Davies nodded jerkily.
“Did you see him at the auction?”
“No.”
“Name everyone you did.”
He paused.
A shuddering sound came from behind. I twisted, finding Salter trying to prop himself up. “You’re awake. Just in time to see a new round of torture.”
Salter flushed a strange colour.
Davies whimpered. “I have names. Please don’t hurt me.”
He babbled a list. Two I recognised as owning businesses in the city, their names written on tall buildings. Mila made notes.
When he was done, I got that same burst of usefulness inside me. We had answers at last. People who could be held accountable.
Salter sucked in a breath, drawing my focus back on him. His dark gaze held on me. “So you’re bringing it all down. Good luck when you get to the top. There are men up there who will break you in return.”
I angled my head, my smile not forced. “Men have been trying to break me for years, hun. And yet I’m still breathing.”
I came back to the guard.
“One more,” I said.
Terrence Harford was dragged in last. Blood dried at his temple, smeared around the edges of a blindfold.
For long years, I’d imagined this. My rapist. The man who hadn’t even known who he was sticking his dick into, only that he could.
And my confidence fled.
“Everyone out,” Tyler ordered.
The room cleared, Damien helped by Heretic to clear the prisoners, and Mila the last person remaining. She left her corner to throw a right hook at the man’s face. He barely moved, and she swore and shook out her hand.
“Con?”
At the door, Convict came back to her side, stood behind her, then smacked a fist in the same path hers had. This time, Terrence dropped to the floor.
Mila patted Convict’s arm, gave me a grim but fierce smile, and left Terrence to his fate.
“Straighten up,” Tyler stated.
Terrence struggled to his feet, and Tyler whipped the blindfold away. He peered our way, and this time, recognition was instant. His bulk. His shape. The faint scent of his aftershave, unchanged in over a decade.
Horror shimmered in my veins. I was a teenager in a room with him, unexpecting and innocent.
Except his focus was on Tyler. “You. You abducted me from my own home. Right from under the nose of my wife. How dare you?”
Tyler didn’t answer, only remained the quiet presence at my side that I needed.
I didn’t take my gaze off Terrence.
“You raped me,” I said.
An abrupt announcement into the space between us.
Terrence recoiled and finally looked my way. “Excuse me?”
I took a purposeful step so the words followed. If they got stuck, I’d be sick all over my favourite shoes. “I was fourteen years old, and you were at my grandparents’ home for a party. Your wife brought me to you, and you didn’t even hesitate.”
“I… I…”
“You were so used to sticking it wherever you wanted that I bet you never thought about that act throughout the years. I did. You ruined my life.”
Terrence stared at me, dumbfounded, but with the incredulity giving way to something else. “Who are you?”
“Darcy Marchant.”
“You are not.”
I didn’t dignify that with an answer.
He stared harder. Then his chin rose in pompous arrogance. “Whatever crime you think I committed, I can assure you it wasn’t me. It simply could not happen. I don’t make mistakes like that.”
Mistakes. The pivot point of my childhood. A mistake.
Tyler moved at my side, but I grasped his hand and held it.
“Except it did.”
Terrence kept that same stubborn posture. “You’ll never prove it.”
“I don’t have to. The only people who matter believe me.”
Tyler squeezed my fingers. His presence helped me so much. I couldn’t have done this alone.
“The thing is.” I made another half step. “You stole something from me I can never get back, and for that, I want to see you punished. Maybe even killed. But I also know you weren’t the instigator.”
Terrence barked a laugh. “Killed? You stupid little bitch. What do you—”
Tyler moved before I registered it, his fist slamming into Terrence’s gut hard enough to fold him in half.
It happened so fast, and left-handed, that I stared at Tyler in shock before Terrence had even hit the floor.
He grimaced. “I’m not apologising. He earned that by the way he spoke to ye.”
“I’m proud of you for not aiming for his head.”
He smiled. “You’re still in need of his words. He can talk about a gut ache but not unconscious, and Convict has a mean right hook. Another hit and this arsehole would be out for hours.”
Curled around his stomach, Terrence whimpered.
Tyler prodded him with his boot. “Get the fuck up.”
He kicked him when not immediately obeyed.
Terrence lumbered to his feet, this time appearing far less sure. “This…incident. Y-you say my wife brought you to me?”
I breathed, trying to stay steady. “She did. But that isn’t what I want to talk to you about.
I’ve put my past behind me. I don’t even want an apology.
You’re beneath me, and I’m never going to waste time thinking about you after today.
But while we’re here, you’re going to provide me with information.
Your wife is close to my grandparents. Did she know about the auctions? About where the money came from?”
He hesitated. “Auctions?”
“Don’t bother,” Tyler said in a tone that spoke volumes.
Harford folded. “Yes, she talked about auctions. It’s a means to an end. Just a money-spinner. Nothing more.”
Nothing more. All those lives lost.
Something changed in his expression. “I’ll tell you anything you want if you let me go. I’ll name names.”
It was then that a shitty conflict made itself known to me. Terrence was a witness, and a very good one. All of the men were, to more or less extent, but Terrence knew his wife had set him up, and he was willing to throw her under a bus.
It meant leaving him alive. It meant letting him go.
That came with its own risks. He could go back on any deal. He could turn on the crew, and I had no idea what that could mean for Tyler.
My head hurt. The information overload was doing a number on me, and I was shutting down.
Tyler touched my cheek, his careful gaze taking in my face. “His confession is a problem for tomorrow, aye?”
I nodded slowly. Tonight, I was done with talking, or anything else involving other people.
“Wait,” Terrence bleated.
Tyler reached for the prisoner’s blindfold and pulled it over his eyes then came back to me. Without a word, and ignoring the man’s demands, he ran one arm under my legs and picked me up.
I curled in against his chest, my eyes closing. Something inside me cracked open all over again. This time, I wasn’t sure how to patch it back up.