RAIN
Chapter twenty-one
Blade taps the back of his gloved hand against At’s face, trying to wake him. Dried blood is caked under his nose and over his lips, running down his neck to stain his white shirt.
Opening the refrigerator tucked between two work benches, I opt for the can of Coca-Cola.
Shaking it on my way back to stand in front of Atticus tied to a metal chair with straps, I point the can in his face and crack it open.
The brown liquid sprays outs. He gasps and startles awake, sucking in breath after breath as I pour it over his head.
“That’s for trying to make me feel like shit about my sexuality, you prick,” I grit out.
“He what?” Blade asks so calmly, it’s chilling.
Atticus blinks rapidly, trying to discard the liquid from his eyes. They flick over our masks, the colour depleting from his face when his puny brain puts together who he’s staring at. He tries to breathe through his nose and groans. “H-hey, boys.”
Blade rounds his back, and Atticus shakes at the simple notion of Blade’s presence.
“I warned you eight years ago that if you sold to her again, I’d put you six feet under.
I’m getting even more pissed off that you’re a homophobe who made fun of my little brother.
” Atticus begins to scream, but the annoying sound is cut off by Blade’s hand over his mouth.
“You keep trying to scream, and I’ll cut out your fucking tongue. ”
At’s blue eyes fill with tears, and I chuckle to myself. While Blade’s words are menacing, I know it’s the lack of emotion in his tone that’s frightening Atticus. It frightens everyone.
Although Blade refused to be tested, after referencing notes between my parents and doctors, Blade was diagnosed with Anti-Social Personality Disorder.
He is a psychopath.
I was well liked in high school and had many friends.
Most teachers adored me for my brain, but Mr Lowe—our calculus teacher—would nit-pick my work, trying to find any flaw.
There weren’t any, but he’d still try. I think he was jealous of my beautiful brain, as Mum once put it.
I received a 79/80 on a test once, because Mr Lowe claimed my eight looked like a six in one of my workings.
Blade calmly explained to him he must be blind and proceeded to rip a pair of glasses off a student’s face and shove them on his, telling him to ‘look again’. I got a perfect score.
“Shall we try again?” Blade asks.
Atticus frantically nods.
Blade releases him, and I step forward. “You were at Lakely’s wedding.”
“W—”
“That was a statement,” I interrupt. “You weren’t on the guest list. Lakely despised you, so your presence was odd.
I had someone come in here a few days ago and buy some Oxycodone from you.
It was tested for fentanyl.” I crouch. “Funny thing is, there wasn’t any.
Yet, what you sold Alexa was heavily cut.
” His Adam’s apple bobs with a guilty swallow.
“Mmm,” I hum. “They made you give that to her, didn’t they? ”
“They said they’d kill me,” he whines through his teeth.
“And look where we are,” Blade taunts behind him. “You’d have to know you’d be dead either way.”
Atticus pinches his wet eyes shut, which only causes his face to scrunch in pain. “You were in London.”
I tilt my head. “Alexa confronted you that night and ordered you to leave, but you weren’t there to celebrate the happy couple. You were only there to gain Alexa’s attention. They went after her to draw us back here. Too bad for them. They’ll never get to her again.”
She will be released from the hospital tomorrow morning and taken straight to Alcove.
Alexa was still smoking weed, but, despite her deadening eyes, she was regularly attending her psychiatrist appointments, filling her prescription meds, and present at all her drug and alcohol meetings.
Smith had Atticus taunt her with pills, I’m sure slyly digging at her with the fact that Lakely’s happy and married.
While Alexa is strong, escape is what she craves. From her mind and reality. Atticus presented her with a pill that would give her that. I thought after being around Blade for so many years, she’d recognise the immediate trap, but she’s okay and she’s safe. That’s all that matters.
“Where’s the phone?” I ask. We’d searched him and the entire garage, only finding his personal one I’ve been monitoring the past few days.
Atticus lifts his chin, and Blade clasps a hand over his mouth. I groan, turning my head away when Blade cuts down At’s bicep and the muscle flops open. Tears stream, his blubbers dissipating into Blade’s hand.
“Now, or I’ll drive this into your fucking knee.” Blade slides the bloody blade across At’s trembling lips.
We know he must keep the phone close by. If he’s the pawn to draw us out, he’d need to relay messages about our appearances.
“You think you’re safe,” Atticus seethes, saliva bubbling in the corners of his mouth. “They have this place under surveillance.”
“You mean those?” I point to the camera in the corner. “Even if they come here...”
“That’s what they’re for,” Blade explains, pointing to our guns. “And the people stationed throughout the surrounding five blocks. You think we’re amateurs?” His words are followed by a manic laugh that sends a chill down my spine.
When Blade’s calm and laughing, that’s when you know he’s truly enraged.
Blade steps beside me. “You know what? We don’t need you.” He rears the knife back.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Atticus pleads.
The tip stops at his knee, dimpling the white jean fabric.
“You have one second until I dig in to see what a kneecap looks like,” Blade threatens, and I bite back my laugh. He already knows.
“The skirting board—in my office, under the window,” At blubbers. “Pull it back. It’s hidden in the wall.”
I push up and swing a crowbar to my shoulder, making my way into the office. The already loosened wood pops off, and I find the hole in the timber, sliding out his phone. I turn it on, not finding any texts or calls.
They aren’t entirely stupid.
Scanning the room from right to left, I tap the back of the phone rhythmically. I’m missing something. He’d need a way to contact them first. Stepping into the hall, I watch Blade circle Atticus slowly, the tip of his knife screeching as he drags it along the metal chair.
“I need a phone number. If you kill him, it’s fine. I’ll figure it out. Have fun,” I call out.
Blade chuckles. “Let’s play, motherfucker.”
“My chair,” Atticus blubbers, snot bubbling from his nose. “In the lining of my chair.”
Well, I feel like an idiot. That’s so goddamn obvious.
My brain is usually a series of thoughts I can decipher quickly, but the interminable thought of Rome is ravaging my usually efficient mind. Even if it makes me a lesser genius, I’m not opposed to the god that is Rome Aston consuming my best asset whole.
Muffled yells flow down the hall while I feel the fabric for any irregularities. My lip curls in disgust when the choking and screams become almost non-existent.
Blade just cut out his tongue.
Finding a folded piece of paper slid in the underside, I step back out in time to witness the horror that is Blade Wilder.
The concrete floor is pooled in crimson, and cuts span Atticus’ barely conscious body.
Blade’s masked face looks down at Atticus unstrapped from the chair, now laying underneath the hoist with an eye missing.
I tilt my head, watching the engine lower. The crushing of his skull makes my ears ring as they try to drown out the horrid noise.
Once At’s brains are splattered, Blade lifts his head. “Look at that. I made a masterpiece.” He removes a gold ring from At’s pinkie finger, stuffing it in his pocket.
“Please don’t tell me you’re actually keeping a souvenir?” I throw a distasteful look he won’t see and take my gun, handing Blade his.
“I stay true to my word.”
Entering the cabin, I answer the unknown number. “Done,” she informs, meaning the body is dealt with. I pull the phone away and hang up, dropping into my chair and plugging Atticus’ into my laptop before sending a text.
Me: They’re at their old high school.
Less than ten seconds later, a reply comes through.
Unknown: Understood.
My fingers fly over the keyboard to trace the text. A bonus to having a father so connected—you have access to technology even the best police departments wish they had.
The blue dot pings at an old warehouse across the city from the high school.
Informing my father of his location, I swipe up my bag and head for the door, leaving the phone and laptop as is.
Dad’s people will be here to collect everything within the hour, and Sam Kidd is about to meet his maker after being thrown around in the back of a van and suffering severe blunt force trauma.
They thought exposing him in San Francisco would put us off their trail.
He was just another pawn used as a distraction.
When we didn’t bite, they moved him back.
But taking away meaningless pieces does very little in the grand scheme of things.
Surrounding my King is a novice move, and one I’ve never played before now.
Ezra Smith may lack many neurons, considering he finds fucking children attractive, but he’s not stupid enough to use that number again. If we had stayed at my childhood home, there was a small chance Ezra would make a move out of fear the entire place was surrounded, but there was still a chance.
Relaxing into the passenger seat, I open Rome’s text. My jaw drops before it reshapes to a grin. I zoom in, taking in every flexed muscle, his hand still wrapped around his perfect cock, and the cum covering his body.
“Why are you smiling like that?” Blade grumbles. “It’s revolting.”
I turn my phone away, covering the other side with my hand so as to not be seen in the window’s reflection.
Cock pressing painfully against my zipper, I reply.
Me: I believe I asked for a video as well.
A knock sounds on the driver’s door and Blade swings it open.
“I’ll follow behind.” Kieran nods to the SUV parked behind us.
I quietly slide the needle out of my jacket pocket.
“Suit yourself. I don’t care,” Blade says.
I shoot my arm out, stabbing the needle into his neck and injecting the sedative. He swings his arm in my direction, but Kieran grips his shoulder. He continues fighting the drug but eventually slumps in the seat.
“Fuckyou. Ineedher,” he slurs.
“And she needs help.”
“Sh-she needs m-me.” His head flops forward.
I knew he’d go after her while we were here. He’d walk into that hospital with an AK-47, not giving a fuck who he needed to kill to get her. He’s hurting, more now than ever, but I can’t let him do that.