32. Ash
Ash
The house, or should I say mansion, looms in front of me like a silent monster. Drops of rain spatter my face as I walk up the staircase of my angel’s childhood home.
Blood from the security guards drip over the white marble, their throats nothing but an open wound. It almost looks pretty, the red against the stark white.
The door clicks open easily, and I punch in the alarm code that Leon gave me before shutting it behind me, closing myself into this grand space.
It takes me a second to process where I am. In the den of an animal, built by Howard Dally himself. But also, in the place where my sweet girl was raised.
It’s grander than I could have even imagined, the foyer bigger than the entire club. Pristine floors and huge vases, staircases that lead to higher levels. Artworks that I’d bet cost millions, hang in huge golden frames.
It would almost be impressive if it wasn’t paid for by the suffering of others.
A fact I’m sure my angel is learning at this minute.
My heart breaks for her, hurting and suffering at the hands of Zeke.
If he has told her about her father, then I’m not sure if she’ll even be whole again when I find her.
But it’s okay. I’ll put her back together. I’ll never let anyone else hurt her for as long as she lives.
My footsteps echo in the open space as I make my way towards the man’s office, not bothering to be quiet.
The deaths of the security out the front is only the start, my skin itches for more.
Violence has swarmed my head ever since I saw that video.
I watched it over and over until eventually the laptop ended up crumpled on the floor after I threw it across the room in a fit of rage. Now... I’m doing something about it.
A piercing scream fills the air, and I smile.
“The luminous Mrs Dally,” I sigh, looking over at the woman.
Her eyes are glassy; an empty wine glass sits on the small table next to her couch.
My eyes narrow on the woman, who looks very similar to my angel.
Blonde hair, dark eyes. Porcelain skin. Except this woman has lines of weariness and age that go beyond years.
A sort of blank look that I fought out of my angel's eyes.
Looking at this woman, I can almost pity her. What a life it must have been, being married to Howard Dally. But the emotion doesn’t form. She could have protected Maddison. Could have done literally anything. She chose to drink and numb.
She chose Howard over her own daughter.
She chose weakness.
And it’s just not fucking good enough when it comes to my angel.
“Howard!” her shaky voice yells out. “Howard, get in here!”
She goes to stand, but my hand wraps around my gun in seconds and points it at her. “You can stay sitting,” I murmur coldly.
She whines a pathetic noise as she falls back on the couch, her hand clutching over her heart like this is the worst thing she’s ever gone through.
I can assure you, it’s not.
You don’t marry a man who is involved in the vilest business without seeing some horrendous shit.
Her reaction bores me. I want her on her knees, begging for mercy. But I’m not the person she should be doing it to.
When no response comes, she yells out again, louder and shriller this time. The sound shatters through my ears, and I can’t help but scowl. Footsteps finally sound through the corridor which I know leads to his office.
“For God’s sake, Evelyn...,” Howard sighs as he rounds the corner, his voice cutting off the instant his eyes widen on me. He looks over my shoulder, presumably looking for the security that I already killed, before glaring back at me. “What do you want?”
I fake a pout, turning my gun on him. “Do you recognise me?” I ask because I can’t help myself.
It was less than twenty-four hours ago when I saw him, pointing my gun at his daughter.
His face is a cold, hard thing as he lifts his chin and grits his jaw.
For the first time, he looks... he looks weak.
His usual salt and pepper hair is mussed, as if he’s run his hands through it, and his face looks withered.
Could it be possible that he’s stressed about his daughter’s disappearance?
I push that thought out, because knowing the person Howard is, I know for a fact that it isn’t the truth.
“Sit,” I mutter, gesturing to the couch next to his wife with my gun. When he doesn’t move, I click the safety off, the sound amplified in the quiet space. “I said, sit. If I need to ask again, your wife’s pretty head will become... less pretty.”
That pulls another shrill scream from his wife, and I fight the urge to plug my ears with my fingers. What a horrible fucking sound.
But Howard growls, finally moving to sit down, muttering, “What is it with people using leverage that I simply don’t give a fuck about.”
I don’t know what he means, but it makes me furious all the same.
I stare them both down, standing in front of them with fear, rage, and depravity burning through my veins.
It’s taking more willpower than I thought I had to not shoot them here and now.
I don’t know exactly what they’ve done to my beautiful girl, but I know it’s not good.
And they will die. Just after I get my hands back on her. After I know she’s okay.
“Let’s cut to the chase,” I drawl, pacing in front of them to dispel the energy that’s coursing through me. “Zeke, your business partner, has my ang... Your daughter. Maddison.”
I watch their expressions. Evelyn gasps, but Howard... Oh, Howard’s face twists into irritation. He already knows.
“Oh,” I run my tongue over my teeth, my top lip curling in disgust. “You know.”
My boots leave faint red marks on the polished floor as I stop my pacing and turn to him. He looks down at the stains of blood for half a second before looking back up.
“This is about her?” He asks, his fists balling on top of his knees as his face twists into something disgusting.
“All of this because of that wretched fucking whore? She deserves every second of pain he gives her, the little ungrateful fuck. I gave her everything, and she ruins it in two fucking seconds. All the money. All the power. Gone, because she is a stupid fucking girl.”
I’m vibrating. Shaking. Red flashes in my vision. Every muscle in my body screams at my finger to just press the trigger. I need to wait. For her.
“The money? All of the money? Howard what are you talking about?” Evelyn asks, her tone hitched with concern. Concern for the fucking money.
Slowly, so slowly, my head turns in her direction.
A sickening churn hollows inside me. My eyes bore into hers, head pounding with the words she just said.
“Your daughter is currently tied to a chair, in an underground cell, bleeding out. She’s being tortured!
hurt!” each word comes out clipped. “He’s fucking hurting her!
” I scream, my voice coming out raw and ragged, echoing in the silent room.
They both flinch at my voice this time, and it brings momentary satisfaction. Because I know by the end of this, they’ll be doing more than flinching.
I turn back to Howard.
“Tell me where she is,” I demand, raising my gun back on him.
He leans back slightly against the couch, an ankle resting on the opposite knee like this is a board meeting and not a man with a gun aimed between his eyes. Like I didn’t just paint his marble with the blood of his employees.
“I don’t know,” he says finally, the words coming out flat and uncaring.
“You don’t know?” I repeat slowly.
He leans forward slightly, keeping his eyes steady on mine. “With any luck... she’s already dead.”
Everything zeroes in on those three words. She’s already dead. My finger presses down, the gunshot ricocheting a deafening sound. Howard cries out as a bullet lodges itself into his kneecap, crimson blood flowing down his leg and soaking his suit pants.
Evelyn jumps up, screaming into her hands.
“I said, sit down!” I scream at her, spit flying from my mouth as my sanity frays at the edges.
Her eyes widen and she falls back on the lounge, sobbing and hysterical. Part of me wants to lodge a bullet in her skull just to get her to shut the fuck up. Howard clutches his knee, as if it might help him, his face already going pale.
“I said, where is she?” My voice is shaking; the thought of my angel dead in that concrete hell is pulling me undone.
“I told you I don’t know,” he grits through the pain, and I almost believe him. “I received a call,” he says, irritation bleeding into his tone. “A demand. I declined. That is the extent of my knowledge.”
My jaw tightens so hard it cracks.
“You declined,” I echo, my voice dangerously soft.
Evelyn lets out a small, frantic sound. “Howard...”
He cuts her off with a look.
“Yes,” he continues, eyes locked on mine. “I don’t negotiate with extortionists. Especially not one’s trying to manipulate me through emotional theatrics.”
Emotional theatrics.
I step closer, boots squeaking faintly against the polished floor.
“She is your daughter,” I bite out, pressing the gun hard against his forehead. The metal leaves a pale indentation on his skin. “Not a liability. Not a bad investment. Your fucking blood.”
Howard’s breathing turns shallow, but his eyes don’t leave mine. They’re cold and calculating, even in the face of death.
“Ring him,” I bite out. If he doesn’t have the location, he at least has a number. Which is more than I have. “On speaker. Now.”
Surprisingly, he does. He pulls a phone out of his pocket slowly, redialling the last called number. All I can hear is my wild breaths as the ringtone trills through the speaker, desperation clogging my nerves.
“Howard,” Zeke croons through the speaker, and my teeth grit together. “Come to a decision, have we?”
“Hello, Zeke,” I cut in. My voice is raw from screaming, but I don’t care. “Where the fuck is my angel?”
A sick, cruel laugh huffs out of him, one that I recognise all too well.
“Your angel? Who would have thought a monster like you could be so sentimental?” The word monster doesn’t cut the way it usually does.