Chapter Fifteen
ELIJAH
C had Wilson doesn’t impress me much. He sits across the table, occasionally running a hand nervously through his muddy brown hair as his light brown eyes flit around the visiting room. One of my people, Nicco Torchino, sits beside him looking bored in his suit as he occasionally checks his watch. It was pretty busy in the visiting room today, which was a good thing, as it meant we were less likely to be overheard as I laid out some expectations for this asshole.
Leaning back in my chair, folding my arms across my chest, I stare at him. This was her type? The person she’d chosen to spend four years of her life with? Why? There’s nothing special about the man. He’s shorter than me, with a slim, wiry frame. Average looking. I’m willing to bet he has an average dick too that he barely knows how to use.
“Who the fuck are you and why am I here?” he asks, pushing his wire-framed glasses up his nose. I’d read the file on him and knew he often wore contacts, but today Cato and Nicco had picked him up on his way to go for a swim at the gym. He’d tried to resist, but they hadn’t given him much choice in the matter.
I mull over the best way to answer his question. My obsession with Ava had gotten worse. I spent hours poring over the footage of her apartment building. Reading the reports about her daily activity had become part of my routine, and if Beans tried to talk to me during my updates, I became agitated. This was beyond wanting to use her now, it was simply wanting her. She was mine. When I got the fuck out of here, I was going to bind her to me forever.
“You’re here because you’re currently in possession of a title that doesn't belong to you.” Tilting my head, I narrow my eyes at the jumped-up little cunt. Working in finance made him think he was some bigshot, but he had a lot to learn. “Ava Bishop is mine. And you are not fit to be her… boyfriend .”
Boyfriend was a pathetic term, weak and soft, like him. I was going to be her husband. A much more worthy title, but first I needed him out of the picture.
“Look, I don’t know who you think you are, but stay away from Ava. This little obsession is pathetic.” Chad laughs, and slaps his thigh, looking around to see if anyone else is smiling. Under his breath, he mutters, “I knew something like this would happen.”
Ah yes. The report mentioned that there was some tension in the relationship because of Ava’s role in Ogmore Grange. From what my sources could uncover, he wanted my white rabbit to stay home and be a housewife.
Didn’t he understand that trying to tame a woman like Ava was like trying to reign in the tide? He could no more capture and tie her down than he could with the waves crashing on the shore.
I raise a brow and cross my legs. Reaching forward, I tap my fingers on the table, letting the silence stretch between us.
Finally, I say, “Chad, I obviously didn’t make myself clear enough. You will be the one to stay away, or that new client of yours will vanish. That fancy apartment. The plush lifestyle. All gone. And all of those skeletons in your closet, those dirty little secrets you keep from Ava? I’ll lay them out like an all you can eat buffet.”
The things we’d uncovered on Chad when Cato dug a little deeper hadn’t surprised me, not much surprised me anymore, but they had made me even more sure that he wasn’t worthy of Ava.
I shrug lazily. “That’s before I even lay a finger on you.”
“You’re fucking deranged, man.” His eyes widen, and he glances around as if he thinks I’m going to launch myself across the table at him and rip out his throat. I mean…I’d like to, but we’re in company. Company, I didn’t trust.
Chuckling, I watch him intently and it’s like watching a plant wither as he curls in on himself. “No, I’m the Left Hand and I don’t play well with others. Especially pretentious fuckers who don’t recognize the value of a beautiful, smart woman.”
Chad tries to get to his feet, but a firm hand on his shoulder from Nicco pushes him back down onto his plastic chair and pins him in place.
I let the silence sink in once again as the rest of the inmates and visitors chatter around us.
After five excruciating minutes, and I know because I’d watched the clock on the wall, I offer a little tidbit I’d learned on my course. “Did you know that in the medieval era, they would use rats to torture people.”
His face pales. “What?”
Nodding, I continue. “They would tie a person to a table, and place the rat on their bare chest or stomach under a metal bucket. They’d then light a fire on top of the bucket, to panic the rat, you see.”
Sucking my teeth and making an obnoxious noise, I examine my nails as if he’s boring me. Men like him hate being considered boring. They like to be the life and soul of the party. Even now I can see a vein bulging in his neck as he sits there, a mix of fear and outrange on his face.
I know he’s thinking ‘ How dare you treat me like this? Who do you think you are?’. Indignation is always one of my favorite emotions. I swear I can taste it in the air in times like these as his body practically vibrates with barely restrained anger.
“Rats are incredible creatures. Smart. True survivalists. They will chew through anything, tearing through flesh to escape is nothing to them.”
This time he trembles, his face going a shade of green as he pictures a rabid rat, eating its way through a stomach, leaving behind a bloody, pulpy mess of guts.
I stroke my stubble thoughtfully. “Now, I’ve never used rats in my work. But I’m always open to experimentation.”
“You’re crazy. Delusional. I don’t have to sit here and take this.” He tries again to stand, and once again Nicco pushes him back down. They say the definition of insanity is repeating the same action and expecting a different outcome. Chad wasn’t insane, just fucking stupid.
Waving my hand dismissively, I roll my eyes. “I don’t care how you do it—whether you break up with her cleanly or you simply vanish from her life—as long as you’re gone.”
“What do you even want with Ava?” Chad’s breathing is choppy and uneven now, as his common sense finally kicks in and he understands he has no power and no other option here.
“As I already explained, she’s mine.” The corner of my mouth lifts into a smirk. “I thought you were smart, being a money guy and all, but I guess not.”
It looks as though he’s about to protest, his lips parting before he thinks better of it, and promptly closes his mouth again.
“Nicco will take you to your apartment. Or would you rather be dropped back to your gym, that’s where you were headed, wasn’t it?”
He nods, looking down at his hands, defeated. He doesn’t move or try to get to his feet until Nicco nudges him. I share a look with my man, letting him know to keep an eye on the snake before us, to which he responds with a small nod.
As they leave, I lean forward in my chair and growl. “Chad—you have three days to end this little charade of a relationship. After that, I’ll cut off a finger for every additional day. If you run out of fingers, well then, we’ll start on your toes. And if we run out of toes, then I’m sure I can find bigger things to slice off. But I’m not a very patient man, so let’s not get to that point.”
He practically runs from the visiting room while I chuckle to myself. When I return to my cell, I fire off another email to Cato. It wasn’t enough just to watch the outside of her building anymore, no; there needed to be eyes and ears inside her apartment. I wanted to see if Chad Wilson would do as he was told or if he’d try running his mouth. I also despised not knowing what happened inside those walls. Once that front door shut, she shut me out too, and that was unacceptable.
Cato’s reply is quick, which means they are likely sitting in the passenger seat, working on their tablet while Nicco drives them back to Chad’s gym. Cato lets me know they’ve dispatched some of our people to handle the additional surveillance. At the bottom of their email, there are two links and they’ve written ‘ Thank me later!’
Opening the first, I’m taken to the website for a small exclusive gallery based in Newtown. On the homepage, they were showcasing several pieces of work from an artist known simply as ‘Le Fou’. A quick search shows me that le fou means fool or madman, but it’s also used for a certain piece on a chessboard. The bishop.
There’s only one reason Cato would show me this, which means I was looking at the very soul of Ava Bishop, poured out onto canvas. The bold colors and strong brushstrokes were ripe with emotion, spilling out everywhere. Some of them were dark, with anger pulsing in every stroke on the page. There she was, underneath the image of the dutiful daughter and respectful officer, the ball of anger and grief. My white rabbit, innocent and yet so sinful. Calm and still, a raging storm, a woman bound by her life but alive in her art.
The second link takes me to an event page for the Lutwidge Trust annual auction. It’s a charity Jules and Rosie support. In fact, Rosie recently joined the board as part of their public personas. But why was Cato sending me this?
As I scroll further down, I inspect the lots up for auction and that’s when I spot it. A previously unseen brand new Le Fou artwork with a starting bid price of $25,000 dollars.
Well, it looked like my apartment was about to get some new additions. After all, it was for a good cause.