46 - Jocelyn
~ 46 ~
JOCELYN
I returned to a dining room so still, so silent, you’d think someone actually froze time. Everyone remained in their seats as the guards moved aside for us. Dorothea and I began serving the next course, while using the same cart to remove the untouched plates from the previous one.
And they were all untouched.
“That’s enough food for now,” said Roman Wynter.
It came out scornfully, but his anger wasn’t directed at us. We said nothing, acknowledged nothing. In the absolute silence, we stood off to the side.
“No one has anything to say?”
Men on both sides of the long table sat there, unmoving. The brave ones looked across at each other. The rest of them stared into their laps. Words couldn’t come close to describing the levels of tension and unease. The whole room was a powder keg, waiting for a spark.
With the suddenness of a thunderclap, the silence was torn by the high-pitched shriek of a chair being scraped across the floor. Roman stood up so quickly everyone jumped, including Victor, who so far had been rattled by nothing.
“WHERE’S FOLEY!?”
He grabbed the giant table and shook it, which was no easy feat. It was more of a tree, than a slab of wood. Still, every plate, every platter, every piece of silverware rattled and shook.
“JACOB!” Roman shouted, the veins in his neck bulging. “FOLEY!” he shouted again. “Who knows where the fuck he is? One of you does, I’m goddamn sure of it!”
Chairs shifted backward, as men sought to put distance between them and the table. But not one of them dared to stand up.
“He was here last night, right?” Roman continued. “That’s what I was told.”
It was Victor Knox who finally found his voice.
“He was.”
Heads turned in a unified wave, like the crowd at a tennis match. All eyes on the room shifted Victor’s way.
“Then why isn’t he here?” demanded Roman. “Tonight of all nights?”
And it was right then and there, of all other possible moments, that Victor Knox decided to start his meal. He picked up his knife and fork, and nonchalantly began cutting through the meat that had been placed before him. He took one bite, then another, then another still, with everyone in the room staring on in disbelief. By the time he reached for his napkin to dab at his mouth, Roman had had enough.
“At first, I thought Foley’s absence was his own way of disrespecting me,” he said, in a calm, icy cold voice. “But then I realized, a man like him would never have the balls.”
The mercenary captain’s eyes were liquid fire now. Every word that rolled off his tongue dripped with acid.
“ You’d have the balls though,” Roman prodded, “wouldn’t you Knox?”
Victor Knox chewed his meat, swallowed, and casually cut off another piece. Eventually he pointed the knife Roman’s way.
“Yes, actually,” he said, without fear. “I definitely would.”
“And yet you’re here, and he’s not,” spat Roman. He was pacing back and forth now. “Which, if he’s not disrespecting me, can mean only one thing.”
Now Victor did look up. Still clenching the knife and fork, he had both fists on the table.
“He’s dead,” Roman said flatly.
As hard as I fought to remain in control, it was just too much. Even as I ordered my body to remain still, I couldn’t help but shift uncomfortably.
“He’s dead,” Roman went on, “because if he were to leave here without waiting for my arrival he knows he’s dead anyway.”
Victor looked not only unconcerned, but slightly bemused. His eyes shifted in my direction, causing every nerve ending in my body to stand on end. I held his gaze, because to look away would be even worse.
“What do you think, Knox?”
His eyes still lingered on mine. Every nanosecond we stared at each other was pure torture.
“I think you might be right,” he said, then went back to eating.
Dorothea, already on the verge of freaking out, inched even closer to me than she already was. The poor thing was shaking all over. If the doors weren’t guarded, I’m pretty sure she would’ve already run.
“Sir.”
The voice was loud, crisp, clear. But not confident.
“Sir, maybe he’s late.”
Roman Wynter stopped pacing. His head turned slowly, his eyes ultimately locking onto the man who spoke. It was one of Jacob Foley’s men, I realized. Some nameless, faceless asshole who’d spilled his drink earlier, then yanked on my elbow to tell me to clean it up.
“Late…”
Roman spoke the word as if it amused him. He folded his hands behind his back.
“You think he’s just… late?”
The man’s expression told everyone in the room he realized his mistake. Right now though, it was too late to take it back.
“I—I guess he could be,” the man replied.
Roman started moving again. Directly toward the man who’d spoken.
“We didn’t actually check his room or anything,” the man went on. “I mean, maybe we should’ve.”
Roman stepped casually along the outside of the table. Every step closer made the entire room more uncomfortable. But not nearly as uncomfortable as the man who’d spoken up.
“W—We… I mean, I could go check now,” the man offered. “His room has been locked since—”
It happened so quickly there wasn’t even time to gasp. Roman pulled the man bodily out of his chair, lifted him off his feet, and slammed him into the wall. He didn’t even have time to cry out. The sound of his head cracking against the elaborate wood paneling told us that something had broken… and it probably wasn’t the wall.
Roman held the man there for a long moment, pinned by his shoulders, a foot off the ground. His head was lolled downward, chin against his neck. His eyes, which had shown momentary fear and surprise, were thankfully closed.
“Yes,” Roman sighed heavily, dropping the man into a crumpled heap. “You probably should’ve checked.”
Nobody moved a centimeter. Even Dorothea stopped shaking.
“My own men should’ve checked too, but not on Foley,” said Roman. “They should’ve checked my room. They’ve should’ve found THIS.”
With that, he reached behind him and slammed something violently onto the table. It was a large beige brick, wrapped in both directions with silver duct tape. A series of wires dangled from it, ending in stripped copper edges.
Immediately I knew what it was, but only because I’d watched so many movies.
“YOU.”
I nearly choked when I realized Roman’s eyes had fallen on me. Or rather, on us.
“You ladies can go now,” he said, nodding toward the door.
The guards shifted to make way for us. I took Dorothea’s hand and tugged, but her feet were frozen to the floor. Like a mongoose captivated by a cobra’s gaze, she was completely paralyzed.
“I’m sorry you had to see this, by the way,” Roman went on. He jerked his chin at the broken form of the man against the wall. “Family business can sometimes be ugly.”
With that, Roman sat back down in his seat. He shoved the brick of C-4 explosive roughly aside, and began eating his meal. I pulled Dorothea so hard she lost her balance. She blinked a few times, then started shuffling her feet.
“No one else in this room goes anywhere ,” Roman Wynter grunted, “until somebody explains what the fuck is going on.”