Chapter 11 #2
As I nervously enter the restaurant behind him, the door nearly hits my face as my grandfather lets it close on me, not even checking to see how close I am behind him. I guess he just assumes I’m going to follow.
I look behind me. I could make a run for it and avoid seeing whatever gruesome acts my grandfather plans for me to witness. But we’re in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees. Where would I go? What would I do? I have no one to help me.
I haven’t told my mom about this whole situation for a reason.
She’s going to freak out, and I just don’t have the capacity to handle that now.
I’d have to calm her down and help her through this situation, which would be horrible because I don’t even know how I can calm myself down.
My nerves are getting out of control, even if I’m doing a good job hiding it.
I’m used to hiding my real feelings anyways.
No way I’m calling my dad. He’ll probably be drunk if my luck is any indication.
I’d call Lily, my best friend, but she’s hours away and doesn’t drive. So it’s not like we’d do more than make dark jokes about my situation, which has only gotten worse since my grandmother told me about my arranged marriage.
I could call an Uber back to the city, but frankly, I don’t have the money for that.
I’m trapped here, at the mercy of my grandfather. And nothing could terrify me more than being at the mercy of a man who doesn’t even think to tell me when my wedding will be.
The thought of calling Mr. Irish Demon crosses through my mind, but I don’t have his number. And even if I did, this was his idea, too. He’d probably just laugh and tell me to get used to it.
God, I don’t want to get used to this.
The restaurant is deserted, making my stomach twist with anxiety and fear.
Guess we aren’t stopping for lunch. The air in here is stale, and there’s a layer of grime and dust everywhere.
Flies buzz around the dining area, and most of the chairs are on the tables, like the restaurant got closed up for the night and just never reopened.
My grandfather and his lackey don’t loiter in the dining area, but head straight towards the back. I follow them, feeling shakier with every step, and not just because I haven’t eaten anything today.
It’s colder back here, the reek of mold invading my nose as I step through the swinging double doors.
There’s a group of men waiting around here, all of them armed, and none of them looking particularly friendly.
They nod respectfully to my grandfather, and some of them eye me curiously, others eye me like a piece of meat.
It makes me take an instinctive step back.
“What we got? You said five of ‘em?” My grandfather asks, and a bearded man in a black wifebeater nods, his short brown hair shaved close to his head.
“Yeah. Five. Caught ‘em trying to get out. Three of ‘em were speaking to Marshall, looking to move to his gang. We don’t know the plans of the other two. We suspect at least one of ‘em was speaking to the pigs.”
Oh god. Traitors trying to leave? Speaking to the police? This felt like something out of a movie, not real life.
My grandfather holds out his hand to the man. “Gun.” The bearded man obliges him, handing him a gun from the counter behind him. My grandfather looks back towards me. “Follow me. I don’t want to hear a peep from you.”
I nod and follow him, trying to make myself small as I pass all of the men leering at me. I hear them talking quietly behind us, asking the driver who I am. When he explains that I’m Astero’s granddaughter, they let out a low whistle. “Looks like she’s pissing herself.”
I don’t hear much more as I follow my grandfather into a walk-in freezer.
A group of men are tied up. They’re hanging from the ceiling from bloodied hooks, the rusty metal going through their shoulders.
I can’t help the gasp that rips from my chest. My grandfather glares at me, but I can’t tear my eyes away as they groan in pain, some of them begging for mercy.
I realize for the first time that what I’m witnessing is no longer theoretical, like when I figured out my family dealt with such violent things. This doesn’t feel like some movie, and it’s most definitely not a joke. It’s real.
My grandfather is a terrible man who’s done horrible things and doesn’t plan on stopping. And he’s marrying me off to a man who he says is far worse, that even he’s scared of.
All I want is a peaceful, quiet life. That’s literally my only aspiration. And the universe handed me the exact opposite.
Tears well in my eyes as that feeling in my stomach worsens.
My grandfather grabs my jaw, making me look at him.
“This is your world now, girlie. People that go against men like me end up like pigs at the butcher. You need to understand what you’re in for and what’s going to happen if you don’t obey Alasdair and I.
You’re going to get used to this. Those little gasps and tears aren’t going to help you, so you might as well let them dry up.
We don’t have time for soft, little babies around here.
We aren’t going to coddle you and make sure your feelings are okay. You need to learn how to behave.”
My grandfather raises the gun and shoots the closest man in the kneecap.
My ears ring and I can’t hear anything, but the man is clearly screaming, suddenly awake after appearing to drift in and out of consciousness on the hook, his face twisted with pain, his mouth open in anguish.
It’s only after thirty seconds or so that the ringing dissipates and his raw screams pierce my ears, searing into my brain.
The smell of blood in the air intensifies, the metallic foulness making my stomach churn and my mind panic.
I clench my eyes closed, willing it all away. But my grandfather squeezes my jaw until it hurts, shaking my head until I open my eyes again. “Keep them open. You need to see this.”
Hour after hour of torture drags on, but I’m not sure any time has passed at all. Maybe hell is in New York in some run-down abandoned restaurant. Maybe I did something to deserve this.
My grandfather doesn’t end the men’s torment until he thinks he’s gotten all the information he deems necessary from them.
I shiver in the corner, staring at the severed finger that sits near my foot.
I’ve thrown up twice, but now I just heave, my body having nothing left to produce, especially since I haven’t eaten all day.
It feels like I’ll never eat again. I’ve lost my appetite.
I’ve lost all sense of time and place. I’ve lost hope.
Seeing man after man be tortured by my own blood-related grandfather, whose money has been giving me luxurious privilege.
Blood money. Blood. So much unnecessary blood and violence.
I don’t snap out of it until I hear my grandfather scoff at the miserable sight of me.
He drags me out of the freezer. His fingers bite painfully into my arm as we exit the restaurant.
The driver is already waiting for us with the car started.
My grandfather throws me in the back, and I collapse into the backseat, breathing in the leather, hoping it replaces the metallic and foul smell of blood from my mind.
My head pounds with pain, my chest tight with panic, but everything feels cold and numb.
I haven’t eaten or drank anything and felt nothing but horror and terror all day.
I’ve fallen into a nightmare, I’m sure of it. One where my eyes are open and I’m living it, but even when I close my eyes, all I can see is the image of those men, tortured, screaming, dead.
Dead, dead, dead.