Chapter 16
DAMON
“I thought you’d come find me.” Jason looks up from his laptop as I enter his dimly lit office shortly after midnight.
“Mae’s finally asleep.” I take a seat and hook an ankle over one knee.
“And how is she?”
Exhausted. In a state of shock. Traumatized . Once the rush wore off, shock set in. In the aftermath of the day’s events, I put Mae into the bath and spent an hour carefully sponging her body and massaging her slender shoulders. Then it was straight into my bed where I kissed her lips and the last of her tears.
“Doing the best she can. It’s been a lot for her to digest when she was already trying to process everything else he’s put her through.”
My pensive brother slowly nods as if he, too, is trying to weed through the mess. “I know you’re not yet done with that piece of shit, so what’s on your mind?”
Oh, I’m far from done.
“I think it’s time for a little home visit.”
His smile may be small, but it’s mischievous, just like I remember it being when we were kids. I haven’t seen it this side of two decades. “You need backup?”
“No, but you’re welcome to join for the thrill of it.”
Jason considers the fresh contracts to revise. The man survives on only a few hours’ sleep, so he’s nowhere close to retiring for the night, but we both know what he’d rather be doing. “What do we have to look forward to?”
“A little something that will appeal more to your twisted self than it will mine.”
“Sounds riveting. Do we need Marco?”
I nod. “He’s got his role to play.”
Needing no further encouragement, Jason stands and holsters his Glock.
“Hold up, brother,” I say, stifling a smile. “You might change your mind when I tell you who else I’ve arranged to meet us there.”
“Who?”
“Finny.”
He stills, his eyes widening with the apprehension I, too, feel. “ The Finny?”
Even with only having been on the man’s good side, it wasn’t an easy call to make. “Do you happen to know another?”
Jase laughs, though I detect a warranted level of caution. “No, and thank fuck for that!”
“Well, in just under an hour, we’ll have one sadomasochist teaching another a very valuable lesson.”
His cheeks puff as he exhales, realizing his night is about to get a whole lot more chaotic than anticipated. “All right then. Let’s go fuck some shit up.”
~
“Going somewhere?”
Like the cowardly fuck he is, Peter jumps as I catch his office door on the rebound from Marco’s brutal kick. Backing away, he watches four grown men, all bigger than him in every way, enter the small space. We spread out, and he doesn’t know who to focus on or who the greater threat will be.
There’s Jason, who’s already casually confiscating Peter’s laptop and cell. Marco, who we all know, can instantly kill a man with just a pencil. Finny, the Hulk-like Swede, who’s methodically placing a terrifying array of phallic instruments on a side table, all of which have no place being anywhere near an orifice, but he, the expert in artistic persuasion, will put them to good use. Then there’s me. A man with the desire to avenge the atrocities Mae has suffered through, and the only way to do that is by making Peter Cooper’s life a living hell.
“Why are you here?” he asks, shaken but stupidly not deterred. “Haven’t you done enough damage?”
“Oh, we’re only just getting started.”
He’s barely grasping the notion of how his night has turned sour. “So, tell me what you want.”
I leave the answer hanging while retrieving a framed photograph of Mae he’s allowed to be crammed behind files and junk. Wearing a blue summer dress, she looks as radiant as always, the sun shining bright off her blonde hair. Fucking stunning .
Pulling the picture free, I toss the frame back on the shelf before pocketing the photograph. “I’ve only ever wanted one thing, and now I’ve got her.”
“The fuck you do. She’s still my wife.”
“Oh, that ship has long since sailed, Peter.”
“If that’s what you think, Damon , then you don’t know Mae at all.” A sneer twists on his ugly face. “She’s weak . You may have taken control of the puppet strings for now, but she’ll always come back to her first. You know why? Because she saw her daddy do the same thing to her mother.” He taps his head. “It’s ingrained in here.”
Fucking hell.
“Jason, are you hearing the bullshit coming out of this asshole’s mouth?”
My brother—pausing his search in a cupboard—turns and says to Peter, “Mark my word, that girl has seen the light, and she’ll fuck you up in a heartbeat. And I’d pay to see to it.”
“Which brings us to the here and now,” I add, conversationally. “You didn’t think I would really let you get away with everything you’ve done to Mae, did you?”
He’s smart enough to keep quiet, but still, he wears his bad behavior like a badge of honor.
“I know all about the hell you’ve been putting her through and how day after day you terrorize your wife in her own home. The endless threats and violence. Cuffing her to the fucking bed so she can’t run away. How you hunt her down when she does escape.” I step closer so he’s forced to look up at me. “How you raped Mae as payback because you needed to show her the kind of piece-of-shit man that you are. And let’s not forget the attempted murder. Drowning her in the tub because she wanted a divorce? That’s fucked up on a whole new level. You should have done yourself a favor and let her walk, dipshit. But you didn’t. Now you’re in big...” my eyes dart to the overgrown swede, “ big trouble.”
Peter falters, his breathing now erratic. He opens his mouth to protest but for once, he thinks better of it. Perhaps it’s the truly barbaric tools on display that has him suddenly lost for words.
“See something you like, Cooper?”
“This is bullshit!”
“Play nice with me and I might be able to convince my buddy to take it slow. Ease you into it.”
“ Fuck you!”
“No thanks,” I point to Finny, “but he’s about to.”
It’s enough to send Peter spiralling. “You think I’m just going to hand my wife over to you? I molded her into submission. My time and energy are invested into shaping her to be exactly how I fucking want.”
Marco lets out a low whistle. “Boy has some balls saying that shit out loud.”
I look to Finny, and he winks. While English is not his native tongue, he’s understood enough to rearrange the line up.
“You’re sick, Peter,” I say, fighting the urge to crush his skull.
Manic laughter alights his eyes. “And you don’t even know the worst of it.”
Lowering my voice, I make my promise clear. “I’ve got plenty of reason why I should kill you. And maybe I will. But that would mean ending your suffering prematurely.” Picking up the police baton the Swede has added to the collection, I point it at Peter. “If you’re thinking this might be used up your ass the moment I leave this office, you’d be right. But first…” I swing hard into his stomach and watch the asshole double over. He falls to his knees, brutally winded and gasping for air. I swing again, smashing his ribcage. Writhing on the floor and groaning like a wounded beast, he vomits the merlot he’d earlier guzzled down.
“Fucking disgusting,” Jason mutters. He’d be loathing the sound and smell a great deal more than the rest of us.
Placing the baton tip under Peter’s chin, I lift his face to meet mine. “While I was contemplating potential paths of natural justice, my good friend, Finny, came to mind because I believe you two might share some common interests. You’re a man who enjoys a fetish or two, aren’t you, Peter?”
His looks across the room to where Finny handles a grossly engorged phallic drill, the whirring sound sending fear into the bones of every man in the room.
Marco’s eyes grow wider than usual, and beneath the soft glow of the desk lamp, I watch my brother’s face drain of color. Shaking his head, Jason catches my amused smile and visibly shivers before returning to his search.
“You’re insane, Damon,” Peter seethes. “You’re fucking crazy if you think this is even remotely okay.”
Gripping his hair, I bring the fuckers face smashing onto my knee, blood gushing from his nose. “It’s all fun and games until you meet another version of crazy, isn’t it? But that’s what happens, Cooper. Play fucked up games, and you win fucked up prizes.” Disappointingly, I can’t inflict too much damage without it raising eyebrows in Dubai. All— most— injuries have to be sight unseen. Rocking on the floor, he mutters a string of incomprehensible curses, before I nod to Marco, who, with ease, hauls Peter to his feet and folds him over on the desk.
While Marco holds Peter down, I pull the thoughtfully chosen restraint from my pocket and wrap the asshole’s wrists together before securing it to the center drawer handle. Marco ropes Peter’s spread legs to those of the table, ensuring there’s no possible way for him to escape his punishment.
Lowering in front of his bloodied face, I nod to his restraint. “You recognize this? Your lucky tie. Though I’m not sure it’s so lucky for you anymore. Me, on the other hand, let’s just say it’s the second time I’ve put it to good use.”
Blood sprays off his lips with each enraged breath. “You’re not the only one with connections, you know!”
I laugh at his cute attempt to match me.
“Got it,” Jason announces, holding a nondescript USB he’s just found hidden in an old cigar box.
“Well, it’s been fun,” I say, smacking Peter’s cheek. “I would stay and watch Finny conduct business, but I want to be back in bed for when Mae wakes up.”
Stepping aside, Marco takes my place, and there’s no denying the flicker of excitement in the man’s eyes. It’s been a few years since last he engaged in any kind of coercive persuasion, and he begins by squeezing the excess blood from Peter’s nose.
“Fuck—” The horrific grunt earns little pity, and it’s his last word before a sock is stuffed into his mouth and duct-taped over. It’s just unfortunate we can’t suffocate the fucker.
“You good?” I ask Marco.
“Couldn’t be better.” I clap him on the back before turning to the most valuable player of the night, who’s now cutting off Peter’s pants with surgeon-like precision.
I toss Finny the police baton he catches with one hand, expertly twirling it between his thick fingers. “Show this bastard what it’s like to be on the receiving end.”
~
MAE
“You stupid fucking slut!”
The snake-like hand circles my throat, constricting until each breath threatens to be my last.
I claw.
I scratch.
I gauge.
My nails tear shreds of soft skin —my skin.
“I should have let him have you right from the start.”
I wake, bolting upright and gasping like I’ve been underwater for too long. My neck feels raw, stinging from the fresh self-inflicted wounds.
The wind howls through the room, causing the sheer curtains to twist and knot as if enemies caught in a cruel dance of death.
“He had you first.”
“Stop!” I plead, wishing he’d retreat back into the darkness of my nightmare and leave my reality alone. Except, the two are one in the same.
I should have stopped Peter when I had the chance.
I want to go back to the moment I held the Glock in my trembling hands.
I want to pull the damn trigger.
I want to watch the last drop of blood leave his body.
Damon’s hand rests on my thigh, anchoring me to safety. He sleeps soundly, and as I watch the rise and fall of his muscular chest in the faint glow of the moon, I wonder how, even when asleep, he exudes confidence and command—everything that’s been stripped from me.
Clutching my stomach, I run from the bed to the bathroom, where I fall to my knees by the toilet. The more I see Peter’s face, the more I vomit.
The adrenaline was keeping me alive. Now that it’s worn off and shock has set in, it’s an assault of a different kind.
When I have nothing left inside me, I sink onto the cold marble and cry.
I barely register the robe being draped over my shoulders, or when I’m pulled into strong arms wrapping me in their protection. The heart beat against my cheek, though, I’d recognize its rhythm among a sea of beats.
“Sweetheart, I’ve got you.”
A single kiss on my forehead lingers like a promise.
I’m scooped up off the floor, cradled tight, and returned to bed. Damon eases behind, molding us together so we become one, keeping me hidden so my fears won’t find me.
“Sleep, my love.”
His command is mine alone because as the night continues its search for broken souls, Damon doesn’t rest. Instead, his watches over my dreams to keep the monsters that lurk at bay.
~
“What’s happening to me?”
Blood orange light fills the room.
The beginnings of a new day.
The start of moving on from a life I wish to leave behind.
Except I can’t.
Damon pads a cool cloth over my forehead as I battle a fever. My body aches have me writhing under the weighted blanket, eyes still heavy from fatigue.
“Rest,” he says, brushing damp hair off my cheek.
Floating in and out of a fitful sleep, I hear him talking with Jason somewhere in the room, a fragmented conversation.
She’s in shock. Brothers… Chief of Police… medical records… evidence… find that asshole.
Damon returns to me. The warmth I need as I shiver. There, I listen to the rhythmically smooth rumble of his voice reading from The Picture of Dorian Gray . I hear the smile in each word while reciting the haughty philosophies of Lord Henry Wotton, and I wonder if he knows I, too, am smiling on the inside. But it’s one quote among many that echo in the dark crevices of my subconscious.
“One should absorb the color of life, but one should never remember its details. Details are always vulgar.”
~
DAMON
“Get up.”
Standing beside the bed, Jason nudges me from my pseudo-sleep.
I blink once, twice, three times, but he doesn’t fuck off. “Can it wait?”
“You’ll want to see this before she wakes up.”
The USB.
The grave face my brother wears is one I haven’t seen in over twenty years.
Fuck.
“I’m coming.”
As Jason exits, I lean over and check on Mae. The nightmares have settled, and her temperature has cooled. For now, she’s sleeping peacefully. Slipping out of bed, I follow Jason, who’s lost in his own headspace, as he silently leads me down the stairs and to his office.
Mikey, our tech specialist, is sitting at Jason’s desk with Peter’s laptop open in front of him.
“Mikey,” I greet with a nod, and he returns the gesture sans his usual smile. I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s just gone four in the morning, and I’m standing in my boxer briefs, having forgotten to grab my shirt. On the other hand, these two have clearly been working throughout the night.
“We’ve been at it for a while,” Jason confirms.
“What have you found?”
He leans against the wall, his eyes bloodshot but not from fatigue. Stress . A whole lot of stress he doesn’t quite know what to do with. His response isn’t reassuring. “Damon, it’s fucked-up.”
My typically stoic brother is affected by circumstances surrounding a woman he despised just last week. Sure, he’s done a one-eighty since then, even helping wage war in her honor, but this has hit a part of his soul I’m sure he felt was lost a long time ago.
“Mikey, you good?” I ask our young tech, who’s now having to deal with whatever fucked-up is.
Grimly, he offers, “Sure.”
“Let’s see it then.”
Jason exhales heavily, steeling himself for another viewing of whatever is coming next.
Mikey clears his throat. “The USB was securely encrypted, and it’s taken this long to access it. I guess you’ll understand why in a moment.”
Mikey clicks on a file, and it opens as a video. It starts immediately, and my stomach sinks. A home camera, presumedly perched on a table, has been set up in a motel room, pointing straight at the bed. There’s the entry door on the left and a wide window beside it. A dim, warm light emanates from a bedside lamp. It appears like your typical cheap motel room.
I fold my arms across my chest and wait. After a few moments, the door swings open, and Peter enters, cradling Mae in his arms. She wears a flowing dress, beautiful hair cascading, her body limp. He places his wife on the bed, and there she remains, completely still.
Drugged.
For a minute, he walks around the small room, frequently checking his watch, and like a man with a disturbing secret to protect, he peers through the gap of the grotty curtains every few seconds.
“What’s he waiting for?”
Jason sighs, heavy and afflicted. “You’ll see.”
Peter walks back to the bed and considers the unresponsive woman he swore to always protect. After a long moment, he lifts the dress high over her thighs but stops when there’s a knock at the door. Expecting the company, he opens it without hesitation.
Rage grips my gut when I see the man step over the threshold. “Is that Carlson ?”
Jason nods. “That’s him.”
When Mae divulged her story and his name was mentioned during the Big Bear assault, she was uncertain of any prior incidents. This, however, confirms her suspicions. For me, hearing about it is one thing, seeing is something else entirely. I feel sick.
I watch as the son-of-a-bitch brother crawls over Mae and whispers something in her ear, a taunt or a sick promise. It’s enough to rouse her momentarily, issuing a small cry of protest before she again blacks out and falls limp onto the mattress.
Fucking cunt of a man.
I turn to Jason. “Is there a date in the metadata?”
Grimly, he nods. “May twenty-fifth.”
He allows that specific date to sink in, and the disbelief shouldn’t hit as hard as it does, given how insidious they’ve proven themselves to be. “Carlson’s birthday?”
“Handing over your wife for the night is quite the generous present.”
That’s all she was to them. An object they passed back and forth without Mae knowing, holding her as a prisoner in shackles because that’s what fed into their predatory fetishes.
In the video, the brothers share an inaudible exchange while glancing at Mae, no doubt each claiming their stake. My blood turns to ice the moment the chit-chat ends, and Carlson begins removing his shirt and trousers. Peter does the same but leaves his shirt on, naked only from the waist down. The brothers take position on either side of her, already exploring the body of the unconscious woman between them.
What. The. Fuck!
Raking both hands through my hair, I battle with a crippling rage flowing in my veins and a heart that breaks for the woman I’d lay down my life for.
“I’m going to fucking kill him,” I seethe, my clenched teeth at breaking point. “I’ll kill them both.”
Jason, troubled but focused, clears his throat. “I’ve got security watching Carlson as we speak. We don’t want Peter giving him the heads-up that we have this drive. If he has any of his own, we’ll find them.”
“Judging by the encryption,” Mikey adds, “I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s another one, two, or three.”
“What the fuck are you saying?” I know exactly what they’re saying, but for Mae’s sake, I can’t have this be true.
“Brother, this one is dated just over a year ago. You know as well as I do this won’t be their first time, and it certainly wasn’t their last.”
Fuck!
If their suspicions are correct, this will be catastrophic for Mae. Without doubt, it will push her over the very edge she’s been teetering on for so long.
I can barely even watch what they do to her next.
~
“You know as well as I do, there’s no getting out of it.”
My brother sits facing me on the opposite chaise by the pool, dishing out the harsh reality. Gold and pink hues streak the sky with the sun’s rising. Mae would adore the view and under different circumstances, I wish she was out here with me, sitting between my legs, her head resting on my chest.
I nod, suddenly feeling the weight of the last few weeks on my shoulders.
“If we don’t fulfill our contractual obligations…” Jason continues, “… the dire repercussions will be felt long into the future.”
He’s right.
“I know.” The two words reek of betrayal.
Jason pours whiskey into my glass—an overly generous amount—and tops up his own.
“We leave in a few short hours,” he states. “The contract needs to be signed, and Prince Ziyad is expecting the signee to be Peter Cooper. We don’t have any sway in this, Damon. Trust me when I say I wish there was an alternative path, but there isn’t.”
For the last hour, after we sent Mikey home, I’ve tried convincing Jason to negate Peter’s involvement. That we can’t possibly have him as an associate in any capacity after everything we’ve learned.
But he’s right, again.
Plans are already in motion in Dubai, and flying there for the final, highly-publicized signing is the conclusion.
I don’t have to close my eyes to be plagued by the abhorrent images of what Peter and Carlson did to Mae. It’s there in everything I see, branded to memory. More disgustingly, it’s not an isolated event. I’d rather shoot the miserable fucker at point-blank range in the middle of a crowded street than have him involved in current and future projects. Worse, it would just serve as another blow for Mae. The ramifications of this for her could very well be the one thing she can’t survive.
The dull ache in my chest is a result of grieving for what they’ve done to her and what she’s lost but also profound regret.
“We fucked up, Jason.” Blackmail. Threats. Intimidation. “Only a very slim line separates us from them .”
“That’s bullshit.” Jason sets aside the whiskey bottle. “I agree our method was questionable, and I’d say morally gray. I took things too far out of frustration over the situation, but Mae was never in direct harm’s way. Empty threats don’t compare to the heinous acts those two cunts committed against her.”
I hear what he’s saying, but while my feelings for Mae exist in the truest form, they don’t excuse the initial execution. We pushed the boundaries of what would be considered acceptable. We targeted a young woman who was going through what she thought were the darkest hours of her life, and we used it against her, only to uncover that those dark hours pale into insignificance to what was lurking in the shadows.
“This will destroy Mae. This will fucking be the end of her.”
Lost in thought, Jason stares down at the pavers, elbows resting on his knees as he sighs. “If she discovers you’ve been sitting on this information, she’ll never forgive you.”
It’s taken Mae entering our lives for Jason to learn the meaning of empathy. He’s almost unrecognizable, and my smile is bittersweet.
If only Mae knew how she has impacted us both.
How she’s changed us.
“However, I don’t recommend rushing into it.” Before I protest, he raises a hand. “And I don’t mean putting the contract ahead of her. Only in the sense that we have to play this smart.”
I lean back on the chaise lounge and watch the sun on its journey into the sky. The fire in the pit of my stomach is lit once more, with the intense need for retribution coursing through my veins.
“You’re right. Why rush revenge when I can make their suffering into a work of art.”