CHAPTER 29 ROMAN #2
“Six in Hythe?” I clarify, my stomach turning cold, and he nods weakly. My teeth grind as I lean closer to him.
“Dr. Fisher,” I say clearly, Tyler jolts at the name. “Is he your boss?”
“One of them, I… I think, I don’t know,” he cries out as Victor slaps him hard across his already broken jaw.
“How don’t you know?!” I bark at him.
“He works for the boss, he… he comes in and checks the girls. He brings new merchandise every six months, and depending how they behave depends on how we break them in.”
“Break them in.” Victor whispers, I don’t think it was meant to be aloud.
“How old are these girls you break in?” I growl and Tyler actually whimpers at the sound.
“Don’t, don’t man, don’t make me tell you…” his body spasms with the pain of keeping in the truth.
It really is a beautiful invention. Not only can he not lie, but withholding information hurts, really hurts. I jump off my chair as I grab his cheeks with one hand, squeezing his wobbly jaw tight and watching as his brows pinch with pain.
“Don’t make me ask you again.”
“Twelve to twenty-one,” he whispers, my blood burns with rage at the thought.
“How old are the girls you have now?” Victor shouts.
“Eighteen plus, I… the young ones stopped being given to us, we were too rough.”
The irritation spikes fast and sharp, this son of a bitch should die a slow and painful death.
The sad reality is that Victor and I have caused too much damage for him to survive the night.
I can see the drugs are wearing off. His body is slightly tightening, bracing for impact instead of being soft and malleable.
I run through the questions in my head, thinking what else I can try to get from him.
“Robyn… have you heard her name?”
He shakes his head aggressively, my gut sinks even more. If she’s not at the docks, where is she?
“Mr. Ackworth,” I suddenly state and confusion flickers over Tyler’s face. “Do you know him?”
“Never heard… those names.” I grab his collar, pulling his body into the barbed wire so it cuts even deeper into his skin as he screams. It’s so loud it pierces my ears and drowns out Marvin Gaye.
“Don’t lie to me!” I scream in his face, my cheeks feeling burnt through the rage and anger as the stench of urine filters through the room. Sneering, I look down to see piss puddling under the chair. I throw his body back and step out of the forming puddle.
“I’m not…” he chokes, his eyes glassy and his nose running. “I don’t know,” his breathing slows as Victor steps forward, watching me more than the prisoner to see if I’ll snap.
I study Tyler’s eyes, the looseness of his muscles, and sigh. The serum isn’t failing, which means he is telling the truth. And that means we are still in the dark.
Slowly, I turn around and head to the sink to wash my hands with antibacterial soap.
The water runs pink for a moment before clearing.
I scrub methodically, watching diluted blood circle the drain.
There’s something almost meditative about it, the removal of evidence, the return of control.
Behind me, Tyler wheezes softly, each breath sounding thinner and more painful than the last. Victor shifts his weight against the wall but says nothing.
I reach for the paper towels before doing a double take. Resting beside Tyler’s discarded phone and wallet, half hidden beneath a folded receipt, is a key ring. It’s not unusual, but the charm threaded through it is.
Matte red. Metal. It’s small and deliberate. An elongated inverted cross hangs from his keychain. The kind of symbol that isn’t meant for display, but it means something to the people who recognise it.
My hand stills. I dry my fingers slowly before stepping toward the desk. Picking the keys up, I turn them once between my fingers.
I’ve seen this before. As I close my eyes, the memory of three weeks ago, when I saw that red sigil, flashes past. The same shade. The same exact clean edges. That’s the thing with HSAM, my memory doesn’t distort details, it stores them.
“What is it?” Victor asks.
“Probably nothing.” I don’t look at him, but behind us Tyler stirs. I turn back towards him, stepping closer with the key still in my hand.
“Where did you get this?” I ask quietly, holding the charm just within his line of sight as his pupils struggle to focus. His throat works around dry air.
“All… all have one,” he rasps and my pulse pounds.
“All who?” My jaw tightens.
“Trusted… ones,” he swallows, a shallow, broken sound coming from his lungs, as I curse myself for not asking or finding this out sooner.
“Trusted by who?” Victor demands, pushing off the sink and walking towards us. He doesn’t know what I do, but he knows me enough to know I’m on to something. Tyler’s gaze flickers weakly between us, sweat beading along his temple.
“Boss,” he whispers, and my pulse ticks once.
“What’s your boss’ name?” I press, watching for the smallest shift. Tyler just shakes his head, it’s faint and I don’t know if he’s answering or if it’s just from weakness. His eyes droop down and I kick his ankle.
“Just… boss,” he reiterates as his breathing falters, and panic like I have never felt before claws up my throat.
“How many people have them?” I bark as his chest jerks once; the death rattle sounds loud in the now quiet dungeon.
“Don’t…” he breathes in deep, his mouth foaming as his body shakes and his eyes roll back in his head. I watch the exact moment life leaves his eyes. It’s subtle, like the dimming of a light.
“GOD DAMN IT!” I scream, throwing the keys at the wall.
“Well,” Victor drawls, “that was unfortunate.”
I scoff, storming out of the dungeon and making my way to the car.
If I had my wits about me, I’d think about how I left Victor to deal with a dead body on his own, but I can’t.
My whole body vibrates with the news. I’ve had my suspicions, we all have.
But we never had proof… until now. I need to get home to Fae, I need to feel her soft, warm body pressed up against me as she breathes softly in her sleep.
She’s the only person who could calm me down right now.
God, thinking about having to break the news to her makes my knuckles turn white on the steering wheel. Driving on autopilot, I make it home in record time.
Shuffling upstairs, I make the quickest pit stop to wash the rest of the filth off me before finally laying eyes on my little one. Slowly, I breathe a sigh of relief that she is exactly where I left her.
Creeping over to the bed, I gently lift the quilt before sliding in and pulling her close. Her little mewling sound sends goose pimples across my body as she twists and nuzzles herself into the crook of my arm. Finally, I can breathe.
She really is magic. She thinks I call her Tinkerbell because her name is Fae, and in a way, I do.
But the truth is, I call her Tinkerbell because she glows when she’s happy, because she moves like light caught in glass, because she’s small enough to underestimate but sharp enough to draw blood when you do.
I call her that because even though I don’t believe in fairies, I do believe in her. If you look at the old stories, the real ones, fairies weren’t soft or fragile. They were ancient, dangerous and capable of blessing or ruining your life depending on how you treated them.
People think magic is gentle. It isn’t. Magic is power that doesn’t ask. That is exactly what Fae is to me. She doesn’t flutter; she commands. She walked into fire and offered me her blood without shaking. She stood in front of monsters and didn’t bow. She thinks Tinkerbell is a joke.
It’s not.
It’s a warning.
Because in every story, if you hurt the fairy… the world burns for it. I have never believed in magic. Until she looked at me like I was worth bleeding for.