Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Rian
Watching Noemi come down from Gloss is terrible. It was just two hours ago that she was moaning, grinding on my lap, and demanding another orgasm. But now she is hunched over the toilet, alternately retching and groaning despondently. It's hard to watch.
Which is saying something, coming from me. I've been in the room for countless tortures of men foolish enough to cross the King family. But this is different.
Because I want to help, to lift her and make her nausea vanish.
A man knocks on the bathroom door. "I’m Dr. Bernard. Mr. King sent me."
I grab my phone, double checking with Ransom that he did indeed give the order. Then I nod stiffly. "Help her."
He nods and pushes his way into the bathroom, kneeling to get closer to Noemi. "Miss Caruso? I'm a doctor. I want to help. Can you come into the bedroom?"
Noemi shakes her dark head, then convulses as she wretches again. I step closer, my fists clenching. But Dr. Bernard is opening his medical bag.
"Here. Take this bag to throw up in." He offers a blue bag with a hard plastic mouth, which Noemi takes and clutches to her face as she gags. Then the doctor backs up and waves me in. "Get her on the bed."
Five minutes later, Noemi is situated under the covers of my bed, an IV taped to her inner arm.
It hangs from the bed frame behind her. She still clutches the plastic bag, but I think whatever the doctor gave her is beginning to work, because she sags, sleepy, instead of constantly vomiting up bile.
I look at the IV bag. "What's in there?"
"Anti-nausea meds, saline, and dextrose. I brought a few bags as backup."
Noemi's eyes drift closed. I reach out, touching her dark hair, brushing it back.
"No sedatives, though."
"Correct."
I tell him, "You should make yourself comfortable for the day. My valet can put you in one of the lounges downstairs."
If Dr. Bernard has other plans, he's smart enough not to mention them. He gives a faint smile. "Of course."
"You can go." I sit on the bed beside my woman, noticing that she shivers in her sleep. Fuck. The air conditioning is cranked up full blast. Getting up, I head to turn it off and grab another blanket.
Justin, my valet, pokes his head through the doorway. "Doc says I should have some ginger ale, Gatorade, and saltines for our little patient. I'm going to make a run to the bodega."
I nod. "Yes."
He raps his knuckles on the door frame and then disappears again. I grab a pile of blankets from a linen closet in the hall, then return and pile them carefully on top of Noemi until she resembles a very small, very well-insulated burrito.
My plan involved never actually interfering with her life. She would just continue to live without ever knowing that I follow her.
The violence that floats after me like a halo should never touch her.
But now she's here. Lying in my bed, orgasming on my face, asleep in the cozy little cocoon I've constructed. And there's no going back.
Not for her. Not for me either.
Now that I've touched her, tasted her... I can't simply open my hands and let her fly free. It's not how I'm built.
I'll apologize to her a thousand times while I crush her autonomy.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I want nothing more than to sit by Noemi's side as she sleeps, sifting my fingers through the fine silk of her hair. But I can't.
When my phone buzzes again, I slip out of my bedroom, closing the door softly. Then I answer the phone with a grunt. "What?"
Ransom is unaffected by my rudeness. "We have the guys from the auction in the cells down here," he says. "Are you going to come down to see them? Not to mention your other guy, who I believe is here for a much lesser infraction."
Ah. Zack. I smile. The idiot that I caught flirting with Noemi. Also the one that I found torturing another girl, coincidentally. He’s been tenderizing for long enough. I can deal with them all at one time.
Glancing at Noemi’s unconscious figure, seeing her looking so small and fragile in bed, I know it’s not even a decision.
As long as Noemi is still asleep, I can get the information I need out of those fucks from the auction.
And I can feast on their bones, Beast whispers. I’ll bet their blood tastes sweet as it drains from their veins.
"Give me a few," I tell Ransom. "I'll come down."
"They'll keep." He finds this funny. He finds most things involving me amusing. "Make sure your girl is good first."
I hang up and go find Justin, who's back from the bodega and lining up ginger ales on the counter. In the three years he's worked for me, he's learned that the way to survive the job is to take everything seriously and ask as little as possible.
"I'm going downstairs," I tell him. "Noemi’s asleep. If she wakes up, sit outside the door and talk to her through it. You don't go in. Don't touch her. You call me, you hear?"
"Understood." He doesn't look up from the saltines.
I lean closer so he knows I’m serious. "If anything happens to her, Justin…"
"I'll throw myself off the balcony to save you the trouble." He glances up, his expression perfectly serious. "I’ll take good care of her, sir. I’ll follow your instructions to the letter."
Nodding, I head to the private elevator, shared by only the King brothers and me.
See, the Tara has floors that aren't on the directory.
One of them sits below the parking structure, where the concrete sweats and the air tastes like spoiled copper.
Ransom waits outside the room with his sleeves rolled and a coffee in his hand, because he treats this like a dentist appointment.
Unpleasant, necessary, over quickly. It’s not his enemy, therefore it’s boring to him.
"We killed all the lower-level guys," he explains perfunctorily. "So now we have two from the auction floor. Leo Vitelli and some other guy who worked security backstage. Plus, your friend from the Vitelli surveillance."
I grin. “Brent and Zack. I remembered their names.”
Men who wanted to hurt Noemi for their own gain. Something in my chest goes hot and ugly.
I’m hungry, whines Beast. Let me go.
Not yet, I tell him. I start rolling up my sleeves.
He's like a dog that's caught a scent. He’s not listening. Every inch of him is waiting for me to let him out. Just one? he tries. A little one.
"We're not negotiating," I mutter.
“Great,” Ransom says, in a way that tells me he couldn’t care less. “Who’s up first?”
"Let’s see Leo and Brent," I tell him. "I have until Noemi wakes up, so I have less time than I’d like."
He looks at me over the coffee. For once, he doesn't make the joke that's clearly sitting on his tongue. "Then you’d better work fast."
I get down to business.
It isn't craftsmanship. On a normal night, I'd take my time with men who put their hands on what's mine. Beast would have opinions about pacing, wanting to drag every bit of pain out, and I'd indulge him at every turn.
But tonight, I need information. And I need to be back before she wakes to find Justin in the hall. He’s trustworthy, but she must be handled like an antique film negative.
So, I'm efficient in a way that feels almost rude to the occasion.
Leo and Brent are shackled in one of the cells. They’re side by side, wearing only their pants. Everything else has been removed. When I enter, they look at me like I’m their only hope. I smile.
Let me out, Beast insists. I'll get answers.
"Not today. We don't have time. She could wake."
“Who are you talking to?” Leo stammers.
“Himself,” Ransom answers. “Didn’t you know? You pissed off someone that’s genuinely unhinged.”
Brent groans. I feel the bloodlust building in my chest.
The soft one first, Beast whispers, eyeing Brent. The corner one looks like he’s ready to shit himself.
"His name's Brent," I tell Beast.
Brent flinches at his own name, which is fair. Nothing good has ever followed me saying someone’s name aloud to Beast. I crack my knuckles and look between the two men.
“Which one of you pieces of gutter trash is going to answer my questions? Hm?”
Brent hangs his head. He’s already defeated.
Leo looks at me with wide eyes. “Please. I c-can pay. I have lots of money!”
I grin at him. “Thanks for volunteering, Richie Rich.”
"A million." The number tumbles out of him. "Two. Whatever you want. I've got a place in Boca, I've got a boat, I've got a guy who can wire it by morning."
"He's got a guy," Ransom says from the corner, not looking up from his phone.
"I've got a guy," Leo agrees, latching onto it like a life raft.
"Everybody's got a guy." I reach in my pocked and produce my length of braided nylon, pulling the thin rope taut between my fists. "I've got one too. He's me."
I use my weapon of choice, the rope, to hang and strangle both of the men until they’re gasping, red-faced, and crying. Turns out it’s not very hard. It takes less than twenty minutes to break Leo down from man begging for his life to sniveling pile of shit. As it should be.
At length, the men start giving me answers. Dosing schedules, the buyer list, who keeps the books. Useful to Ransom, I'd assume. Boring to me. He takes it all down from his perch in the corner with the mild interest of a man working a crossword in a waiting room.
"You're getting blood on the floor again," he says with no heat.
“That’s what the drains are for.”
He glances at the floor. “Yeah, but look at the drain. It’s getting clogged with all the shit you’re cutting off their bodies.”
"So? I'll buy you a new floor."
"It's my floor either way." He turns a page in his little notebook. "I'd just prefer it to stay the color I picked."
I swear, if Ransom wasn’t on my side, his callousness might make me feel genuine fear.
It's Leo who eventually gives me what I want and stops my heart at the same time.
"Caruso’s wife sold her," he says, through a mouth that doesn't work the way it did before. "Kathleen didn’t even give us time to make threats. When we called, she gave up the girl's address for fifty thousand dollars."
I crack my knuckles again, my thoughts a mess.