Chapter 22 Everett
The Death of Peace of Mind, Bad Omens
Malice courses through my veins.
The thought of ripping this sack of shit limb from limb ignites something in my soul.
I took my tie and wrapped it around Giorgio’s neck like piano wire, applying the perfect amount of pressure to cause him to black out.
He needs to be alive for the glorious reckoning I have planned.
His body has slumped to the ground, drool expelling from his mouth. Taking two fingers, I check to verify his pulse is still beating, then I peer across the room to check on Brielle .
I find my brother soothing her, wrapping her up with is coat.
White-hot jealousy licks up my spine.
That should be me .
He should not be touching her .
Biscuit and Kenneth come barreling through the doorway just as I stride toward Bobby and grab his shoulder. “Don’t touch her ,” I seethe through my teeth.
Bobby snaps his attention to me as he ceases comforting Brielle’s shaking form.
“She needs medical attention, Everett!” he hisses.
Kenneth looks at us, anger dwelling in his gaze, “What the fuck happened?”
As Biscuit hobbles over toward Brielle, I place a hand out to stop him.
“Take Giorgio out the side exit to the shop, so no one from the party will see. String him up. Biscuit and Bobby, you watch him. Kenneth, do damage control for the party and work the room, making sure everything is stable,” I order.
Kenneth crosses his arms. “You will be starting a war. We won’t be able to hide this,” he states.
“ They started it by allowing this jackal to continue his ways. If it wasn’t Brielle, it would have been another woman this evening,” Bobby retorts, then he turns toward Brielle, trying to reach for her again. I bolster myself in front of him, then warn Brielle of my touch.
She makes no sound as I scoop her small, trembling frame into my arms.
“Where are you going with her?” Bobby asks. I lock eyes with him and unspoken words pass between us. Then I nod toward Giorgio’s body, implying that he should help Biscuit with the ties.
Ignoring Bobby’s protest, I move toward the door clutching Brielle tighter to my chest. Leaving the room, I start down the hallway and find the side door. Exiting with Brielle, my two men stationed outside the building appear shocked to see me leaving.
“Sir, you all right?” they state in unison.
Nodding toward them I state, “Just make sure no one comes out, and keep an ear out for any chatter from the Italians.”
I slowly lower Brielle into the passenger seat of my Crossley motorcar, then enter the driver’s side. Peering at her from the corner of my eye, I see her still staring at nothing. Almost lifeless .
Her form still rocks with slight tremors. I need to hurry, for she is in shock.
Though it isn’t the best decision, I begin the drive to my estate. It is roughly twenty minutes from downtown Lockham, but if I speed I can make it in good time.
Outstretching one arm, I pull Brielle’s curled form into my side, explaining everything I’m doing so as not to startle her.
She still does not speak, only continues with her small shakes.
After some time, I finally make it down the main road to the estate, and the manor appears closer with each spin of the Crossley’s wheels.
Nestled amidst the rolling hills and lush countryside, the magnificent stone manor stands as a testament to a bygone era. A sweeping driveway, lined with ancient oak trees, leads to the imposing entrance, where a wrought-iron gate opens to reveal the grandeur that lies beyond.
The manor itself holds rustic charm, built with weathered limestone. The walls bear the marks of centuries, each stone telling a story of love and resilience. Ivy, with delicate tendrils, clings to the exterior, softening the edges and adding a touch of enchantment to the imposing structure.
Gathering Brielle into my arms, I hear movement behind me as the sound of steps over gravel comes closer. Mrs. Foster’s voice rings through my ears. “Sir, is everything well?”
Then “How may we help, sir?” from Mr. Baker.
I nod toward the both of them.
“Baker, call and update my men. I didn’t have time to discuss what happened.
” I hug Brielle closer to my body as I feel the gravel crunching beneath my oxfords.
“Call Baba. Request her presence. Potentially need her assistance with providing medical attention for a female colleague. Mrs. Foster, please draw a warm bath and gather comfortable garments for Brielle.”
Mr. Baker nods then heads into the manor.
“Is this who I set the town house up for, sir?” Mrs. Foster asks in her sweet voice.
“It is,” I reply. Mrs. Foster hurries into the manor as I shift Brielle in my arms, soothing her. “It’s going to be all right, dove. I’ve got you, shh.”
As I step up the marble stairs and through the mahogany double doors, we are welcomed into a foyer adorned with a decorative antler chandelier that casts a warm glow over the polished marble floors.
I cautiously take each step up the sweeping staircase, holding Brielle tight to my chest. We pass the banisters carved with meticulous detail as the sound of a filling tub resounds in the distance.
Turning down the long hallway, soft sconces with frosted glass shades cast a warm, muted glow, creating an intimate ambiance and lighting the passage to my room.
Tapestries line the walls; one depicts intricate pictures of medieval dragons and the another portrays beautiful horses galloping in a pasture, both images frozen in time.
My steps echo softly within the darkness. The scent of aged leather and polished mahogany waft from an open door, revealing my small library. We pass the leather-bound books lining the shelves.
My mind wandering, I picture Brielle within the library, cuddled up in my chaise reading Dickens.
Shaking my head back to reality, I continue down the passage. We pass the various guest rooms, rich with deep blues and reds and adorned with leather and velvet furniture .
As I near the main suite, the smell of eucalyptus and lavender invades my senses and a small sense of calm overcomes my stimulated mind.
My suite has a custom oak-framed bed, with ornate dragons carved on each post. Nearly five people could sleep within the bed, which is comfortably covered in a soft blue velvet duvet.
Black curtains cover the floor-to-ceiling windows, and two large leather lounge chairs are seated beside the windows. Bookcases complement each side of the vast stone fireplace.
There is a stone hearth accompanied by a wide expanse of dark granite. It stretches across the base of the fireplace, providing a sturdy foundation for the flickering flames. The crackling fire emits a warm glow, which dances across the walls.
The mantel holds an array of artfully arranged artifacts—porcelain adder figurines, a vintage clock with a pendulum swaying rhythmically, and a row of carefully arranged family photographs.
Above the mantel, an antique mirror with an ornate gilt frame reflected the ambient light, amplifying the warm and intimate atmosphere .
Stepping through the door, we are transported into a sanctuary of serenity and refinement. It’s my favorite room within the estate, and it will impress Brielle.
The focal point of my washroom is the pristine ivory clawfoot tub, which is positioned near a tall window adorned with delicate black lace curtains.
During the daytime, the tub offers views of the lush English countryside, allowing natural light to cascade onto the polished tiles.
The gentle glow of an Art Deco antler chandelier suspended from the ceiling adds a touch of warmth to the space.
Overlooking the tub, an intricately patterned wallpaper in soft green hues depicts scenes of blooming florals. A brass faucet with porcelain handles extends from the tub, providing a regal touch.
A meticulously crafted wooden shelf with a row of perfectly aligned glass jars filled with bath salts and fragrant oils adorns the wall, within easy reach.
I find Mrs. Foster folding the cotton towels and readying the bath. “Everything is ready, sir. Would you like me to stay?”
Carefully, I lower Brielle’s legs to the ground, her hands clutching my shirt, her feet unsteady as her petite body leans on my frame. I softly whisper, “Brielle, you need to get into the bath. You are going into shock,” I calmly state.
The tremors increase in her hands as her small frame shakes harder.
“Brielle, do you want Mrs. Foster to help you into the bath?” I ask.
No response.
Guilt sets in that I did this to her. If I hadn’t allowed her to work for us, for Bobby to bring her into this life, she would have never been in harm’s way. Everything she endured this evening is my fault.
Letting out a long exhale, I exclaim, “Dove, you need to get into the bath. I don’t know shock like a nurse does, but I’ve seen what it’s done to some of my men.”
No response.
That’s it. I decide to take matters into my own hands.
“Brielle, I’m taking you into the tub. You need to wash up, and we need to ground you before shock completely takes over.
You are shutting down and…” I place my forehead against hers, feeling the heat radiating from her temple.
I exhale as my hand moves to cup her cheek.
“And I got to admit this is terrifying me. ”
Slowly, I grasp her wrists and try to remove her hands, but they have dug into my shirt. Her nails are nearly embedded in my chest.
Making an executive decision, I slowly walk her back to the tub, wrapping my arms around her small stature. The water slowly envelops our bodies as I climb into the large clawfoot tub with her, her trembling body still clutched to my chest.
“Sir!” Mrs. Foster gasps as she enters the bathing room with a stack of towels. She holds her delicate hand to her mouth, eyes full of surprise.
In a calm tone, I state, “I may need your help changing her afterward. I don’t believe she wants me to see her undress. Though, at this time, may we have some privacy?”