Chapter 39
Maeve
Desticate (v) to cry like a rat
“Fuck. You.” Liam says through clenched teeth.
I just smile in response and tighten the pliers around his now bare fingertip.
He wails miserably, and I feel savage satisfaction in my gut.
I decide to waste no more time, and I slide the cigar cutter around his pinky, making eye contact as I squeeze.
I feel the bone crunch at the knuckle, and blood spurts across the table.
He wails again, sounding more hopeless than before. Maybe he finally gets it.
“Oh, big man isn’t so big anymore, is he?” I whisper into his ear, watching the tears streaming from his eyes. I can feel Callum's eyes on me. In fact, I can feel everyone’s eyes on me and their judgment. It doesn’t matter to me, though. At this moment, all that matters is my revenge.
“Is she with the Costas?” I ask, gripping what hair he has left on his head and forcing his eyes to meet mine.
“I don’t know,” Liam croaks.
Liar. Fucking Liar. I walk casually around the table and slide the cigar cutter onto his other pinky finger.
“I swear it!” He shouts, panic in his voice. “She wasn’t even at the house before I came over for the meeting. I haven’t seen her in a few days. I swear!” He begins to weep openly now, sobs racking from his chest.
“Are the Costas involved?” I ask, but he just continues to sob.
I nod and pick up the knife, examining it before I decide on my next move.
“I take it you didn’t hear me, so let's remove this, shall we?” I slice his ear off, starting at the lobe and working my way up.
His scream is piercing, and blood pours from the side of his head.
I’d forgotten how much the head bleeds. My hands are covered now, sticky and wet.
Once I’ve removed his left ear, I toss it onto his chest and stroll around to the other side of the table, sticking the tip of the knife into the skin just behind his right ear.
“Yes, okay! Yes, please stop!” Liam begs.
I laugh harshly. He’s absolutely pathetic. I look over my shoulder and see Orin and Ronan pulling out their cell phones, no doubt sending the confirmation to my father and Niall.
“You know, Liam, begging is useless. You will die once we are finished. But as Uncail said, your cooperation will dictate how long this will take.” I reach for the drill. I pull the trigger, watching the bit go round and round.
“Now, Liam,” I say, my voice cheery and businesslike.
“I’m going to use this regardless, but your answers to my questions will determine where I use it and for how long.
And there are so many options,” I purr, pulling the trigger again.
Liam’s sweat-soaked body is wriggling in his restraints, and blood is pouring from his hands, from the side of his head.
I point the drill at his dick, and he goes deathly still. A whimper escapes him as I apply some pressure. The room is completely silent.
“Now, how exactly are the Costas involved? Don’t leave anything out.” A choked cry flies from Liam's throat, and I click the button on the drill briefly to remind him how bad this will turn out if he doesn’t cooperate.
“FUCK! OKAY! OKAY! They contacted me years ago—” he starts, but I cut him off.
“How many years?”
“God, I… I don’t know. Ff… fifteen maybe,” he panics, fumbling over his words. I stand up straight, considering his words. Fifteen years. My mother died fifteen years ago. The timing seems too coincidental.
“Did the Costas cause my mother's car accident?” I ask, steel and tar coating each word.
And he laughs. Hysterically. “There was never a car accident, stupid girl. That’s just your daddy told you to protect you from the reality of this life,” he says, coughing between laughs.
“Face it. You’re not cut out for this. You never were.
And the fact that Cormac is just handing over the reins to you is the worst fucking joke.
That old git is senile,” he says savagely, then spits onto the floor.
My vision tunnels, and my ears begin to ring loudly.
I can’t believe what I’ve just heard, but deep down inside, I know he’s speaking the truth now.
I take the drill to Liam's kneecap without thinking, without feeling. He’s thrashing and screaming, but it feels like I’m witnessing it through a screen, like it isn’t me who is doing this, like I’m not even here.
There are pieces of bone and cartilage being slung from the drill bit.
Tendons get wrapped around it, causing the bit to whir motionlessly.
I release the bit from the drill and leave it inside his knee, then I reach for the knife again.
Liam is crying, screaming, begging. I barely register it. Some vague and distant part of my subconscious whispers to me: he’s crying and begging just like you were that day in the bathroom. Make him pay. I take the knife and carve into his chest and abdomen. Letter by letter. Single words.
Rat.
Rapist.
Liar.
With each slice I make into his skin, Liam’s screams hit a new pitch.
After the second word, I take a towel from the table and shove it into his mouth.
He jerks his head violently from side to side, and the only sounds now are his muffled cries.
Once I’m done, I remove the towel, and it’s covered in blood and saliva.
I toss it to the side. Liam is breathing heavily, his nose is snotty, and a mixture of blood and saliva is pooling under his head.
“Tell me what happened to my mother,” I grit out.
“She… she wasn’t… in a wreck…” he pants between words, eyes closed, jaw clenched.
“Spit it out,” I say, reaching for the lemon juice. He hesitates. But I don’t. I pour the lemon juice on the freshly carved words on his chest, and his desperate screams begin again.
“She was kidnapped and murdered!” Liam yells wildly, his voice high and childish.
“By who?” I ask, hovering the vial of juice over his chest again.
“I don’t know…” he stammers, and I move to pour the juice again, which seems to jog his memory. “I only had to make sure they made it to the gala! I don’t know who took her or who killed her!”
I consider his words, then I pour the juice anyway, not feeling anything as I gaze down at him, watching him writhe pathetically under the restraints.
I walk to the table covered in tools and weapons, and almost don’t notice Orin standing there. He’s looking at me intently, and I can read a mixture of concern and anger in his expression. I feel my hackles instantly rise.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Do you think someone else should take over?” His question causes me to pause. I can hardly think, not with Liam's screams filling every empty space.
“What are you saying, Orin?” I pause with both hands resting on the table in front of me.
“I’m saying, Maeve,” he turns to face me now, placing a hand on my shoulder, “I think it’s time you sit back and breathe before you get too deep into this.”
“Somebody shut him up!” I yell, gesturing at Liam, whose screeching cries were echoing in my ears. One of Uncail’s men emerges from the shadows and punches Liam in the jaw, knocking him out cold.
I turn away from Orin and stroll around the room, floating on anger and adrenaline. “Who else is concerned about how I’m handling this? Huh? Speak up now or hold your fucking peace.”
Orin approaches me again, his palms held up in a gesture of peace. “I’m not saying you should leave, Maeve. I’m just saying take a breather, is all. We all do it. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
Ronan, who is standing against the wall opposite me, nods his head, and suddenly I feel a hand on the small of my back. I look up to find Callum’s blue eyes on me. It’s hard to read the expression there. Hurt? Disappointment? It only makes me angrier.
“What?” I ask.
“Let one of us take over,” he says, his tone that of a parent talking a child down from a tantrum.
I jerk away from his touch, and his hand falls limply to his side. “He knows what happened to my mom, Callum! I can’t stop now.”
“He’s likely saying that to keep you from finding out what we originally came here to find,” Callum says gently.
“Why would he say that? Of all things, why that?” I ask, my voice sounding high and wild.
Callum sighs and runs his hand over his jaw. “One of us will get the information out of him, Maeve. We just need to focus on getting information about what is currently happening. Your emotions are clouding your judgement right now.”
My eyes widen and my jaw drops. How dare he?
I take a breath, about to rip into him, when he adds hurriedly, “As they should be! This is a lot of information, and it’s normal for your emotions to run the show.
You can have another go at him, but let someone get the information we need out of him first, okay? ”
I breathe in deeply, slowly exhaling through my nose.
I put both hands on the table and look down at them.
There isn’t an inch of skin visible through the blood coating them.
There’s even blood caked under my nails.
I may have cut myself at some point, but I can’t tell right now.
I look over my shoulder where Liam is still lying limp under his restraints, then back down at my feet, and I see that my boots are coated in blood, too.
“Fine. I need a shower,” I say listlessly as I turn to walk toward the door.
I look at no one else on my retreat. If Callum is following me, I don’t know it.
Right now, I don’t care. One of the men guarding the door knocks once.
It swings open, and I walk through without stopping.
I can hear footsteps behind me as I climb the stairs back into the meeting room.
By the time Callum and I make it to our room in the main house, I’m numb. Physically and emotionally numb.
I step into the bathroom and take in my gory appearance. My face is crimson. Blood drips down my neck into my shirt. It’s coating my clothes, my hair, nearly every inch of me. The sight of it barely registers. So I just stand there, staring at myself, this blood-covered, spectral thing.
My eyes connect with Callum's in the mirror when he walks in, but my face remains blank. He walks up behind me and slowly helps me remove my clothes. There is no passion or anticipation in it. It’s purely mechanical, like a caregiver helping his ward.
And still, I feel nothing.