13. Clara
Chapter Thirteen
CLARA
The car slows to a stop outside a looming gray warehouse, and my stomach tightens. Marco told me on the drive over here that he and Andre refer to this place as the slaughterhouse, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why.
I shift in my seat as I look out of the window.
I knew this place would be bad, but now that I’m actually here, staring at the rusted metal and cracked concrete, an icy dread settles over me.
I’ve witnessed firsthand how brutal Marco’s world can be, but sitting outside this place, knowing what has likely happened within its walls, makes my throat dry.
But I trust that whatever has happened here, whatever Marco has done, it’s because the people deserved it.
That’s what separates him from men like Ben.
My brother doesn’t give a shit about who gets hurt. All he’s ever cared about is himself, which only makes me more anxious to hear what he has to say.
The only reason he gave up the information on Cillian was to exchange it for Marco’s protection, nothing more. So, whatever reason he has for wanting to speak to me now, it likely has nothing to do with him wanting to make amends.
Marco turns slightly in his seat to face me. “Look at me, Clara.”
I swallow before pulling my attention away from the warehouse. When I look over at Marco’s dark brown eyes, my body relaxes.
“Do you trust me, love?”
I nod without hesitation, and Marco’s shoulders relax as he lets out a breath. It seems he’s just as apprehensive about having me talk to Ben as I am.
Marco reaches for my hand. “If you want to leave at any point, just say the word and I’ll get you out of there, no questions asked.”
I exhale as I entwine my fingers with his. “I need to do this, for myself as much as for you.”
Marco watches me for another moment, looking for any hint of doubt in my words, any reason to tell me to stay in the car.
But I hold his gaze with silent determination until he dips his chin.
“Okay, let’s get this over with.” He squeezes my hand once.
We step out into the cold air, and I wrinkle my nose as I’m hit with the smell of concrete and metal.
Marco keeps my hand in his, his grip firm, as he leads us over to the main door of the warehouse and bangs his free fist against the metal.
Heavy footsteps sound on the other side, and then a heavily lined face appears.
“Ah, it’s you,” the man grunts before opening the door fully.
“Nice to see you too, Dom.” Marco chuckles, though the sound is anything but light. “I’ve brought Clara to see Ben.”
Dom’s pale blue eyes flick to me, and I cringe under the scrutiny of his gaze.
He’s at least half a foot taller than Marco, with a series of intricate tattoos snaking up his bare arms and neck. A thick scar runs along the length of his shaved head, and to my horror, he’s missing an earlobe.
Suddenly, my hands feel incredibly sweaty, but I refuse to let go of Marco.
“You better not have killed him while I was gone.” Marco leads me inside the warehouse.
“No, but I wish I had,” Dom grumbles.
I try not to flinch at Dom’s words, but that’s hard to do when he’s talking about wanting to kill my brother.
We might not have a relationship anymore, but we once did. In my mind, he is still the child who used to make mud pies with me in the backyard, not the serial criminal who waits for me inside this warehouse.
I wish I could detach the memories I have of Ben from when we were kids from the man I’m about to face, but that’s easier said than done.
As we cross the warehouse floor, I focus solely on the feeling of Marco’s calloused fingers against mine, the warmth of his skin, the sound of his footsteps. Anything to distract myself from my pounding heart and the reality that I’m about to face my brother.
The last time I saw Ben, I was the one locked in the cell. I know firsthand how terrifying it is to feel so helpless, and yet I willingly let Marco do the very same to him.
And yes, I know he should be locked up, he escaped his punishment. But this is not it, is it? This is doing to him what was done to me.
Does that make me no better than Ben?
The thought makes my stomach churn.
Marco squeezes my hand as Dom leads us down a dimly lit hallway.
It’s eerily quiet, which only adds to my anxiety.
I keep my eyes down, not wanting to look inside any of the rooms we pass for fear of what might be inside.
“Say the word, and we leave,” Marco mutters under his breath as we come to a stop outside a heavy, iron door.
“I’m good.” Though, I sound anything but.
Marco steps closer to me as Dom unlocks the door.
I feel sick to my stomach at the thought of what I’m about to see, but I don’t have a choice. If Ben has information that can help Marco, then I’ll do whatever it takes to get him to talk. It’s a small price to pay compared to what Marco might have to do if Cillian decides to call in his favor.
Dom yanks the heavy door open, and Marco leads me inside.
The room is almost cast completely in shadow, except for the light that is shining in from the hallway outside.
There’s a lingering smell of blood and urine in the air, which has me fighting the urge to throw up.
And that urge only intensifies when I see that the room has been turned into a reinforced cell with thick iron bars dividing the room in two.
And there, slouched against the concrete wall, is Ben.
He glances up as Marco leads me over to the bars, and my breath catches when his green eyes flick to me. “Clara.” His voice is hoarse.
I glance at Marco who nods at me.
I can do this.
I square my shoulders. “You wanted to talk to me. I’m here.”
Ben drags a hand over his heavily stubbled jaw, exhaling as if he’s already exhausted by the weight of what he’s about to say.
At first, his voice is low, almost detached, as if he’s trying to put distance between himself and the horrors he’s about to confess to. But the more he speaks, the more I can hear the disgust and anger in his voice.
Marco and I are silent as he tells us how Cillian doesn’t just deal in drugs and weapons. That’s a fraction of the business that really lines his pockets. His main dealings concern young girls, particularly ones barely into adolescence.
He takes them with the intention of selling them at auctions for men to do with as they please.
Bile rises in my throat as he describes in detail the auctions Cillian hosts, where the rich and powerful bid on these girls like they’re nothing more than cattle. How they happen in private estates, on luxury yachts, in underground clubs so the police don’t come knocking.
My stomach churns as Ben talks about the way Cillian ensures his girls behave by slipping them drugs before they parade themselves around half naked in front of the buyers.
How most of the men that attend these auctions are powerful, well-respected members of society.
Judges and politicians, CEOs, and more importantly, husbands and fathers to girls the same age as the ones they’re buying.
By the time he finishes, I’m close to vomiting.
This isn’t just some sick story he’s made up. This is happening, right now, in our own city.
Marco is completely still beside me, his jaw locked and his entire body radiating a lethal kind of fury as Ben’s words sink in.
I shake my head, trying to swallow past the lump in my throat. “So what? You just stood there and let it happen?”
Ben’s face darkens. “You think I had a fucking choice? I couldn’t do shit without getting killed, so, yeah, I played along.”
I glare at him, my stomach twisting. “You expect me to believe that?”
Ben’s eyes flick to Marco, then back to me. “Believe what you want, but I swear I didn’t lay a fucking hand on anyone. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t see things that’ll haunt me forever.”
“Then tell me something.” My voice shakes as I try to process the sheer evil of what Cillian is involved in. “If you were never going to hurt me, if I was never part of this plan, then why were you willing to let Tommaso kill Marco? Did you think that wouldn’t hurt me?”
Ben bows his head. “I made deals with bad people, Clara. In prison, it was play along or die . Believe me, I didn’t want any of this, but I didn’t have a fucking choice.”
I don’t know if I believe him, or maybe after everything he’s done I just can’t . After all, Ben has been making the very same excuses since we were kids and at some point, his words lost all meaning.
I glance at Marco, whose eyes are fixed on my brother.
No matter what, I trust Marco, so if it turns out Ben is lying, he will make sure my brother won’t live long enough to regret it.
Marco catches my eye and nods toward the door, silently asking if I’m done.
I nod back, feeling physically and mentally drained after what Ben just told me. I don’t want to spend another second inside this room if I can help it.
“So, that’s it?” Ben calls out as Marco wraps an arm around my shoulder and guides me toward the door. “You’re just going to fucking leave me here?”
I flinch at the venom in his voice, but I let Marco lead me from the cell before I decide to do something stupid like beg him to let Ben out.
The moment the metal door slams shut behind us, we both let out a collective breath.
I look up at Marco. “Can we trust him?”
Marco runs a hand over his jaw. “We don’t have a choice. If he’s telling the truth about Cillian, then we need him on our side. But if it turns out he’s been lying?”
“What will you do?” I whisper, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. “Then he’ll be tortured to death.”
I shiver as images of the brother I remember, the one from my childhood, play through my mind.
As his sister, I know I should feel worse about his future then I do, which only adds to the guilt weighing heavily on my shoulders.
Marco steps closer before wrapping an arm around my waist, pulling me flush against him.
He buries his face in my hair. “You okay?”
I force a nod, but then I remember the promise I made to him—no more lies. So, I take a breath and shake my head.
I rest my cheek against his chest. “No, not really.”
Marco is quiet, offering me the option to talk if I want to. But also, I know if I just wanted to stay like this, listening to the soft thumping of his heartbeat, that would be all right too.
Having Ben back in my life has resurfaced a lot of memories of my childhood, not just of Ben but of my mother too.
Her last memory of her son is forever tainted by his betrayal, and I spent years telling myself I didn’t care that I cut him off for this very reason. That was the least he deserved, considering the hell he put our mother through when she was on her deathbed.
But maybe I care more than I’m willing to admit.
“What if Ben is playing us? What if this is all just another one of his lies?”
Marco squeezes my waist, and I wrap my arms around him, needing to feel the weight and strength of his body against mine.
“It’s okay.” He strokes my hair. “I’ve got it sorted.”
As we drive home, I try to force what Ben told us out of my head, but the weight of it still lingers, pressing down on my chest so hard that it hurts to breathe.
The only thing keeping me from being completely crushed by it all is the knowledge that no matter what happens next, Marco will be at my side.