Chapter 22 #2
“Bryson?” Ernest is whimpering now as he gapes at me in terror.
Most of his fear, I believe, comes from a reputation that I can lay no claim to.
Borisov is a name that strikes fear in many.
But I’ll correct that. By the end of the day, Mr. Bolin will learn that Grove is just as terrifying a name.
“Where is he? If he’s done something, then I have nothing to do with it. My son’s business is his own.”
“Good gods, you’re insufferably unlikable, aren’t you?” Bohnes asks, moving up to stand beside me. He holds out the scalpel and a bit of light from outside catches on the edge of the blade, making it shine. “Want to cut his tongue off?”
I give Bohnes a mildly perturbed expression in response.
“I’d rather cut off his genitals. He can still talk if he’s a eunuch.
Not so much if we take his tongue.” I stand up straight, my fingers twitching as I resist the urge to strip my sullied gloves.
After this, I’ll need to soak in a scalding shower and scrub until my skin bleeds.
Filth. Pathogens. Bacteria. All of it coming from the man I despise more than any other.
Chet and Jonas might be pulling the strings, but Ernest pulled the trigger.
“Oh, got a taste for something you liked?” Bohnes asks with a chuckle as Ash steps up beside me and Ernest’s panicked eyes take him in, latching onto a familiar face like it’s a lifeline instead of a noose.
“Jealous because I’m the one who got to cut Cody’s penis off?
Here. Take the scalpel. It’ll go through his pecker like, well, a hot knife through erectile tissue. ”
“Aspen!” Ernest screams, and Ash laughs, a jovial sound that surprises me.
Ash bends down to get in Ernest’s face next, putting the tip of the samurai sword between the man’s eyes.
Scarlett is standing there with one arm crossed under her breasts, resting her right elbow on her left hand and examining her nails.
“Note to self: call Treasure later,” she mumbles absently, unperturbed by the gruesome scenario. If I thought handling Ernest would make me soft, I was a fool. Scarlett’s presence is effervescent. My erection is rigid and painful.
“Even if I were Aspen, do you think he’d have helped you? Do you think he’d have given a single fuck about you? How delusional.” Ash stands up straight and drops the tip of the sword to the ground with a clank.
“You…” Ernest is sputtering, the horror of his situation dawning on him in slow, terrified blinks. “You really are Ash. Shipman was right. You’re Ash.”
“Hai, hai. Ash, the weak one. Ash, the pussy.” Ash grins and steps back, inclining his chin at me like he didn’t mean to take so much of Ernest’s time.
I incline my chin back at him, offering silent thanks for delivering the police chief in the first place.
A sign of mutual respect. I don’t mind sharing a little.
“I suppose he doesn’t care about Bryson? ”
I take the dirty needle and position it against another of Ernest’s fingernails as he screams. This time, it’s Ash who holds the man’s hand still for me.
“Ditching school to torture a cop. Very Prescott,” I hear Widow grumble from behind me. Both he and Scarlett are watching us from the sidelines, their shoulders touching, their stances nearly identical.
“This isn’t a cop. It’s a maggot. It’s subhuman garbage.
” I shove the needle in, thinking of Papa.
Oh, Papa. My sweet Papa. Even at the very end, when Ernest was threatening him, Papa wouldn’t give me up.
He loved me. He loved me and this man stole him from me, ended his life like it meant nothing.
Well. It meant everything to me and I saw it all.
I have a very good memory. “What do you mean Shipman was right? Explain or Bryson dies.”
Ernest starts screaming incoherently, a weak man with a weak mind. Figures. He’s a crony and nothing more. My throat tightens up with pain and grief. My strong, capable Papa ended by a pathetic worm of a man.
“Help! Dear God, help me!” Ernest calls out, fighting so hard against his restraints that the chair tips over and he ends up in a puddle of his own stinking piss. “Help! Help! Help!”
Bohnes and I exchange a look. Not everyone can be interrogated. Some people are like wet tissue paper. They break under the slightest pressure. Chet Junior Cody Archer was less pathetic than this.
With a sigh, Widow moves over and lifts the chair up, setting it upright and drawing Ernest’s attention.
“You!” Ernest pants heavily, eyes rolling. “It’s not too late for you. Get help. Run! Jonas will pay well.”
Ash snorts at that, but Widow only smiles grimly.
“You’re a dead man, regardless. You know that.
Why not just answer Mr. Grove’s questions and save your son’s life?
” Widow holds the chair still while Ernest jerks against it and yowls like a wild animal.
Widow called me Mr. Grove and not Mr. Borisov.
My estimation of him rises. We have similar ethics, me and him.
Rigid rules in our hearts that cannot be broken.
If we had met under different circumstances, we might’ve become friends even without Scarlett’s influence. I respect a man with a backbone and strong moral character.
“I’ve seen neutered dogs with bigger balls than this dude.
” Scarlett hooks her arm with mine and leans her cheek against my bicep.
I don’t expect to feel a surge of strength from her touch.
My revulsion with Ernest is pushed back by another sudden and inappropriate burst of lust for her.
I think I could fuck her in a puddle of this man’s blood and not notice my disgust until afterward.
What is wrong with me?
“He is particularly weak-willed, isn’t he?
” I say grimly, drawing my phone from my pocket.
There’s no service to it. Too risky. But I kept it because it has the recording of my father’s death.
I start the video and turn it so that Ernest can see.
He calms just enough to watch it before panicking again.
“I don’t know anything. Chet and Jonas, it’s all them. I do what I’m told.” Ernest starts to cry which is, quite frankly, another insult to my father’s legacy. Papa didn’t cry when he was being threatened in his own office, in his own home.
“Yes. Exactly what you’re told. Like fuck underage hookers and snort coke.
” Ash leans back against the wall of the container, cuddling his sword and staring up at the ceiling with whimsical black eyes.
“Don’t act like you’re some lamb. You’re a part of all this.
You know what’s going on with Borisov Group and Archer Realty, you liar. ”
“Let me go and I’ll tell you everything,” Ernest pants, trying on a grisly, bloodstained smile. “You’re just kids for fuck’s sake. What do you know about all this? You’re going to end up dead yourselves. I could help with that.”
“Do you not give a single flying fuck about your own son?” I wonder aloud, the contrast between Papa’s last words and Ernest’s a harsh study in love and humanity.
In the end, my father was willing to die rather than call me back to the house.
Ernest…is not talking. He doesn’t know Bryson is already dead.
Snatching the scalpel from Bohnes’ hand, I press the blade down on one of Ernest’s fingers, severing it with a satisfying squelch at the first knuckle.
Blood spurts onto my pants as Ernest throws up all over himself.
I’m dizzy with the urge to flee. That’s all it is though: an urge.
Just like my urge to screw Scarlett against one of these begrimed metal walls.
“Your son is dead,” I comment coolly. “I blew his brains out on Halloween, and we dumped his body in an unmarked grave. Lucky break that, considering he didn’t have to witness his father’s selfish disregard for his well-being.”
“If it’s any consolation,” Scarlett continues, holding onto me and stroking her fingers down my arm for comfort in a way that reminds me of Mama and Papa all over again. “It was a much nicer, quicker end than you’re going to get.”
Ernest wails wordlessly, his voice echoing around the shipping container.
Outside, the air is crisp and frost-bitten.
In here, it’s damp and pungent and despairing.
Good. A cage for a rat. How fitting. I empty my sewing kit of needles, leaving them tucked beneath Ernest’s nine remaining fingernails.
“For each question you answer, I’ll remove a needle. Start talking. Who is your contact inside the family? I want a name.” I wait patiently as Widow sets his expression for the long haul. Ash whispers in gleeful, violent Japanese. Scarlett isn’t looking at Ernest, her eyes for me and only me.
“This is…going to take some finesse.” Bohnes tilts his head to the side, studying Ernest as the man babbles incoherently about nothing. With a sigh, Bohnes pushes up the sleeves of his sweater. Ash takes a seat on the floor. Widow holds tight to the chair.
Scarlett? She’s by my side through it all, blood, bones, and screams.
And the tears that inevitably follow, when I stumble out back of the container and throw up in the bushes, falling to my knees and mourning my hero, my Papa, the man who showed me what true love looks like.
True love for his son. And a different kind of love for his wife, the sort that I wasn’t seeking but that I found.
I want Scarlett as my wife. Not just for business. As my partner. My lover. My confidante.
I suppose I should ask her first then, shouldn’t I?