Chapter 28 Neo
NEO
Why is it that bad guys love a soliloquy? Seriously, it’s like this Gordon asshole thinks I’m going to be impressed by his dastardly schemes.
Spoiler alert—I’m not.
Doesn’t stop Gordon from going on. He thinks he’s some fucking genius, just because he managed to lead us into a trap. Which, granted, he did. Can’t believe it, honestly. I’ve been kicking myself ever since I saw the cunt and his cronies sneaking up the pier toward the yacht.
I didn’t realize he was going to literally blow it up.
I close my eyes against his ranting to see the same image that’s been repeating for the past hour—Wylder thrown by the blast, his body disappearing into the water.
My throat is still raw from the scream that ripped from me.
He’s alive. They pulled him from the water.
For now, at least. I tried everything to get free from the goons who yanked me from the car, kicking and scratching for all I was worth. I’m not much of a fighter, but my upbringing taught me enough.
Or so I thought. Given they overpowered me using that stupid fucking helmet Cade forced on me, maybe I should’ve asked the Buckinghams for self-defense lessons. Something I’ll be doing as soon as we’re free of this place.
Assuming you get free.
We will. We have to. Ansel and the others were listening. They’ll come up with a plan.
Or they might decide you’re not worth the risk. They won’t come for you. No one ever does. Even your so-called boyfriend ran away at the first hint of danger, remember?
Wylder isn’t Kyle though, and neither are the others.
Fat lot of good that is. No one knows where you are. Wylder’s been locked up who-knows-where, if he’s even still alive.
God, my inner voice is a prick on the best of days, but with every tick of the clock, it’s getting worse. And louder.
Between it and Gordon, I’m not sure which is more irritating.
“And they think they’re infallible,” Gordon concludes triumphantly, repeating a phrase I’ve heard six times already. Yes, I’ve been counting. “What do you think about that?”
I roll my eyes. Why does he keep asking for my input when he fucking gagged me?
It’s not as hot as when Wylder described doing this to me.
Doesn’t help that Gordon’s as ugly as sin.
His belly enters the room before he does, and apparently, no amount of money can cure his male-pattern baldness.
Either that, or he can’t be bothered to explore his options on that front.
Kind of wish he’d ungag me so I could ask him. If I were him and had what’s in his bank accounts, I’d definitely invest in hair plugs and a personal trainer.
Then again, maybe it’s a good thing there’s a knot of cotton in my mouth. I suspect he won’t be as tolerant of my brattiness as Wylder is. Gordon’s not hiding his monster like Wylder.
Rather than listen to any more of Gordon’s shit, I look around the room for the thousandth time, searching for anything I could use as a weapon or a means to escape the chair I’m currently tied to.
But there’s nothing.
We’re in a massive office. I imagine he thinks it’s impressive. Everything in here screams wealth, from the fancy pens on his ornate desk to the art framed on the walls.
To me, it’s like Wylder’s father—all flash and no substance. Plus, it’s drafty as fuck. Apparently, when Gordon had designers in, he cared more about decorating the vast space than heating it.
“I’m not sure what’s taking them so long,” Gordon says suddenly, frowning at the door. “They should’ve been here by now.”
Goose bumps rise on my arms, and I’m not sure it can be blamed on the chill in the air.
While Gordon has been openly gloating about capturing us, he’s been suspiciously tight-lipped about what’s going to come next.
Sadly, I don’t think it’s going to involve setting us free and promising never to bother us again.
He picks up a radio from the desk and pushes a button on the side. “Nichols? What’s the status on Samson?”
There’s no response other than static.
Gordon repeats his question with a frown. When there’s still no response, he speaks again. “MacIntyre, report on Matthias.”
More static.
My heart is thundering in my ears now. Have the Buckinghams overpowered their captors? Have they escaped?
Please let Wylder be okay.
Gordon’s pacing now, his cheeks glowing a ruddy maroon. “Carter. Status of Wylder, now.”
I’ve never been happier to hear the dull buzz of static in my life.
“Carter,” Gordon bellows into the radio, like that might get him a response. Honestly, how did we get tripped up by such a…loser? “Report on Wylder!”
I’m so happy with the lack of response. Wylder is safe. He’s escaped.
And he’s left you behind.
That’s okay. I’m used to it. At least I can die knowing that Wylder is safe.
No one will know how much my heart aches at the knowledge that even he didn’t come for me.
Spittle flies from Gordon’s mouth as he yells into the radio. “Is Wylder contained? Is he contained?”
“Unfortunately not.” My head whips around at the voice.
I can’t see him—the door is blocking my view.
But I’d know that voice anywhere. The velvet smoothness that’s as familiar as my own heartbeat.
“I’m afraid Carter is unable to give any reports.
Same with Nichols and MacIntyre. And the three that were with them. Such a shame.”
Wylder steps into the room, and I whimper into the gag. He’s here. He’s alone, but he’s here.
He didn’t leave.
He came.
You’d never guess he’s just been through an explosion and a kidnapping. I mean, yes, he’s still damp and covered in grime, his shirt is hanging in tatters, and there are several nasty bruises and burns along the skin I can see.
But you’d never know it from how he carries himself. Wylder stalks into the room like he’s attending one of those fancy galas he goes to. His chin is held high, expression utterly inscrutable.
Until I let out a choked sob. It’s muffled by the gag, but enough to draw Wylder’s attention.
He whips around, his mask dropping as he takes me in. I know I must look a mess. Gordon’s goons got in a few hits before knocking me out. With how my muscles are aching now, they weren’t gentle with how they transported and restrained me, either.
Wylder’s eyes darken, and I realize it’s not him I’m looking at.
It’s his monster.
I’m okay, I try to signal with my eyes. I’m okay.
I’m not sure he believes me. His monster sure doesn’t.
It probably doesn’t help that Gordon chooses that exact moment to come up beside me. I wince as cold metal pushes against my neck. Fuck, I hate guns.
“So good of you to join us,” Gordon croons. “Why don’t we talk about this like gentlemen?”
“Sure.” Wylder smiles. There’s nothing pleasant about it. “Lower the gun, and I’ll behave in the civilized manner in which I was raised.”
Gordon does no such thing. “Oh, I know all about your upbringing. It’s what makes this so fun.”
Wylder cocks his head, studying Gordon. “How so?”
If I didn’t know better, I’d think Wylder is calm. Unruffled. Completely in control.
But I do know better.
Wylder has handed over all of his control to his monster.
And he won’t stop until Gordon’s heart stops beating.
“Everyone believes The Firm is unstoppable,” Gordon muses. “But all of its power comes from control, isn’t that right? Controlling the money. The connections. The influence.”
Wylder doesn’t flinch. “So?”
“So, it’d be a shame if someone knew exactly who The Firm really are,” Gordon continues. “Because if I did, I’d have the control.”
“Ah.” Wylder nods slowly. “So that’s what this has all been about. You hope to control The Firm, and in turn, control everyone in St. Dismas.”
“And beyond. Really, I’m surprised your family hasn’t broadened your reach. Such a waste. I shall have no qualms in restricting my…ambition.”
Wylder’s smile is almost pitying. “Sorry, you seem to be suffering under the misapprehension that we will do your bidding.”
“Oh, you will.” Gordon pushes the gun harder against my neck. “Especially given I have your boy. Make no mistake, Wylder Buckingham, Neo here will be the one to pay if you step out of line. It’s why I’ll be keeping him here with me. Nice and safe…unless you choose not to cooperate.”
No. If the Buckinghams allow Umbra to control them…
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Wylder says conversationally, taking a casual step. Not toward me, but the desk. “Threatening Neo won’t make me do as you tell me.”
I squeeze my eyes shut at that.
But Wylder’s not done. “It’ll just make your death more painful.”
My eyes fly open. Wylder isn’t looking at me, instead he’s strolling around the desk casually, like this is a business discussion. A simple negotiation between equals.
Rather than between a monster and a moron who’s got a gun against someone the monster cares about.
Gordon chuckles. “I could kill him before you take a single step.”
Wylder’s hand moves so fast, I’m not certain Gordon sees it. But I do. He palms something smoothly off the desk before letting his arm swing lazily at his side. “You could, but then you’d have no bargaining chip.”
“You think your lover is the only card I have to play?”
A shadow crosses inside the window to my left. My pulse picks up, but I don’t let myself react otherwise.
Wylder gives Gordon an amused look as he strolls toward the front of the desk. “I assume you’re going to share. You wannabes are all the same.”
That has Gordon frowning. “What?”
“You think you’re the first group to try and take us down?” Wylder laughs softly. “You’re the eighth, and that’s just since I took the helm. Ask me where the other seven are now.”
Gordon’s eyes narrow. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll succeed where they didn’t because I have something they didn’t.”
God, and I think I’m dramatic. I have nothing on Gordon.
Wylder’s stare is almost bored. His stance is anything but. “Do tell.”
“So glad you asked,” Gordon almost purrs. He pauses before continuing. “Let me show you.”