“He had fun, is what happened,” Solo provides, then chuckles when Dorran flips him off.
“If you plan on spending time with us, then you’ve got to get used to seeing Dorran like this,” Jayce says. “He’s our resident butcher, in case you didn’t know.”
“Yeah, and I’m itching to gut a pig next,” Dorran adds, giving Jayce a too-wide smile. “Wanna volunteer, my dear?”
Alex snorts, and Jayce grabs his crotch before mouthing, “Fuckyou,” to Dorran.
Mave glances at them, then shakes his head and folds his arms across his chest. “Why the fuck did I even ask?” he mutters to himself, making us laugh.
Dorran shoves Mom in Varsha’s direction, then settles into the chair that’s got the wooden table beside it. “Get her ready,” he orders Varsha.
Alex joins her, holding onto Mom while Varsha unties her hands. He then pushes Mom down into the chair opposite Dorran’s, and Varsha secures her wrists to its armrests. Once they’re done, the two step back and join Jayce. Feeling out of place, I make my way to Mave and stand next to him.
“You okay?” he asks, then scans me from head-to-toe. “There’s blood on you.”
“Not mine.”
“I gathered as much.” A wistful sort of look takes over his face, but he brushes it away and nods ahead. “These people are crazier than I’d imagined,” he whispers. “But I have to say, though: Miranda has never looked as fucked up as she does right now.”
I chuckle. “True fashion icon, isn’t she?”
He makes a sound in the back of his throat, to which I laugh.
“Will the two of you stop giggling?” Solo hisses from next to Mave. The latter tries to protest, but Solo arches a brow, quieting him.
“Yo, Ledge; what’s our plan here?” Varsha asks, and the three of us turn our attention forward again. “For shit to not go sideways, we’ll have to make her death look like an accident.”
“You dare speak about me as if I’m dead!” Mom sneers in a cracked voice. “You are nothing compared to me.Nothing.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Mave mumbles, then marches towards Mom. He reaches her, and when she glowers at him, he rears his right arm back and punches her in the jaw.
Blood spews from her mouth at the impact, and a screech-like sound fills the air as her chair skids backward. For someone who has won-over wealthy investors with merely a shift of her brow, she isn’t exactly doing well on her own right now.
“Step aside, Maverick,” Dorran says in his signature, too-calm voice.
Mave grits his teeth, keeping his hand fisted. He stares Mom down with so much hatred that it makes my chest ache. He despises her for everything she’s done tome; for how she’s treatedme.
“You don’t deserve a daughter like Cignette,” he says to her. “Hell, you don’t deserveanything. The fame, the money, the forcibly-earned respect – you deserve none of it.” He grunts and punches her again. And again. And each time he does it, he draws blood.
I feel the wetness of tears on my cheeks only when Solo places a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it.
“Keep it together, kid,” he assures. “And don’t even think of looking away. You’ll watch what’s being done to her, and you’ll watch it until we’re through with her.”
I nod, warmed by his words, and the kindness in his eyes.
He gives me a small smile, then retreats his hand from my shoulder.
“Maverick.” The warning in Dorran’s voice is clear, and it’s enough to change the atmosphere in the room.
Mave is in the middle of delivering yet another punch to Mom’s already bruised and swollen face, but stops when he, too, senses the shift. He raises his hands by his sides, then spits at Mom’s feet before making his way back to me.
“Feel good?” I ask, then glance at the redness around his knuckles. “Apart from those, I mean.”
He sniffs and runs a hand over his mouth. “Plenty.”
I notice a tick in his jaw as he stares ahead, and the stiffness in his posture. Deciding to let him be, I sigh and focus on Dorran.
He gets to his feet – his eyes on Mom – and starts pulling his chair closer to hers. The sound of metal grating against concrete echoes through the room, thickening the air with tension.
