“Fuck you,” Jeffries spit, his ashen skin turning an even more unflattering shade of gray.
“Fuck this guy,” Adam said, searching Jeffries for the phone he’d shown Thomas and Aiden when they’d entered. He found it lying on the floor. A different phone from the one he’d planned on using as a detonator. That one was safely out of reach…of anyone. At least until Mac and Archer disarmed the bomb. Once they found the bomb.
Adam picked up the phone, pointing it at Jeffries’s face, then tossed it to Noah. “Look for anything that might help us pinpoint where she is.”
Thomas bit back a smile as Noah cocked his head, leveling a flat stare at Adam. “A please would be nice.”
Adam’s eyes went wide and he gave Noah an exasperated look. Noah stood firm. Adam’s shoulders slumped. “Please? Please, would you look for anything that could help us save a girl’s life?”
Noah flushed, muttering, “Like you even care about some girl’s life.”
Asa snagged the phone from Noah’s hands, playing with it for about sixty seconds before giving a triumphant cry. “I fucking knew it. That video is months old. The sick fuck just wanted you to hear him out and he knew this would be a way to hold your attention.”
“How did you know it was old?” Lucas asked.
Asa sneered at Jeffries. “Look at him. You think he could subdue anyone? He doesn’t look like he could hold down a full meal, much less a fully grown woman.”
Well, that did simplify the task at hand somewhat.
“Excellent. Shall we get on with it?” Lucas asked, wandering along the row of tools laid out on the sofa. He stopped, picking up a tool with a sturdy handle and a lethal-looking spike. An ice pick or an awl maybe.
Lucas stopped before Jeffries, dragging the end of the tool along the squishy underside of his chin. It was clear he’d lost weight, leaving some sagging behind. Thomas might have felt sorry for him if he wasn’t surrounded by his victims, if he hadn’t gone after his grandchildren, if he hadn’t shot the love of his life.
“You. You went after my children,” Lucas said.
“You’re the psychic, right?” Jeffries said with a pained laugh. “Didn’t you used to be in the FBI? You know, before they branded you a lunatic?” If he was hoping to strike a nerve in Lucas, he was in for a surprise. Jeffries leaned in, swaying on his tiptoes. “Let me ask you. If you touched me right now, could you see every girl I murdered? Could you hear their screams, smell their blood, could you feel how much I fucking loved every second of it?”
“You went after mychildren,” Lucas said again, enunciating every word, voice eerily calm.
Drool leaked from Jeffries’s mouth as he said, “All I did was give them a little gift. You should be thanking me. I could have gutted the little brats.”
Lucas drove the tool into the fleshy part of the man’s jaw, piercing his tongue and lodging it into his soft palate. He began to make a sickening rattling sound, like something out of a horror movie.
“Hey, we were gonna skin him,” Avi whined.
Lucas drove the tool deeper, then spit in Jeffries face. “He’s not dead. He’s just fucking quiet.”
He left the tool where it was, walking away. “He’s all yours,” he said to the twins as he passed.
August came up and hugged Lucas from behind. “Feel better, my love?”
“I’ll feel better when he’s dead,” Lucas confirmed but gripped the hands around his waist briefly as if to assure him he was okay.
“That’s our cue, right?” Asa asked. “Shall we take it from here?”
Atticus grimaced. “I hate this part.”
Zane shuddered. “Me too.”
“Oh,” August said, as if remembering something. “Here.”
He handed Zane a set of ear plugs. He gazed at August like he’d given him a kidney. It was rare for him to consider the needs of others, rarer still for him to offer to accommodate those needs. Thomas smiled. His boys were nothing like Jeffries or his…sons as he’d called them.
The boys stood around as Avi and Asa squabbled over what tool to use, how to approach the task, and whether he’d survive long enough for them to enjoy it. Thomas left them to it, finally going to sit beside Aiden, who was slumped into the couch. Thomas brushed his hair from his eyes. He was sweating. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Aiden said. “Just having a rough day. Are you okay?”
“I’m not the one who got shot,” Thomas reminded him, staring at the bullet lodged in Aiden’s vest, imagining the worst.
