Quickly unloading everything, I only take time to stow the perishables in the fridge and stage things I’ll need upstairs near the bathroom door. It takes me ten minutes to install the new barrel bolts and the locks on the bedroom door and window. How long it takes the man to graduate from prisoner to pet will depend on him and his actions.
I plan to speed that process along as quickly as possible. I need to be in Florida in a few weeks, for Susa’s inauguration. This year, that date falls on the second Tuesday of January, so the clock’s ticking. I told Carter I would be there, and I don’t want to disappoint my little brother.
I might have an additional surprise for Carter, though.
God, I amsucha bastard.
The last thing I do is pull on a black balaclava, because I don’t want Eddie seeing my face yet. If he does, he’ll know I’m related to Carter. The family resemblance between all of us brothers is unmistakable. It wasn’t uncommon in school for teachers who had more than one of us to accidentally call us by another brother’s name. I’m more likely to get information out of Eddie if he wholeheartedly believes I am a legitimate threat to Carter and his family. Once I have the pertinent info, then I’ll do the reveal.
With everything ready, I turn on the bathroom lights, push a stimulant to counteract the effect of the sedative, and stand back with my gun ready to wait.
It takes about three minutes for him to let out a groan and for his eyes to flutter open.
I step into my full-on bastard mode, including voice, so I don’t sound so much like Carter. “Welcome back, Eddie.”
He squints against the light, tries to lift a hand and realizes his wrists are manacled—as are his ankles now, because I’m not a fucking idiot—and he stares up at me.
“Yes, you’re still alive. For now.”
Either he’s still out of it, or he’s stunned silent, not sure which, but I wait him out. Those drugs are a bitch and a half on a young raver’s system. A man who’s fifty-one definitely won’t shake them off quickly.
A couple of minutes later, he winces as he tries to sit up, processes there’s an IV in his arm, and looks at me again. “What’s going on?”
I motion with the gun, just to make sure he sees it and doesn’t try anything stupid. “You said something right before I was going to kill you. You mentioned a name. Carter. I want more information about him.”
His face goes blank and I realize that’s a tell, because then he says, “I have no fucking idea who you’re talking about,” in a voice too gruff to be anything but a terrified lie.
“I see. I don’t suppose your Carter had six brothers, did he?”
Eddie swallows but doesn’t answer.
“Carter Edward Wilson? From Virginia? Doesn’t ring any bells?” I list my brother’s date of birth.
His face goes white and he shakes his head.
“No?Really? Wife Susa, two adorable little boys, Tom and Pete? She survived a plane crash and just got herself elected governor of Florida?ThatCarter Edward Wilson?” Another head shake. “Nothing?”
Terror—abject horror, even—fills his face as he shakes his head even harder.
I haul off and kick him in the right knee, which is closest to me, making him scream in agony. I cock the gun and press it to the top of his head. “Carter Edward Wilson,correct? Don’t make me send someone to grab those two beautiful little boys and make the man confirm it himself. Because I have a guy in Atlanta. He can be in Tallahassee in under four hours, and I guarantee you their security team will never see him coming.”
He sobs, nodding, and I pull the gun away.
Step one—break the subject.
Check.
I doubt he would have given up the info so easily if he wasn’t still fighting through the effects of the sedation and his pain, but once the initial chink in the armor is exposed, it’s easy to overwhelm the subject.
I ease the slide back into place and show him I’m holstering my sidearm, holding my hands up to show him they’re empty. He gave a little, and now, so will I. This is where the rubber meets the road and I can truly start to gain his trust.
“See how easy that was? You answer my questions, and answer themhonestly, then we can talk like reasonable adults. You fuck with me, or jerk me around, and I’ll make you wish you’d died that day in Afghanistan by killing innocent people and making you watch the videos.”
He has to squint to look at me because of his swollen eyes. “Who are you?”
I ignore his question. “Before your little nap, you started to tell me about you and Carter. Your relationship. That he ‘owned’ you back then. I need details. I also want to know about the triangle on your back. Did he do that to you?” Because if Carter did, and then didn’t honor his commitment to the guy, I’m going to kick his fucking ass next time I see him, First Gentleman of Florida or not.
You don’t do that shit to a pet. You claim someone, you take responsibility for them.
