As I shake myself from the memories that haunt me, Brennan and Niven are breaking from a much-needed embrace. “You give him hell for me and your grandfather.” I’ve never heard her so spiteful… soangry. As Brennan turns to go into his grandfather's room, Niven glares at me. Already aware of what the stare means, I listen as she speaks anyway.
“You make sure that bastard gets more than what he deserves.”
“I can't stay long, I have to meet Emory in the dress shop,” I peer down at her and give her a slight head bow, “But I will make sure he hurts for all three of you.”
Her expression turns from hatred to confusion. “Three of us?”
I square my shoulders before I speak. “He was driving the other car that ran them off the bridge.”
“Are you certain?” I nod again, as she continues. “Very well, I’ll be in the library. Tell me every detail you can when you see me next.” She pats my back on her way past me. Once she has cleared the doors and vanished, I turn to face the West Wing—following Brennan in stride.
∞∞∞
The screams are deliciously loud as I enter the room. The door to the right is open now, and claw marks are carved into the oak like a wild beast had been trapped inside. Moving forward, Brennan is standing over the not-so-poor creature—a killer over his prey. “It was you, huh?” Brennan crouches in front of his victim.
Cracking every knuckle in sequence before he grabs the man’s face firmly in his oversized hands. “Makes me wonder if you are the one who called the hit on me a year back.” Spit flies, landing in Brennan’s eye—a thunderous cackle bursts from his throat as he puts two fingers on the globe of mucus. Positioning them in front of the unaffected eye, he rotates his thumb, smearing the fluid between all three fingers. Then in a flash, the back of Brennan’s hand splits the guy's lip.
“Who are you?” Brennan demands. His anger an anchor for the events that follow while a sneer crosses his face. Once no answer is provided, Brennan begins to sway to the percussion of blows—back and forth—a metronome of lefts and rights. He delivers a powerful open-palm strike, but not enough to break his quarry's jaw—it’s not his intention to keep him from talking.
His victim stops swaying and rocks back and lifts his face, unrecognizable, with both eyes bloodied. “I’m not… giving you shit!” He grunts between labored breaths. His voice is familiar—nasally.
A venomous smile stretches over Brennan’s face, twisting up on one side, revealing his canines as he clicks his tongue. “I'll ask again, if notyou, thenwhoput it out? Hmm?” he reaches for his belt and unhooks a whip-like object—a cat-o'-nine-tails, to be exact. “Look, you already aren’t getting out of here. So, might as well fess up.”
Focusing way too much on the new toy he brought out, I almost didn’t hear what he said. I have never seen one like that before:
Seven individual cables.
Eight feet long.
Braided steel.
Fraying on each end.
I am, briefly, distracted by the glint of a talon-shaped blade spinning in his hand as he circles the pathetic trash on his knees before him… torturously pressing it to his back. “Who the fuck knew where to find me?” Brennan raises his hand. The whip in one hand and a stunning blade in the other. I am torn by which weapon to look at, but that is decided for me when the tip of the knife catches onto the hem of the prisoner's jacket, stopping Brennan mid-interrogation.
A navy-blue button-up, peeks out from beneath the hoodie—parting like silk under a seamstress’s blade with the mere kiss of the tapered metal. Brennan chuckles, “Silk? That’s a little fake and gay if you ask me.” Then, proceeds to drag the knife up towards the nape of his neck. The point vanishing in his hair, where blood adds to its multiple shades of red. The pressure, although minimal, grazes his spine—the steel so sharp it causes a thread of crimson to follow in its wake.
Brennan shifts his other hand, the many tails of metal purr as they run across the wood, pulling them up to place them around his neck—draping them over his shoulders like a stole, before grabbing the man by the throat. Brennan’s arms barely waver as he elevates him, and the veins in his arm pulsate with epinephrine—he lowers him where their noses touch.
“Not going to tell me?” He spits. “No biggy. Let's discuss which family, then.”
Launching the man into the foot of his grandfather’s hospital bed, Brennan shouts in German. “Steh auf, du arschloch!” The man stands, as told, then Brennan throws a quick jab to the man's throat, dropping him to his knees—clutching at it, gasping for air.
Clutching some IV tubing, Brennan snatches him off the floor, and hauls him to the bigger room, shoving him to the floor where a faint brown spot still torments my forsaken soul. Using the tubing, he ties the man to the mantle. He turns to face the rest of the room, before pacing over to the pre-lit fireplace—a fire, like a group of exotic dancers, throwing small ripples of light across the floor. “What family sent you, peasant?” he inquires, cleaning the underside of his nails with the blade.
When the room remains silent, he slides the whip from his shoulders, and an almost chain-like sound rumbles across the hardwood floor. “I heard you murdered my grandfather.” Brennan cracks his neck, “So, your silence is not allowed. You will either answer my questions, or the desolate halls of this manor will spring to life with your screams.” Then, he rolls his shoulders. “Old hallways, which have long since forgotten the vibrations of any sound, will now be charged by the melody of your pain.”
“Fuck you,fuckingSelby swine.” He draws the length of the whip and flicks his wrist. The screech that erupts from the whipping boy’s mouth, as the steel struck his back, sends a spark of energy up Brennan’s spine—he shivers ever so slightly. “Ravel in A-Sharp? I figured you were more of a Mozart man.”
Brennan laughs, mocking the higher pitch of the fool's screams. “I will only ask until the symphony of life has left your body. So, again... what family?” He stalks closer, “The Rougeou's... No, they understand what it means to cross me after the last time.” He draws the whip back again, releasing it forward faster than I could blink.
“The Lee family… now, they love hiring me for cleanup. They tend to get… a bit messy.” He turns, smiling, and the light plays maliciously over his face. Using his tongue, he lets out a…tsk-tsk-tsk.“The Downey family, then... it makes sense.” He stops his pacing. “You reek like a bottom-dweller.”
The man shuffles and looks over his shoulder. “Fucking filthy pigs, the lot of your inbred family.” The man bellows back, “My Grandfather is TheodorefuckingDowney, and he’ll have your head for this!”
“Where are my manners, Downey, do boy?” This time, Brennan spins and fully extends his arm with a graceful motion. Taking a half-ass bow, as a low cackle transmutes into shouting as he comes full circle, “Did youforgetyourfuckingplace! Did you notrealizewhere thefuckyou are!” Brennan’s body started to shake. “You may not be aware of this, but I am Brennan Selby, and the only BS I take is my initials.”
You are thelowestof thelow!
