No, that’s being paranoid, and I need to get a fucking grip and focus. I take in the details on the screen, finally forcing my gaze to hold his, noting the contempt he still holds for me. There’s no guilt there, just disgust as if I’m the sick one.
Christ, I hate him.
Something else strikes me. My uncle is standing tall, and his blue eyes are clear and bright. There’s muscle beneath his shirt. The last time I’d seen him, many years ago, he’d been a shell of a man, but this person standing before me looks strong and well.
“This is the man who’s in charge of the facility,” Jack says.
I struggle to believe him. “That’s not possible. He’s not in charge of anything.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. He’s definitely the man behind the facility. We’ve had a number of the staff members confirm it.” Jack gives a low chuckle. “Admittedly, they did have a gun to their heads at the time, but we have no reason to believe they were lying. They were asked independently, so it’s highly unlikely they’d have each pulled the same name out of a hat.”
My uncle, Gunnar Johansen, stares at the screen. “Hello, Roman. Long time, no see.”
“What the fuck is going on?” I spit back. “You had an accident years ago. You’re supposed to be helpless.”
He gives a cold laugh, and I can see in his eyes that he knows he’s a dead man walking.
“That’s what I wanted you and many others to believe. If no one thought I was a threat, I would be left alone to do what I pleased.” His confession is given with such ease, I wish I was there to throttle the life out of him with my own hands. He knows there’s no coming back from this, so he’s letting me, and the world, see the true evil that resides inside. He smirks. “I found in a place like this, not many people ask questions or believe the stories that are told.”
“You’re a sick fuck.”
He used his position to abuse vulnerable people, just like he always did.
“I just have… tastes… that not everyone agrees with.”
“Fuck you.”
Everything about him makes my skin crawl. My stomach churns with nausea, and I’m shaking all over. There’s a buzzing in my ears like I have a thousand mosquitos vibrating next to my eardrums. The interior of the water tower seems to pull away at the edges, and all I can see is the screen of my tablet and my hated uncle’s face.
“What do you want us to do?” Jack-the-blood asks. He changes position slightly to bring the background into view. “We’ve released all the inmates and made sure they’ve got ways to make it to safety, and we have dealt with the staff. No one is going to be spending any time in this place again.”
Behind Jack-the-blood, the facility is in flames. I’m surprised the bikers aren’t keen to make a quick escape, because surely the authorities will be there any minute, but they don’t seem overly concerned.
“But we still have to deal with this one.” Jack presses his gun hard against my uncle’s temple. “He’s the owner, financier, the kingpin of this sick little kingdom. So… what do we do with him? Your call.”
My heart is like a block of ice. Part of me wants him dragged back here so I can torture him. I’d like to pluck his eyes out of his skull and fill the holes with worms, but I won’t risk him poisoning the air here with his evil. I don’t want his presence tarnishing what I have found with Ophelia and my friends. So, I pick the second-best option.
“Kill him.”
“Roman, are you—” Ophelia says, but I don’t let her finish.
“Kill him,” I repeat. “Shoot the fucker in the head.”
“Don’t do this, Roman,” my uncle says, real fear crossing his face for the first time. “Your family will know you’re behind my death.”
“How?” I challenge. “It’s a motorcycle club who ended you.”
I can tell by the flash in my uncle’s eyes that he knows I’m right. Ophelia’s plan means there is nothing that will link what’s happened at the facility hundreds of miles away, with me, Ophelia, or the other Preachers. I imagine we’re not the only people who’ve been harmed by what’s been happening at that hellhole. I’m sure my uncle will have made plenty of enemies over the years.
I drag my line of sight off my uncle and focus on Jack-the-blood. “Do it. End the bastard.”
Jack doesn’t need any more encouragement. He squeezes the trigger, and a shot rings out. My uncle’s head jerks to one side, and a split second later, the side of his skull explodes. He topples sideways, hitting the asphalt. There’s no doubt in my mind that the man who abused me as a child is finally dead.
“Done,” Jack says. “We’ll return to the college tomorrow.”
The call ends, the screen going blank.
Still shaking, I crumple to the floor, my legs no longer able to hold me up.
