“He annoyed the fuck out of me,” Carson replies, pulling his hand down his face. “And I want to go home.”
“Fair enough,” Rome says as we turn to file out. “You’re all coming for dinner tomorrow. Eloise is making ... well, I forget what she’s making, but it’ll be delicious, and it’ll crush her if you don’t show up.”
“We’ll be there,” I reply with a nod. “I have other business, unless you have anything else?”
“We’re good,” Mateo says. “I’m headed over to Rapture.”
Once we’ve all gone our separate ways, Jack and I climb into the back of my SUV.
“To the office,” I tell my driver, meaning the building down the street, and turn to Jack. “It’s time for me to check on Elliott.”
“He’s not happy with you,” Jack replies, shaking his head.
“I’m sure he’s pissed as fuck. I don’t fucking care.”
When we get inside, I hit the button for the penthouse first, and Jack and I ride in silence. When we reach the top floor, I take a look around.
I haven’t been up here in a few days. Not since the night that I found Elliott at the club with Natasha.
Knowing that he hurt her in here makes me want to burn it to the ground.
“I want a crew in here to demo the whole fucking thing,” I tell Jack, who stares at me, stunned. “And then I need to hire a decorator to come in and start from scratch. Have them consult with my wife. It should be the way she wants it.”
“But why?”
“Because I can’t tear the whole building down without walking through too much red tape. This is getting an overhaul as soon as possible. Arrange for the demo.”
“You got it, boss. Do you want me to donate the furniture?”
“That’s fine. And have my personal things taken to the mansion. Elliott’s can go in the fucking trash. Speaking of, let’s go downstairs.”
Once down in the basement, we walk to the cell where my son is being held. I haven’t been here since I ordered that he be brought here, and I haven’t asked any questions. Jack gives me daily reports that Elliott’s alive, but that’s it.
Pausing outside the door, I turn to my second.
“Report.”
“He’s eating one meal a day. Refused to eat at all for the first two days, but then hunger got the better of him. We’re feeding him shit.”
“Good.”
“I didn’t want him to freeze to death at night, so he’s wearing a T-shirt and sweats that I got from his room upstairs.”
“Fine. Anything else?”
“I suspect that the cuts you gave him are infected, but he won’t let me look at them.”
With a sigh, I turn and unlock the door, then step inside and feel my stomach roll over.
My son should not be in here.
He’s lost some weight already. His skin is gray, his lips are chapped, and his dark hair is a mess.
He looks up at me, firms his chin, and then looks away.
None of my cells are meant to be luxury accommodations. Most of the men brought here don’t make it out alive. I certainly don’t want my son to sit in his own filth, on a dirt floor, in the cold. But my kid needs a huge helping of humble pie, so here we are.
“Are you ready to talk to me?”
