Tears pool faster than I can blink them away.
He laughs in my face, his spittle showering me. “And you’ve put a target on Piper’s back …” He tsks several times. “Cleaner.”
The man in the shadows shifts, his towering form swaying.
“Find her. You know what to do.”
“Yes.” The man’s voice is deep, abrasive, like two rocks slowly scraping together, and the severity of what I’ve done by dangling this alluring lead in front of Piper makes my stomach revolt.
I grit my teeth and force the bile down, along with the thought.
The mystery man turns and leaves, leaving the three others. I figure Vignola is a member of the Eight. His lanky figure and bald head are familiar enough. I may have seen him at the table reserved for them.
“It doesn’t matter what you’ve told Piper—the Cleaner will find her. Dispose of her. He never misses a mark. If she’s on the run, she’ll have to leave her career behind?—”
Graves’s phone rings.
“What?” Graves smiles. “Slade … I was wondering when we’d hear from you.” His smile evaporates, turning down into a frown. “Touch my daughter, and I will have your head!”
Henry freezes, rushing around the table. “Slade!”
Graves blocks Henry with his shoulder and rolls his eyes. “Very well. I will meet you in the Sovereign Chamber in an hour.” He clicks off his phone and stares at me before sighing. “Young love.”
Henry snorts. “Love? She’s his piece of ass. Probably kept his attention longer than the rest. The kid never did know how to speak to women.”
Graves plays with his phone. “She isn’t to be harmed or moved until negotiations with Slade are finalized.”
Henry’s eyes glaze over and his mouth gapes open. “Negotiations?”
“He made a compelling argument I can’t overlook.” He turns back to me. “Perhaps you’ll bring in more coin than I thought possible.”
“Guard coin?” Henry slams his palm on the table. “Slade doesn’t have money outside the assets I control. I will not approve of withdrawing any funds forher, and his salary as a congressman isn’t going to touch it.”
“I’ll let him worry about that. DuPont, it was a pleasure. Vignola, monitor the chatter and pay off whoever needs to be. If they won’t comply, kill them.” Graves brings his phone to his ear as he walks toward the door to leave. “Knox. Where is she?”
Then the door slams shut, and there are two.
Slade … what are you doing?The warm splash of tears dripping down my face makes my eyes feel heavy, drooping to the point it’s too much effort to keep tabs on the two men in the room.
There’s a rustling and a hushed argument, but I stare at the rich hardwood floor, a picture of wealth in all the wrong places. I understand now. Why Slade was determined to destroy them from the inside. Break the bones and they’ll heal; poison the blood and the body will rot from the inside out.
There’s no epic takedown. No rescue made where a sting operation receives publicity across North America. Those are happy endings you see in movies, not real life.
A door slams, and the chains rattle as I flinch. When I look up, it’s just me and Henry DuPont again. His face is red, eyes wild, like what Vignola had said pissed him off. I half wonder if he’s on drugs or mad because he mumbles to himself while he collects jars from the cabinet.
“My family name … DuPont. Slade won’t … I won’t allow this.”
He loosens the dark tie around his neck and unfurls the rolled-up pouch across the table. Gleaming steel is tucked neatly into each of the many pockets. Pliers, a bone saw, a hooked blade with a worn handle. Each piece of whatever this tool kit represents is cradled in its own stitched slot, and I obsessively follow his fingertips as he traces each tool.
The experience is out-of-body. As if I’m the one hovering in the shadows, watching a deluded man rifle through his trinkets while the girl tied up in the cage looks on, numb. Sometimes I wonder if my mother is looking down on me from wherever she is. Is she disappointed? I swallow and slump, allowing the chains to take my limbs where they may. Pain wrings more tears from me as I cringe. Would she be disappointed that I fell in love with him? With Slade? That through this perverse world I found the strength to be a dandelion, or would she be relieved that someone was there to save me?
The low, rasping scrape of metal on metal whispers through the basement, and through the candlelight flicker I watch as Henry sharpens a long, thin knife. Each stroke on the metal is slow, like he’s coaxing the sharpness from the blade. When he’s finished, he tests the handle in his palm, gripping and releasing it.
I wait for the shiver. I wait for the panic or the fear. Why am I not more scared?
What’s he going to do to me? Will it hurt? How long will it take me to die? They’re all questions thatshouldbe looming as he approaches, as he pokes the tip of his blade with his finger and draws blood only to slurp it down between his lips.
Will I be buried beside my mother? My pulse kicks up; it’s that question that does it—and the answer. Of course, I won’t.Most likely I’ll be chopped up and my body parts sold on the black market.
