He shouldn’t have left whatever hole he’s been hiding in for the last few months.
Broadway said he didn’t trust himself not to torture the man on sight. Since that wouldn’t go down well in a five-star hotel, he stayed in the car with Carter while Koby and I fetched Vincent.
Once we’d dealt with his bodyguards, dragging him to the underground parking lot and locking him in the boot of Broadway’s G Wagon was a piece of cake. Gagged and tied, he spent an hour there while Broadway broke every traffic law burning rubber back to Columbus.
“What’s the plan?” I ask, itching for the show to start.
Vincent is last on Broadway’s list. Once he’s dead, the crazy murders stop. My best friend might actually regain his sanity. Watching that ruthless, vengeful part of him was fun for a while... then it got scary.
I’m also itching for the end of this show so I can get back to Bianca. The haunted look in her eyes when she came out of her bedroom earlier, still in the dark about our sudden trip, plays on the backs of my eyelids every time I blink. I should’ve explained sooner, saved her the stress, but I wasn’t fucking thinking, too excited about locating Broadway’s most wanted.
I run a heavy hand down my face, my insides knotting painfully. Bianca and I haven’t been apart for this long since day one and I don’t like how the distance makes me feel.
“I’ll have fun with this one,” Broadway says, cracking his neck and knuckles. “I’ll need a saw,” he adds, glancing at Koby. “Preferably a power saw.”
“I like the sound of that. Are we cutting his hands off?”
Vincent thrashes against the restraints binding him firmly to the torture chair Carter brought from Lakeside. I love that contraption. It adds a unique, gruesome flavor to the show. The leather restraints bite into Vincent’s already raw flesh, the first beads of blood staining the armrests.
He’s gagged, but the bag that covered his head on the ride here lies at his feet. Broadway took it off as soon as we strapped Vincent in. I bet he wants him to witness every moment of sick pleasure dancing in Broadway’s eyes as he watches him die.
“Be my guest,” Broadway says. “Hands, legs, have fun with it, but don’t touch his head. That’s mine. Once I’m convinced he’s suffered all the pain he deserves, and then some, I’ll saw off his ugly head and give it to Violet.”
“That’s a little bigger than Cassio’s heart,” Carter says.
“I never gave her that heart.” Broadway stomps closer to Vincent, grasps a fistful of hair, and forces the man to look at him. “But she’s getting your head.”
“Okay, a saw...” Koby muses, heading for the exit. This warehouse—as well as the buildings scattered close by—was part of a watch factory back in the day. There’s still a shitload of old tools and machinery lying around. “I’ll see what I can find. Don’t kill him before I’m back, alright? Cutting his hands off once he’s dead won’t be any fun.”
Broadway starts executing his plan while Carter and I move to the metal table Koby’s graciously lined with an array of tools: knives, pliers, bolt cutters, various bats, wires, and even an electric cattle prod. If Broadway hopes to use everything, we won’t leave the warehouse until Sunday.
Carter fishes out a packet of cigarettes, lighting one up as if in celebration of the final kill on the list.
Pulling my phone out, I access the camera feeds from his living room, checking on the girls. Arthur sent me a text about Hailey organizing a spa day inside half an hour, and now my blood fucking boils as I stare at the screen.
The girls are getting back massages, which would be nothing out of the ordinary were Bianca not being rubbed all over by amalemasseur.
At least Hailey and Violet are being touched by women. Thank God. This whole endeavor would be put on hold while Carter and Broadway sped across town to disembowel any man touching their women.
I have half a mind to do just that, my fist balling at my side until I realize Bianca’s not mine. That possessive beast inside me shouldn’t exist. I don’t have a say.
“What’s wrong?” Carter asks, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
“Nothing, I’m fine.”
Fuck. Even her vocabulary is rubbing off on me.
I can’t even think that word without it being accompanied by her beautiful face, and a burst of annoyance.
“You don’t look fine, Ryder. You look like a ticking time bomb. What are you looking at?” The trace amount of unease in his voice tells me he’s got the wrong idea.
I bet he thinks something’s wrong with Hailey.
Explaining won’t calm him down, so I show him the screen and the muscles in his shoulders relax on cue. The man needs constant reassurance that his girl’s safe.
A knowing smirk curls his lips. “That explains it. Developed a soft spot for Bianca, have you?”
“No, I—”
