I can’t keep fucking losing my shit, letting my mind spiral into those thoughts.
But this is my reality.
I’d be a fool if I thought they weren’t trying to break her, to torture her. Hand her over to me in pieces. I just need her to stay strong until I get there.
Until I rip every single one of them that’s laid a finger on her skull from its spine. I won’t stop until I’m baptised in their blood for what they’ve done.
I will be the demonic force the rapture has left behind for them to meet their fate.
“Boss.”
My chin grazes over my shoulder padding as I angle my head, Dawson’s voice filling the room. “We’re ready when you are. But—”
“What?” I snap roughly. I’m in no fucking mood for anyone’s excuses today. I’m hearing none of them.
The silence fills the room like a dark ink bleeding through every crevice. The hackles on my back instantly rise. “Your phone keeps ringing.”
I turn around to look at him, holding out my cell in his hands. “It’s rung three times now, unknown number.”
I walk over to him, taking it as I see the screen light up with the missed calls, one after the other with a minute in between each. It vibrates again in my hand. My thumb slowly slides up the screen, hitting the loudspeaker button.
I’m met with silence, but the heavy breathing from the recipient gives them away. “Saint?”
My earlier plea to myself to not lose my shit goes out the fucking window. “Unless you’re calling me before you put abullet in your own head, I’m not sure why else you’d think I’d want to hear your voice,” I bite out, hand tightening so hard my fingertips bleach white with my grip on the phone.
“I-I have an offer to make you,” Louisa says, and I don’t miss the unusual tremor in her voice.
That woman never stuttered a day in her life.
Hopefully it’s because she knows I’m not the one to fucking play around with.
I look up at Dawson, and he reads my thoughts immediately, rushing out the room to grab what he needs.
I need to keep her talking.
Grabbing a cigarette from my packet, I think about lighting it, then opt to slide it behind my ear. I can’t keep my hands still enough, so leave them fisted at my sides. “Making bids on your own flesh and blood. You really are a soul-sucking cunt, aren’t you?”
“Listen to me,” she growls. It’s the kind that has a ferocity behind it, that I know she’s baring her teeth down the phone.
Good.
I want this bitch riled up; I want her so fucking mad she does something stupid. Like, slam into the end of a knife by her own free will.
“You hand yourself into the manor, we’ll release Indie.”
I chuckle at her. As if it was that fucking simple. “What happened to wanting Gina with me?”
“Indie admitted everything.”
The blow her statement hits me with has me paralyzed. Why the fuck would she admit that?
She’s in there by herself. Unless she thinks she still has the tracker, but I doubt it.
Did she do it out of fear? Did they do something to force her?
God dammit!
“What makes you think she’s telling the truth?” I ask, keeping my voice calm and controlled. It’s a struggle, but when I’m talking to someone who might hold the key to what I need, I can be partially obedient.
