I cut her off, dropping my voice to a dangerous level. “You knew, didn’t you?”
I need to distract her from her fumble. She said she left Indie an hour ago, meaning she’s held somewhere on land.
I’m met with a staggered silence before she answers, “Knew what?”
My gaze lifts to Regina, and then Dawson. If Indie was here, she’d beat my ass for potentially triggering Regina. But this parasite is in need of a few home truths. “You knew Conrad raped your sister. Yet, you still worked for him. Why?”
I don’t have siblings, and regardless, if I did…If I had the knowledge that they’d been sexually assaulted, harmed in any way…Me going on with my life as if nothing happened, going as far as conversing with them…There would be no amount of good deeds that would repent for that kind of sin.
When she doesn’t answer, I charge on, Dawson grabbing a pen and paper when I eye him, and then to what I need him to grab in front of my own computer. “I met one of your other board members, lackeys, whatever you want to call them. Ah fuck, what’s his name again…Slimy bastard, high up in the police?”
Louisa’s voice is quiet, almost child-like. “Craig.”
“That’sit, Craig Patterson. He had something interesting to say when he was struggling to hold his kneecaps together by the holes in his hands. Said Indie would have joined your society. I didn’t catch the rest as, well, the selfish prick basically passed out on me, then I got bored and put a bullet in his head. Care to fill in the blanks?”
She still doesn’t answer.
This vow of silence she’s decided to take is gnawing on the lid of my fury.
“How about this,” I say. “You tell your handler I’ll bring myself in willingly, won’t even put up a fight, if you tell me what he meant by that, along with you giving me evidence Indie hasn’t come to any harm whatsoever.”
I don’t want a hair out of place, not even signs that a tear has fallen from her eyes.
Guess I’m setting them up for failure before they’ve even started.
Too bad that’s how I make my rules.
Only I win.
Louisa stutters, “I-I have no idea what he was talking about.”
The gravelly growl that rumbles in my throat has my knuckles turning white beside the phone. “Yes, you fucking do.”
There’s a sound of scuffling on the other end of the phone, broken voices as if someone’s taken the phone off her. And when his voice bleeds through my eardrums, blood seeps out the splits of my cracked fists.
Conrad spits his venom down the line. “You listen to me, Saint. You get yourself to the manor and see me. Alone. I’ll make sure this cargo with Indie on it turns around. You have five hours. Each hour that goes by?” Helaughs. “Well, let’s just say I can’t promise anything, but I’ll be sure to send you the evidence of our little trip—”
“I can’t wait to get my fucking hands on you, Conrad.”
His manic laugh is all I’m left with when he abruptly ends the call, and I reach for it to throw it against the wall when Dawson snatches it before causing destruction. “No. Keep your head. They’re taunting you, and they’ll keep doing it. You know she isn’t on a fucking boat.”
My fisted hands press against each other, and I bring them to my lips whilst I vibrate with a fury I’ve never felt possible.
It’s soared over the heat from earlier, fuck, it’s worse than when I found him abusing her.
I scramble to pack it all together, invisible hands reaching for each burning particle that’s firing off me, sealing it in an iron box, padlocking it deep in my mind.
When I see any of those fuckers, that’s when I’ll let my rage run rampage, taking each and every one of them out as it scorches the ground beneath their feet.
Dawson slaps the laptop screen down, taking the cable from my cell. “They’re exactly where you thought they’d be, there in the home of the coast.”
I knew it, I fuckingknewit.
They want me at the manor as a fucking decoy.
He’s given us a five-hour deadline, because he thinks we’ll be rushing there.
The coastal house. We could make it in two and a half if we speed.
