Page 173 of Eight of Swords, Part Two

‘Lachlan, calm down.’

‘Give it to me or I’ll shoot you in the fucking face!’

‘No one is getting shot. I have an insider. We’re going to do this slow and safe.’ Two words Troy has never even heard of. There’s a tussle, yelling. Alistair says, ‘Don’t shoot him!’

Then ragged breaths come down the line.

‘Who is this? Where are they? Huh? Answer me, you fucking piece of shit!’ Despite being raised the way he was, Riley recoils from the sheer violence in the voice. He stays silent. ‘There is nowhere on earth you can take them that I won’t find them, I swear to God. They’re mine and I’ll rip apart every single one of you cunts to get them back!’

‘Tase him!’ someone new yells.

‘If you hurt them, if you hurt her—aagh!’

‘Shit, it’s not working.’

‘Mr Penhalyx, are you all right?’

‘Shoot him if you have to, but don’t let him—!’

The line goes dead.

Not because Alistair Penhalyx ended the call, but because Troy Harker is standing behind Riley with his finger pressed down on the clicky button.

Riley didn’t even notice.

His heart is a tangled, knotted mess, breath coming fast, pulse racing.

Slowly, he turns and looks at Troy. Such fury he sees then in the man who raised him that it seems to go all the way back around to calm.

Barely above a breath, Troy asks, ‘What have you done?’

✴

It’s been a while since Riley really, truly got beat.

He scrambles to get free, but Troy just punches him full in the face, makes him see stars, and when he tells Troy to go fuck himself, he gets a boot in the ribs. Riley tries to scream but there’s not enough air, his entire middle is being sucked into a black hole. It makes him easier to drag, only Troy doesn’t bother taking him back up to his room, no.

Troy brings him into the kitchen.

Riley’s got blood in his eyes, can’t see when he’s deposited none-too-gently onto a bench at the table.

‘Sit there, you fucking idiot!’

No amount of rebellious determination could have Riley doing anything less because his interior is caving and he still can’t draw breath, so he curls up the best he can, forehead on the table.

Vaguely, he hears Troy adopt a more pleasant voice.

‘Mimi, honey. Why don’t you go exploring upstairs for a bit, OK?’

Riley’s ears are ringing. He can’t hear what, if anything, she says, but he’s able to track her heartbeat as it wanders upstairs.

The other scent remains.

Someone else comes in.

Riley tries to look up but he can’t unfurl, he can’t breathe, he’s useless, useless and ugly and weak and unwanted, he—

Someone touches him.