“You know, I told him to kill you,” Charles says. “I told him you were better off wiped from the earth for your repulsive interests. I even suggested setting that vile club on fire with you in it, would have solved all our issues, but no, he wanted to cleanse you.” He shakes his head.
I blink back the tears pooling in my eyes. I don’t know how much longer I can hold it together, not when something so personal is being thrown about like it’s the fucking weather, but I swallow down the sob threatening just below the surface. I have to be strong. He wants me to fall apart.
I can’t bring myself to look at Storm, not while we’re talking about this. I couldn’t even talk about it when it happened. The explanation I gave all those years ago was vague at best, just the way I wanted to keep it. I didn’t want my brother to know I ever stepped foot in a BDSM club, but now all the cards are out on the table.
“And where do the Russos come into all of this?” Storm asks, and I meet his eye appreciatively. The longer he keeps him talking, the better chance I have of breaking free of these ropes. I’m not sure what I’m going to do if I do manage to wriggle free, but that’s a bridge I’ll have to cross when I come to it.
“I reached out to them when I first started working for you, told them I was happy to give them inside tips. At first it was low-level shit, things they could have found out themselves with a little digging. But then I started climbing the ranks, and the tips started to get bigger.”
The ropes slice deeper into my wrists as I tug at them. Droplets of blood slide down my fingers, but it doesn’t stop me from twisting in every way I can to break free. Every time Charles touches his belt buckle, my stomach rolls at the idea of what he may be thinking, of what he could do to me.
“The day you made me head of security, I thought Angelo’s head was going to explode he was so excited, but we held off making a move for a little longer, just long enough that I wouldn’t be the first suspect. The first favor he called in was when he wanted to get his hands on that bitch your brother married. It wasn’t hard to slip him the route they were going to take to the drop location, and no one suspected anything with all the other shit going on. Then it was your parents. I tipped them off when they left the wedding reception. And then everything else started falling into place. There came a time I knew it was inevitable you would figure out there was a rat in your ranks, but the longer I could keep you off my trail, the closer I would be to what I wanted.”
“And what is it that you want?” I snap. The searing pain in my wrists combined with this asshole’s monologue is starting to get on my nerves. I don’t really give a shit about how we got here. It’s like every villain in every movie feeling the need to explain their entire life, only for the hero to break free and best them in the end. I’m just waiting for that last bit to happen.
“To make you pay,” he says simply. “The two of you here is actually the perfect situation for me. Storm is the one who murdered my brother in cold blood for doing the Lord’s work, and you’re the little harlot who tempted my brother, like Eve in the Garden, ever a temptation.”
“Your brother beat me within an inch of my fucking life. I still have the scars of what he did to me,” I hiss, angry tears gathering in my eyes. “God wouldn’t want this. Have you even fucking read the Bible? Or do you just use it as a way to excuse your actions just like your brother did?”
Charles charges toward me, fury rampant in his eyes. His hand raises and a moment later, pain spreads across my face under the force of his punch. I shouldn’t bait him, but I need to. Angry people make mistakes.
Elijah jumps up from the lounge and quickly pulls Charles away from me, his arms wrapped around the smaller man’s chest as he tugs him a few feet back.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Charles shouts. “We had a deal.”
“And you’ll have your end of that deal, but right now, Wynter is very useful, and until her use has been worn out, you are not to harm her,” Elijah explains calmly, moving away from Charles.
“What is it exactly that I’m useful for?” I ask.
“You’re the key to my cousin’s cooperation. Once we’re sure Everett is loyal, Charles here can do anything he pleases with you. But until then, we need the leverage.”
My eyes dart to Storm who’s already looking at me, an inkling of doubt appearing in the gray. He knows Everett will do anything to keep me safe, including betray the family.
“That wasn’t the deal,” Charles growls, charging toward Elijah despite the obvious height difference.
Elijah stares down at him with amusement dancing on his lips. “You need to remember your place, Charlie boy. You came to us needing help. And while all the information you’ve provided us has been very useful, you’ve officially run out of your usefulness. I’m willing to keep our deal, but not until I can ensure Everett is who he says he is.”
I tug at the ropes again, breathing through the pain and biting back the cry stuck in my throat. This is our best chance. They’re distracted, and if I can just get out of these ropes, there’s a gun under the side table a few feet away. If I can get to the gun, I will not hesitate to shoot both these assholes square between the eyes like Rayne taught me and at the time, hoped I would never have to do.
The rope slips, and my eyes widen as the other pulls free, but I don’t move immediately. I remain still as the two men in front of us face-off, waiting for my chance to make my move.
Storm’s eyes drop behind me and he shakes his head ever so slightly, telling me not to make a move, but I have to end this. This has gone on for too long, and the more time that passes, the more chance Charles is going to get sick of waiting and at the very least, hurt me.
The sound of tires on the gravel of the driveway pulls all our attention and I take a deep breath. It’s now or never. Gunshots fill the quiet night and Charles and Elijah both move to the window to see what the commotion is about.
Now, Storm mouths to me.
I drop to the ground silently and crawl behind Storm’s chair, slipping the gun from its hiding place and standing the same way I have every time I’ve ever held a gun. The cool metal is heavy in my hands as I widen my stance, my legs shoulder width apart, my arms extended out in front of me as I take deep, steadying breaths. The first thing my brothers ever taught me about guns is that the worst thing you can do is shoot while panicked.
But I don’t feel panic. My chest and heart are filled with nothing but peace.
