Swallowing the vision down, she tightened her sweating palm around the gun, keeping it pointed at the floor as they moved carefully down the hall. Eventually, he stopped at a door, gesturing for her to stay where she was, pointing at his eyes and then back down the hall.
Watch, he said without words, and she nodded.
Then, he took a breath, closed his eyes, and shoved the door open. Gun lifting as he stepped in, he was still visible for a moment, but then her heart stopped as he moved out of sight. Cool light poured from the door, cutting a wide swath across the dim hall as she forced her feet to keep her tucked against the wall.
From inside the room she heard a cold voice. “Why, hello, Bryant. What a surprise.”
“Charles.” Bryant’s reply was full of a fierce energy. Anger, hate, vengeance all wrapped up in a single name.
“What happened to uncle?” The chill in that voice made her nauseous. Something was wrong, very wrong.
“You’ve never deserved that title, Charles.” Bryant growled out the words, and Phee scanned the hall quickly, finding no one else as she tried to quell the rising panic.
“You’re in such a mood tonight, nephew.” It was the calm in his voice that finally made the pieces click. The man wasn’t frightened. Not even a little.
He hasn’t even mentioned the gun.
“A mood? You think I’m in a mood?” Bryant growled, and Phee stepped in behind him before she could remind her feet to stay put.
“And who is this?” Charles Holbrook asked, still too calm. Much too calm. He sat behind a massive desk, looking as put together as he had at the café. Tailored suit, not a hair out of place, with both of his manicured hands raised under the aim of Bryant’s gun.
“She is the girl you signed a kill order for! Just like you did to my parents, to your own brother, you — you fucking BASTARD!” Bryant shook a little as he shouted, his grip on the gun tight, but Phee could only spare him a glance. Keeping her eyes glued to the monster who had yet to reveal his claws.
“Ah. This does confirm quite a few things.” His uncle leaned back in the chair, but kept his hands raised as he looked her over and then returned his stare to Bryant. “When I got word last night that the team failed to eliminate the girl… and then that the others couldn’t locate you, I had wondered if you were really stupid enough to get involved.”
“SHUT UP!” Bryant roared.
A sound of disgust barely marred the man’s placid expression. “It’s clear now that you’ve showcased your lack of intellect in more ways than one. Am I to assume that those little explosions are your doing as well?”
“The resistance is taking the city back from the COF tonight. I’m only doing my part,” Bryant answered, voice ringing clearly in the large room as he shook with rage, but Phee saw the flash of glee in the bastard’s eyes.
“Oh, son, we both know you’re capable of doing so much more than just following those weak-willed peons.” He’s enjoying this.
“DON’T CALL ME SON!” Bryant shouted, firing a shot into the desk just to the left of where his uncle sat. The man didn’t even flinch. “You do not get to call me that! You held my fucking hand at their funeral, Charles! You told me to be brave! You said that my mother would want me to hold my head up high, that my father would want me to be a man.” There were tears in his voice, and her heart broke for him. “And you killed them! Why did you do that? Why would you do that when you were the one that killed them?”
“You are such a disappointment, Bryant. So short-sighted. Just like your father. Neither of you could see the grand picture, the whole view.” Charles sighed. “I put so much time and effort into you, so much, and this is what you’ve become?”
“Fuck you,” Bryant spat.
“Childish and petulant. Will you never grow up?” Charles turned his eyes to her and she felt a chill rush over her skin. His eyes were a pale blue, and they froze her in place as the edge of his mouth tilted for a moment. “Why bring the girl with you? Are you truly that infatuated? So infatuated that you revealed your hand before you needed to?”
A chill rushed down her spine, and she took another step closer to Bryant.
“Leave her alone. You had no reason to go after her!” The pain was evident in his voice, the next shout cracking just a little. “Or am I not allowed to have anyone except YOU? Is that it? You wanted me all alone so that I’d listen to you, obey you, so that I’d follow in your footsteps at the COF? Become a monster just like you?” His rage-filled shouts had calmed to a growl, so full of hate and suffering kept in far too long. Phee hated the ache in his voice, the torment of facing the man who had both taken everything from him, and at the same time raised him… but his uncle wasn’t human. There was nothing in those eyes as Charles turned his gaze back to Bryant. “Answer me!”
“You really are a terrible disappointment, Bryant,” Charles replied, and she saw the smile too late, her stomach twisting as everything went wrong at once.
“Tell me why!” Bryant demanded, too angry to notice his uncle’s hand dropping below the edge of the desk as Phee screamed, “NO!”
The gun fired before Phee could do anything. Only able to watch as Charles held the gun above the desk, world in horrible slow motion as Bryant stumbled back, reaching for the wound. A strange look on his face as he touched his ribs and pulled back a hand coated in blood. Another scream was stuck in her throat, choking her as he turned, eyes catching hers for a brief moment.
“Run.”
9
“Run.” A half-spoken, half-mouthed command as he raised the gun to aim it at his uncle once more. But her limbs wouldn’t obey, wouldn’t leave him, and then Bryant fired, missing the bastard as he stumbled again.
No, no, no.
“BRYANT!” the scream finally escaped, ripping free from her throat with a sob on its heels, but Charles didn’t hesitate as he fired a second time. This time Bryant hit the floor, blood staining his shirt, unable to see where the last shot had struck as she finally got her legs to move, taking a handful of steps towards him before Charles swung the weapon towards her.
“Oh no. You stay right there, Ophelia.” Hearing her name in that arctic voice made her whimper, hands shaking. He looked her up and down, and then he gestured towards the gun hanging limp from her fingers. She’d forgotten the fucking thing was even in her hand.
You could have shot him. You could have fucking shot him yourself.
“Drop it. It’s not like you’d actually use it anyway.” He had victory in his voice, and she hated it as she let the gun slip to the floor. Looking over at Bryant, she kept waiting for him to stand up again, to pick up the gun and save her, but he was barely moving, a terrible sound in his chest.
“Bryant?” she whispered, and in her mind he was cloaked in dimming flames. The king of fire had met the king of ice, and the heartless ice king had won. “Please,” Phee forced her gaze back to Charles Holbrook, eyes glued to the gun as he laughed, low and cold.
“You really are such an observant girl, if only you’d been brave enough to shoot you might have been able to save him.” The words gutted her, tears blurring her vision as she took another desperate step towards Bryant, but Charles clucked his tongue. “Tsk, tsk. No more moving or I’ll have to shoot you too.”
“Why would you do this?”
“Ah, now you’re asking the more interesting question. Not why I’ve done things in the past, but now.” Charles moved around the desk, walking towards her with measured grace. “Which thing are you asking about, though?”
He faked contemplation with his next step, and she shook as he got closer.
“Perhaps, why I shot my pathetic nephew when he so clearly came here to kill me? No, that answer is obvious.” Stopping beside her, she couldn’t fight the strangled sound of panic that escaped her lips.
“Don’t,” Bryant whispered, on his side, clutching the bloody place on his ribs. “Don’t touch her.”
“Try and die quietly, boy. I’m talking.” Charles reached
up and traced the still warm barrel of the gun across her temple, into her hair, and then down the side of her face as she stood frozen, afraid to move. “Now… which thing are you so curious about. Could it be why, of all people in Bryant’s meager circle of acquaintances, I put a kill order out on you?”
“Stop.” The mumble was barely past her lips when his free hand grabbed her hair and wrenched her head back, a pained gasp escaping.
“Uncle, don’t—” Bryant’s voice was dangerously weak, but she couldn’t even twist her head to look at him.
“I told you to be quiet,” his uncle hissed, and while she couldn’t see Bryant, she did see when the gun left the side of her face and she grabbed for Charles’ arm, pushing it away just before it went off. Whimpering, she was twisted, forced to stare into cold blue eyes and a face bearing a poisoned smile. “Look at that, maybe you do have a dose of bravery in you yet.”
Pain spread across her scalp, pinpricks lighting up as his fist tightened and ripped hair free at the root. “Leave him alone,” she growled, and he laughed softly to himself with no real humor present in the sound.
“Amazing.” He shook his head, eyes moving over her face as he tucked the too-warm muzzle of the gun under her chin, singeing her skin just enough to make her yelp. “Absolutely amazing.”
“Wh-what’s amazing?” Phee’s voice shook as she tried to stay still, terrified.
“You look just like your mother.” The words were like a blow to her chest. All of the air went out of her, and she felt sick and off balance, like the floor was being tilted under her. When her eyes found his again it was clear he was reveling in her panic. “I didn’t recognize you at the café. Not at first… not until Bryant kept looking at you. Then I saw you from afar, and for a moment I would have sworn you were Helen.”
“No,” Phee hissed, trying to fight against the words and the iron grip on her hair, but then he slammed the gun into the side of her head. A purple flash of pain behind her eyes before he dropped her to the plush carpet in a crumpled, whimpering mess. “No, no…” Impossible.
“Oh, yes.” Charles sneered, gun pressing against the back of her head. “Now, get up.”
“You didn’t… you’re lying.” Sniffling, she stayed on the ground, moving her eyes to seek out Bryant as a cough escaped him.
Stay alive, dammit.
“I wouldn’t expect you to recognize me, Ophelia. You were only three when I met your mother.” The muzzle dug into her scalp as he pushed her head forward. “Still, maybe there is something of a family resemblance between Bryant and me. Over twenty years ago I picked your mother out of obscurity to fuck her, and he chooses you out of the many cunts he could have in his bed.”
“LIAR!” she shouted, and her world tilted again as he hit her sharply with the butt of the gun, bright blues surging in a wave of nauseating pain from the blow to her temple. Sick and dizzy as she fought to keep the sudden surge of bile down in her throat.
“I really hate being disobeyed, Ophelia. Up. Now.” Grabbing her arm, he hauled her to her feet, making her stumble as he dragged her to the desk. That cold voice called over his shoulder, “Still with us, Bryant? You won’t want to miss this.”
Turning her around, he shoved her against the edge, her hands bracing on instinct, holding on as the room swayed. Desperate, she glanced at Bryant, thrilled to see that he was still conscious, but he was fading. Barely a grunt leaving him as he clawed at the carpet, trying to get closer to her as red pulsed around his fingers. Phee bit down on the urge to scream, or sob, or rant and rave.
Keep his attention on you or he’ll kill him.
“I don’t believe you,” she whispered, and Charles’ eyes snapped back to her. He was still smiling, a cold and frightening look of malice on the bastard’s face.
“It doesn’t really matter if you believe me, Ophelia. I’m just hoping you have more stamina than my nephew for pain, because you’re going to tell me everything you know about the resistance.” Grabbing the zipper on her jacket, Charles yanked it down, jerking it off her shoulders to throw it aside as fear trickled down her spine with his threat. Then a fistful of her mangled ponytail brought her close enough to smell his cologne and she choked. “You even feel like her. Astonishing.”
“I don’t know anything about the resistance,” she whispered, ignoring the comment and the press of his thigh to hers.
“A good answer, but I doubt it will last.” The gun stroked across her chest, plying the neckline of the shirt before another humorless laugh left his lips. “Bryant didn’t even let his whore put on a bra before he dragged you here?”
“Go to hell,” she hissed, and he caught her throat, squeezing just enough to make her panic.
“Do you think this is what they refer to as destiny? The opportunity to have your pathetic pulse under my hand when I missed the chance to make your mother suffer, to drag out her pain like this?” A fist collided with her cheek, sending her to the floor where a hard kick to her ribs left her wheezing out a quiet cry.
Everything hurt, but she managed to tilt her body enough to see Bryant. So close, but so far away. Still, so still that she seemed to imagine movement in his ribs just before Charles grabbed a fistful of her hair, lifting her high enough to deliver a ring-weighted backhand that had her spitting blood onto his expensive rug.
“Just tell me what the rebellion’s plans are. Tell me who is in charge and I’ll make the pain stop.”
Closing her eyes tight, blocking out the pain, his words, she forced a question through clenched teeth. “How did you know my mother?”
A quick sweep of his arm over the desk, a loud crash of things hitting the floor, and then she was flipped, slammed forward onto the wood. Cheek cracking on the desk, sending her mind whirling away in a white-hot surge of pain. Still, when his hand slid over her waist, brushing past her hip to run over her ass, she tried to jerk away. But he was still there. Bryant’s vile, murderous uncle, pinning her from behind as he blocked her escape, a low, grating chuckle leaving his lips. “God, you’re so much like her. All defiant pride. She was just like that. She was never intimidated by me either.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” Phee hissed into the papers stuck to her cheek.
“Helen wasn’t either. I first met her when I stepped up to a cart to order coffee before a meeting, she called me out from halfway down the queue. Told me I wasn’t special and that I needed to get in line like everyone else.” He laughed, a bitter sound just before he slammed a fist into her ribs, the cry of pain unavoidable as the air in her lungs escaped in a rush and then returned with sharp things on the next inhale.
God… no.
She imagined her mom calling him out, all brave and feisty. Then she lifted one foot and tried to kick him back from her, but was only rewarded with another sharp crack of her skull against the desk. Lights flashing and whirling behind her eyelids as copper slid across her tongue.
“She had these same curves, you know. Caught my eye despite her station in this city. Same ass that had Bryant distracted in your pathetic little café.” A low sound as he traced her waist, up to the place he’d hit her, kicked her, pushing his fingers in until she half-screamed. “Genetics are so fascinating. How the next generation can have the same inclinations as the previous, the same look, the same hair… can even sound the same when in pain.”
Swallowing a mouthful of metallic saliva, she bit down on the next cry as he dug his fingers into her bruised ribs. Instead, she tried to focus on the fire in her belly. The fire Bryant had ignited, the same torch the resistance carried across the city, hopefully burning Lakehurst to the ground. “You’re saying my mother just melted to your non-existent charms? Give me a fucking break.”
“Not at all. I wanted her because she didn’t want me. And everyone wanted me, Ophelia. I was the rising star in the COF, and there wasn’t a person who didn’t want to latch onto that.” He sighed, shoving her face down into the desk with a rough touch. “So, I wanted to make her accept me. Your mother was
beautiful, like you, but she wasn’t the kind of woman you bring to events. She wasn’t the kind of woman you marry, she was the kind you used.”
He laughed like the idea was a joke, and Phee managed to get her arms under her, pressing up with her elbows to struggle against the man towering over her. “ALL LIES,” Phee roared, just before he allowed her to flip to her back just so he could slap her across the face, his heavy ring making her teeth vibrate as another taste of blood stroked across her tongue.
“Not a lie,” he purred, hand closing around her throat. “I didn’t want to date your cunt of a mother. She was a whore, and I used her like one.”
“Fuck you,” Phee spat, the pain spreading across her nerves like a steady flood, but then his grip tightened and she choked. Clawing at his wrist, desperate until he raised the gun and she stilled.
“I’m not in the mood for a fuck, actually. Especially not with my nephew’s slut… but watching you bleed.” He groaned. “That is something I miss about your mother.”
“No,” she croaked, not wanting to hear another word as tears slid across her temples, into her hair.
“Come now, we can trade information. You tell me a few names from the resistance, and I’ll tell you about your whore of a mother.” He tightened his grip on her throat until there was no more air to be had, pulse pounding behind her eyes as she weakly clawed at his hand, but his next words made it through the rushing in her ears. “If you’re a really good girl, I may even tell you why she lost her mind.”
Phee’s hands stilled, the lack of air a secondary concern for a moment as his words sunk teeth into her heart and tore. He’s lying. He may have known her, but the rest is a lie. It’s a lie… isn’t it? His grip released and she dragged a ragged breath in, a fit of coughing making her throat feel raw.
Corrupt Desires Page 10
