A long, tired sigh escapes from his lips. “But this man, McNaughton, he’s a powerful man, a real monster. I don’t like him. If I were you I’d stick a knife in his heart… Give me your phone.”
The suddenness of his request catches me off guard and I obey instantly. He asks me to unlock the phone and drags his finger over to the Find My iPhone app. He grunts, pleased with himself.
“See here? All your phones are linked. This is your mother’s phone, correct? And here’s where she is…stupid amateurs. They didn’t even bother to destroy her phone. I know this place, it’s connected to the idiots we shot tonight, the same crew.” Aleksey makes a clicking sound with his tongue and studies me thoughtfully. “You know what? I like you…and I don’t like what’s happened to you. I’m going to leave now and take care of this problem. We’ll sort out the money later, fair enough?”
I nod, tears spilling from my eyes, unable to believe he’s really going to help me. I tell him thank you over and over again and walk him to the door and wave a silly girl’s wave as he limps off towards the SUV. With all my heart I hope he succeeds; I hope nothing goes wrong. He drives off and the gate opens for him and I watch the lights disappear into the night.
My brother is snoring softly, curled up like a puppy in front of the fireplace; his emaciated face reminds me of his suffering. I squeeze in next to him, at peace for the moment, and cover myself with the blanket, and soon find myself utterly unable to keep my eyes open.
I’m startled awake with the sound of gongs from the front gate buzzer. How long did I sleep? I check the time on my phone: 6:30am. Is Aleksey back so soon? When did he leave, just a few hours ago? I rub my bleary eyes and lift Phillip’s sleep-heavy arm off my stomach.
In the dim light of morning sifting in through the entrance windows, the grand foyer seems lonely and tired, as if ready to receive visitors but no one at home is desiring of guests.
The gongs sound again and this startles me even more this time; the stillness of the house is violated by the sudden noise. I peer out the window and see a car at the gate—but not the SUV Aleksey left in. A cold fright sinks into my bones and sends a shiver under my skin. Somehow I know that the person at the gate is Howard McNaughton. I wish I had searched for the gun that he dropped outside his house, the one I kicked away into the ivy.
But I still have the knife in my pocket. I should have fucking stabbed him in the back as he was hobbling away. How I miss the feeling of gripping the knife as it sliced through his shoulder. I hold it now and stare outside at the lights piercing the rain.
A silhouetted figure appears at the gate and stares directly at me. Shit, they know I’m awake. My heart pounds and vibrates and it feels like it’ll push up into my neck. Another figure appears at the side of the first one and mounts himself in front of the gate keypad. Why didn’t I hire someone at the security firm to protect the house? Protect me for all that matters. I feel completely vulnerable and having Phillip sleeping in the next room doesn’t make things the least bit better.
With a humming sound the gate opens and the two figures stalk slowly towards the front door. Is there nothing left in my arsenal? I dash to the kitchen and wonder at my weapon of choice: a frying pan, a meat cleaver, a rolling pin? I opt for the frying pan for its sheer stopping power and the meat cleaver as backup. Where can I hide? What place won’t they think of? I decide that not hiding completely is the best option, and position myself against the wall inside the family room with a ideal view if someone walks in from the kitchen to where the gas fireplace is burning brightly.
The sound of glass shattering echoes through the house and causes me to jump in fright. I tense my grip on the frying pan. The front door creaks open and footsteps clap against the marble floor of the grand foyer. Howard McNaughton’s voice booms out.
“You thought you were such a clever girl.” He raps something against the floor. “You hired the Russian Mafia to set your brother free? Did you really think I’d let you get away with it? How stupid of you to forget that I still have your parents in my possession. It’s a shame for them that you did what you did—for their sakes—you’ve damned them to a long day of torture at the hands of thugs. Didn’t they do time at the Maine State Prison supermax? Filthy animals.”
Another man chuckles viciously and I hear a single scoff from Howard. One pair of footsteps fades off in the distance and another comes closer towards the kitchen. Bile spills up into my mouth as the tension wrenches my stomach into a tangled mess. When the man steps close to where I’m concealed, I raise the frying pan above my head and prepare to swing. The footfalls stop and my heart thuds in my chest, ready to explode like a land mine.
The shadow of the man leers at me, an inky shape staining the hardwood floor. Just when I think he’s about to retreat to the grand foyer, a single footstep tells me he’s about to enter the family room where Phillip is sleeping by the fire and where I’m poised to strike. I bring the frying pan down like an executioner’s sword and hear a muffled grunt as the blow lands on the side of the man’s face, crumpling him to the floor.
I take a surprised step backwards and almost drop the pan. His body doesn’t move. Have I killed him? In the light of the fire, I can see lines of blood dripping from his shattered nose. I worry that he’ll wake up and try to hurt me. I wish I had something to tie him up with. After I hesitantly kick his shoulder and he fails to come around, I realize he’s really out. I don’t want to touch him to see if he’s dead, so I just leave him there, and grimace at the body.
“Mason?” The sound of Howard’s deep voice startles me and I let go of the pan and it bangs on the floor. Stupid, stupid, stupid… Now he knows exactly where I am! Even worse, if I go into another room, that will leave Phillip exposed to him, especially since my brother is snoring right now. At least the chair is facing the fire and Phillip is hidden from view.
I dart behind the sofa and crouch down, gripping the meat cleaver with both hands. Off in what sounds like upstairs, I hear footsteps coming closer, then they stop and I hear nothing for a long while. My breathing is short and clenched thinking about what Howard is going to do next. Sweat dashes down the small of my back and my hands feel clammy holding the wooden handle of the knife. I wipe my palms on my jeans and shift uncomfortably around.
The French antique Comtoise grandfather clock stirs to life, striking seven low gongs that echo through the room. Phillip snorts and smacks his lips, then thankfully returns to his sleeping. Where is Keary’s father? Since I last heard the footsteps, the rest of the house has been silent. I’m tempted to go look around. Maybe after Mason failed to answer he got scared and decided to leave.
What the hell am I doing? I can’t believe I’m so stupid not to call the police. They’ve broken into my house for God’s sake. But I can’t call them from here, that will too easily give me away. So I stalk over towards the guest bathroom, sneaking carefully past the kitchen, and contain a groan when I see the bathroom door is closed. I open the door with agonizingly slow movements and slide inside. With the same slow, deliberate movements I close the door and curse myself after the mechanism makes a clicking sound.
I place the knife on the bath mat and crouch down, my hands shaking as I fumble with my phone to make a call. It’s still quiet outside as I slide my finger to unlock the phone and press the emergency call button. I tap 9-1-1 on the number pad and just as I’m about to hit call the door swings open and I jump, sending the phone flying out of my hands. The door smacks against the doorjamb and I sidle back to the toilet as Keary’s father barges into the bathroom, with no shoes on, and levels a gun at my chest.
CHAPTER 20
I SHOULD HAVE known better than to make myself vulnerable like this. Keary’s father flips on the light switch, exposing me like a rat scavenging in a kitchen.
“You fucking bitch.” Spittle flies from his mouth and all I can focus on is the rage and hatred in his bloodshot eyes. I smell hard liquor on his breath, the kind that Mother often drank to get smashed.
He take
s a menacing step forward, bends down and aims the pistol at my stomach. “You’re just a disgusting slut like your mother. Keary confessed to everything after I beat the living shit out of him. Did you know your slut of a mother cheated on me when we were at prep school? No? But from your eyes I can see it doesn’t surprise you. Yeah, she fucked your old man while she was promised to me. He targeted her; he knew she was mine—he went after her to hurt me. So much for true love.”
I whimper as he presses the gun into my stomach, but then he releases the pressure and slides it around my navel and down my lower abdomen. “But who needs love when you have money and power—the perfect drug?”
My mouth opens to say something snarky but he slaps me across the face and grunts from the exertion. “Keep your cocksucking lips shut. When I ask you to speak, then you can speak.”
“I called nine-one-one.” Another, harder slap stings my face and he moves in to press himself and the gun against me, so close that the stink of his breath makes my stomach lurch. I turn and vomit into the toilet to the sound of his mocking laughter.
“I don’t believe you called anyone. Wipe your face. You reek like your mother did the night she first got drunk and threw up all over my father’s car.” He grabs my arm and yanks me to my feet, shoving a towel in my face.
“Water,” I mumble and fall towards the sink where he lets me take a sip. My acidic mouth feels refreshed by the water, but I still want nothing more than to brush my teeth and remove the horrible taste. He guides me out of the bathroom and my body is unresistant as he shoves me into the kitchen.
He hands me my phone. “Now unlock it.”
I do what he says and he scoffs as he inspects the call log. Satisfied, he throws the phone against our Lacanche cooker, shattering the phone’s display but doing little damage to the iPhone case. He walks over to the house phone resting on the countertop, yanks the cord from the wall, and—in a childish fit—takes a silver fruit bowl and smashes the phone.
“On top of it you’re a lying bitch…lovely.” He snorts and clears his voice, then spits into the sink. “So what did you do with Mason?” His eyes scan around the kitchen, then he whistles when he spots the lump lying on the family room floor.
“Knocked the tough guy out, did you? That sorry sack of shit’s not worth much. Did you kill him?” As he ambles over towards the body, I hope and pray that he doesn’t notice Phillip sleeping by the fire. I stand there, frozen, watching as Howard checks for Mason’s pulse.
“Nope…still alive…lucky bastard.” He shakes Mason’s arm but he doesn’t respond. “Let him sleep it off.”
I feel sick to my stomach again as he swaggers over to me and rubs the gun along my neck. “So where’s Phillip?”
“Aleksey is bringing him here now.”
“Who’s Aleksey? Russian Mafia?” I’m pleased to find a flicker of worry cross his puffy face.
I nod as indifferently as I can. “I suppose you could have checked my phone’s call log, but I guess you already broke it.”
Anger and a nervous twitch strike his eyes. I’m afraid he’s going to hit me again so I raise my arm defensively to protect my face. His body tenses like a coiled spring and his jaw clenches up as he studies me coolly with his tired, blue eyes. I can feel the gears of his mind turning. His hands fling up to strangle me and I can feel the cold steel of the gun against my neck.
“I believe you’re lying again. Your eyes went in the same direction as they did when you lied about calling nine-one-one.” He makes a clicking sound with his mouth as if he’s caught a thief. “Let’s take a walk around the house, shall we?”
My body becomes rigid thinking about Phillip curled up by the fire. Howard laughs derisively. “Your whole body betrays you. He’s here in the house, isn’t he?” He studies my face for clues but I keep my eyes clenched shut.
His soft, manicured hand grips my wrist and tugs me into the grand foyer, and I sigh in relief. He scans around the house, looks upstairs as if remembering his futile search before, glances at my face, and then stares back towards the family room.
“He’s in the family room, isn’t he? That’s why you were there, trying to protect him. I didn’t find anything upstairs—not a single light turned on.”
My expression must be giving me away because his face forms a gleeful, victorious look as he loops his hand around my waist and pulls me back towards the kitchen. I want to kick him in the nuts again but all the fight has gone out of me. It’s all over—I’ve lost the battle. We reach the fireplace and he discovers Phillip sleeping peacefully.
“Even after being high on opium for days, he still looks as damned handsome as your father did when he was your age. No wonder why all the sluts want to fuck him. Did you know that Giselle is the daughter of my partner at the firm? I bet you didn’t know that. Well, this little cock got her pregnant and she had to get an abortion. Another one of your father’s messes we had to clean up. You see, everyone in your family has made it personal with me. Giselle’s father was furious and wanted to kill Phillip; I offered a more subtle, yet effective solution.”
He gestures towards the kitchen. “Let’s find some rope and duct tape, shall we?”
I shake my head quickly, my imagination picturing Phillip being tortured. “No. Just leave him alone. You’ve done enough to him already!”
His hand swings around and slaps me so hard it knocks me sideways. He pushes in like a boxer and slaps me over and over again with his palm and backhand until I crumple to the ground, my cheeks stinging in pain.
“I’ve only just begun my revenge against your family—nothing is ever enough. You can’t even imagine what I’ve planned for you and your brother. Now get the fuck up and find some rope and duct tape—or do I have to hit you some more?”
The feeling of sadness and helplessness washes over me, but I fight back the tears and inhale an enormous gulp of air, fixing my eyes defiantly on this pathetic excuse of a man. Keary was wrong. His father’s not a monster: he’s a ruined boy pretending he’s a man. When this realization hits me it fills me with renewed strength and a feeling of calm. I can do this; I can survive this. I’m not going to lose myself because of this person’s twisted actions.
I stand and surrender myself to the act of finding the rope and duct tape. My feet move by their own volition and propel me down the hallway to the garage where our handyman keeps all the tools. Howard follows me, jabbing my back from time to time with the tip of the gun.
Father’s classic car collection greets me in a blaze of brilliance as I flip on the light switch and enter the garage. I rummage through the drawers and cabinets along the wall and discover a ball of twine and black duct tape mounted on a hook. Keary’s father gestures back towards the house and I obediently march back to where my brother is still sleeping.
“Now tie him up, and tie him up tight so he can’t get lose.”
I was never any good at tying knots so the thought of completing what he asks fills me with anxiety.
“Do it!” he shouts, pushing me towards my brother.
At the loud sound, my brother murmurs and turns to the side. I pull his free arm behind him then lift his heavy body and tug his other arm around behind his back. He continues sleeping despite his face now being pressed into the side of the chair. I start to unravel the twine but Howard stops me.
“Just use the duct tape; I doubt you even know how to tie a decent knot.”
I yank out a long piece of duct tape, bring Phillip’s hands together, and wind the tape around and inside his wrists many times until his hands are firmly tied together. Howard inspects my work, nods in approval, and tells me to duct tape Phillip’s mouth. I can’t rip the tape apart so I tell him I need scissors and go to the kitchen and find a pair and return, imagining stabbing Howard in the neck. I cut the tape around Phillip’s wrists and a second strip to cover his mouth.
When I apply the tape, Phillip’s breathing changes, his mouth wiggles from being covered, and then his eyes shoot open in terror. Shock a
nd fright fills his face as he realizes he’s tied up (maybe again like when he was in the opium den) and he glances from my eyes to the looming, leering face of Howard McNaughton.
“Remember me, you little pissant?” At his words Phillip twists off the chair and wriggles away from him. “There’s nowhere to run to, and for your sake, just stay still and go easy on yourself.” He levels the gun at Phillip as if to emphasize the point.
“Phillip, please, there’s nothing we can do.” As I say the words Phillip’s eyes settle on mine, confusion and betrayal on his face as if it’s all my fault this has happened.
Howard considers Phillip for a moment, then glances over at Mason lying on the ground and ambles over to him and kicks his ribs.
“Wake the fuck up! I need some help carrying this little prick to the car.”
My hands ball up into a fist thinking of Phillip being taken away again. I’m not going to let him do that again. I don’t care what the cost. To my relief, Mason doesn’t move even after he’s been kicked and prodded many times.
“What the hell am I going to do with this useless bastard?” Keary’s father glowers at me, brandishing the gun. “You really knocked him out good, didn’t you? I bet you were thinking that would be me. Don’t wriggle away from me like your brother. You were really hoping to smash my head in, weren’t you?”
I feel the bile rising up my throat as he prods me with his finger; his proximity makes me sick. Phillip makes muffled screams that come out of his nose and I notice him stumbling towards Howard as if intent on ramming into him. I yell at Phillip to stop and Howard turns just in time to meet Phillip’s shoulder slamming into his chest. The gun goes off, sending a shower of dust raining down from the ceiling. Howard grunts from the impact, but throws Phillip against the wall where he crumples to protect himself from ramming his face onto the floor.
With a movement fitting Uma Thurman from Kill Bill, I grab the bloodied frying pan from the floor and smack it into Howard’s kneecap, causing him to howl in pain and drop to the ground. The gun clatters against the hardwood floor. He sees my eyes going for the gun and he hobbles over to reach it first. He seems to have forgotten I’m still wielding the frying pan. I raise it up as I stumble towards him and try to smash the back of his head, but miss.
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