by Smyth, R. A
A flicker of movement in the far corner of the room grabs my attention, my whole body tensing in anticipation as I snap my eyes to the corner, waiting for whoever the fuck is in here with me, to make themselves known.
“You’re much more observant than I first gave you credit for,” my father says, finally stepping out of the shadows from where he has been silently observing me.
Fuck me, how long has he been in here, and why the hell was he just standing watching me sleep?
“More resilient too. In fairness, you do have my blood running through you,” he continues on, taking credit for personality traits he had shit all to do with. Any fucking good qualities he sees in me are thanks to me, to the life I’ve fucking survived. They have fuck all to do with him and his fucked-up DNA. “You actually would have made a fine Beast, if things had been different.”
“I would never have been a Beast,” I spit at him, disgusted by his twisted form of praise.
He simply laughs at me, like he’s indulging a naive child, before waving away the conversation. “Yes, well, it’s redundant now.”
His entire demeanor changes in a second. Like the flick of a switch, the humor dies on his face; disgust and unadulterated hatred taking its place. I swear the air around him crackles with intensity and the room chills by several degrees as goosebumps pebble on my skin and the hairs on my arm stand on end.
“You’ve created quite a problem for me.” He pauses, looking at me, taking in all five feet five inches like he can’t fathom how the fuck I managed to be such a thorn in his side.
“I can’t have my men thinking they can just turn their backs on me, and get away with it,” he growls, furious that we have successfully evaded him for months now. Worse yet, that we’ve been right under his nose and he hasn’t been able to touch us—not for a lack of trying, though.
“Aiden and Tyler,” he spits out their names like their poison in his mouth, “have gone unpunished for too long. It’s past time they faced up to their traitorous ways.”
With the way he’s looking at me, I know exactly what he wants—their location.
Never. Fucking. Happening.
“I’m not telling you shit,” I snarl at him, lifting my chin in the air and staring him right in the eye so he knows I’m not fucking scared of him.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m fucking terrified of what he’s going to do to me. He’s a sadist, so whatever he has planned for me isn’t good, but unlike him, I don’t just preach about loyalty. It’s in every one of my fucking bones. So, regardless of what he does to me, I will never give him the location of the warehouse. I’ll suffer through any torture he has for me to save the lives of my men; just like I know they would do the same for me. My father is about to be schooled in what loyalty fucking looks like.
He sits down behind his desk, making himself comfortable as he assesses me, probably trying to work out how easy I’ll be to crack. He thinks he’s got me pegged, like always. I might have surprised him with my resilience, but he still thinks he has the upper hand here, that he can break me.
“There’s no reason for this to get messy. Just tell me where they are.”
I look back at him with a blank look on my face, not giving him any sort of response, verbal or otherwise. Realizing I’m not going to make it that easy on him, he sighs in disappointment, shaking his head at me.
When he looks back at me again, there’s a hardness in his eyes. “Fine. Give them up, and I’ll let you go free. I won’t pursue you, or send any of my men after you. You will be free to go wherever you want, without worrying about me coming after you.”
Awk, that’s awfully thoughtful of him—if he wasn’t completely full of shit.
“You killed my mum,” I randomly blurt out. He raises his eyebrows as the sudden change in conversation takes him by surprise. The problem is, I know my refusal to do as he wants is quickly going to piss him off. When I refuse to hand over Aiden and Ty, he’s going to escalate. While I’m ready to take the sacrifice to keep them safe, I don’t actually want to be fucking tortured or killed, so...yeah, I’m stalling. Talking about my mum and whatever else I can come up with, while I try to think my way out of this, ideally before the guys discover that I’m missing and come to get me. Them turning up here will only end in all of us getting hurt or killed.
He doesn’t initially respond to me, his eyes narrowing as he tries to work out my angle. While the words are meant as a stalling tactic, I’m actually curious about this. He admitted it that night, when he was smashing me against walls and dragging me around by my hair, but I need to hear him say it without everything else going on around me, drawing my focus away from his words.
“Why?” It never made any sense to me. It’s a huge amount of effort for him to go to, just to gain access to me. I’m sure he could have done all of this without me here to fine tune his alias.
Shrugging his shoulders, not showing the slightest bit of remorse over what he’s done, he cryptically replies, “She ran from me.” Like that explains anything.
“Can you blame her?” I snap, annoyed at his indifference and inability to just give me a fucking answer. She was my fucking mum. Why couldn’t he just leave us the fuck alone? So what if she ran from him, she couldn’t have been the only one. Any woman with half a brain cell would go running in the opposite direction.
He doesn’t let my words get to him, or, at least, he doesn’t show that they’ve affected him.
“You’ve got five seconds,” he states blandly, his eyes never leaving mine.
Huffing out a breath, trying to drain some of the tension within me, I glance down at the floor, nodding my head like I’m thinking about his absurd deal. It’s a complete crock of shit, though. He craves control too much to just let me walk away and never come after me. Even if I did get out of this house alive—and that’s a huge fucking if—I’d always be looking over my shoulder, scared of my own fucking shadow, waiting for the day he or one of his minions turned up on my doorstep.
“It sounds tempting,” I begin, still nodding my head as I look back at him, knowing my next words are going to end this semi-cordial negotiation. “But I just don’t fucking believe you.”
My father scowls at me. But really, what did he expect?
He gets to his feet, coming round to my side of the desk so he’s towering over me. Sneering down at me, he says, “I tried to do this the easy way. Bear that in mind.”
Ominous much.
“Trey,” he calls out. He’s barely gotten the word out of his mouth when the door opens and the man himself appears. He steps into the room, closing the door behind him before moving over to the desk. Wrapping a large hand around the back of my seat, he drags it into the middle of the room.
Grabbing the other chair, he positions it opposite me. My father sits down on the chair, Trey hovering behind him like a good little lapdog, waiting for his next order.
“Let’s try this again…Where are Aiden and Ty?”
I scowl at him, refusing to be cowered.
When he gets no response, he makes a quick gesture with his head, which must be a silent signal for Trey to do something, as he steps towards me, pulling a switchblade from his pocket and flicking out the blade.
My breath stutters in my chest and I’m unable to tear my eyes from the blade, as every cell in my body tries to revolt against whatever is about to happen.
I fight furiously against my bonds, gritting my teeth against the pain as I beg them to give. As soon as the knife descends towards me, I freeze. Every muscle in my body tightening up in preparation for what’s to come. This moment feels so surreal, like I’m watching it happen to someone other than myself. However, as I gasp at that first sharp sting of pain, my skin splitting open and red rivulets of warm blood seeping out and smearing across my thigh, I’m reminded that this is very fucking real. And it’s happening to me.
There’s something about the bright red contrasting against my alabaster skin that holds me transfixed, even as the knife wedges deep
er into my thigh, the pain becoming this red hot piercing feeling.
I’m struggling to regulate my breathing, trying to not lose my shit over the fact that I have a knife wedged in my leg, when Trey yanks it out, the sudden movement causing me to cry out as the pain escalates and an intense tingling sensation begins to spread out from the wound.
With the knife no longer blocking it, the blood flows seamlessly out of me, dripping down my thigh onto the chair and soaking into my jeans.
“Where are they?” My father repeats. I can barely hear him over the blood thundering in my ears and the cold sensation slowly crawling over my thigh.
When I fail to respond quick enough, Trey moves back in front of me. I instinctively close my eyes, not wanting to witness another slash to my skin. Instead, I’m taken by surprise when my head whips to the side and a sharp pain radiates across my cheek.
I groan as I slowly bring my head back round so I can glare at the asshole for punching me. Trey just smiles down at me, enjoying the pain he’s delivering more than any sane person should.
My father’s aggravated sigh draws my glare in his direction instead. I find him glaring right back at me, his patience wearing thin.
“Answer me!” His words come out as a hiss between his clenched teeth.
“You’ve got Trey doing all your dirty work for you?” I spit at him, clinging to my anger like a life raft. “Pathetic.”
His movements are a blur as he lunges at me, wrapping his hand around my throat and squeezing until I can’t breathe. With my arms tied behind my back and his weight hovering over me, I’m pinned to the chair, unable to shake him off or fight back. My lungs burn with the desperate need for oxygen, and my head pounds as my vision tunnels, black spots appearing in my periphery. My father’s dark, menacing eyes, overflowing with loathing and disgust, are the only things I can focus on.
His hatred is going to be the last thing I see.
It somehow seems symbolic of my life. I’ve only known true love for a few months, so why should I be lucky enough to die looking into the eyes of my loved ones.
My body feels heavy as my mind wanders. Unable to focus on any one thing, my thoughts drift between my guys, flashes of them dancing behind my eyes. I hope my death doesn’t break them. I hope they survive all this and go on to live happy, fulfilling lives. They deserve that much, at least.
Just as I’m about to succumb to oblivion, the pressure around my throat loosens and I gasp as I greedily suck in air, trying my best to ignore the burning in my throat and lungs, and the sweet pain that comes with the sudden expansion of my chest. My mind begins to sharpen and refocus as my vision clears and I sag back into the chair, suddenly exhausted.
“Perhaps you’ll be more amenable after you’ve spent some time with Trey.” Turning, he looks at Trey. “You know what to do,” he tells him before striding across the room and out through the door.
The sinister click of the door closing behind him rings out through the otherwise silent room as Trey approaches me once again. I don’t have it in me to plead with him. I don’t have the energy to do anything but sit and watch as he steps up in front of me, a malicious smirk across his face. He’s going to enjoy this.
His fist snaps out, punching me in the stomach, winding me instantly as I double over, coughing. He doesn’t give me any time to recover before punching me again across the face.
The blows keep coming until I’m a sweating, aching mess, barely managing to sit upright in the chair. Every part of my face and body throbs. The bitter taste of metal in my mouth and stinging of my lip tells me it’s split open under his hard hits.
Trey towers above me, barely out of breath while I pant heavily, sitting slumped in my chair. Moving away from me, he wipes his split knuckles on his jeans.
“This could all be over if you just told us where they are,” he needlessly informs me.
I spit out blood onto the wooden floor, hating the tangy taste in my mouth. “Even if I told you, the minute I do, I’ll be dead.”
He just shrugs, my death a necessary consequence in his eyes.
________
I’ve no idea how long I sit there, fading in and out of consciousness. Trey doesn’t say anything else to me, nor does he hit me again, but he never takes his eyes off me either.
After what feels like forever, the door handle jiggles and the door swings open, revealing my father who steps back into the room.
His eyes rake over me, a smile smirk curving at the corner of his lips as he takes in my beaten, battered appearance. “Learned your lesson yet?”
“I’m not telling you anything.” My words are a harsh croak, robbing me of more energy than they should. I know I’m close to passing out, but I’m fairly certain I’ll never see daylight again when that happens, so I’m fighting it with every last ounce of strength I have left.
I expect my continued defiance to infuriate him, but instead his smirk only grows until it’s etched across the full width of his face. It’s a terrifying sight that immediately has the last of my adrenaline strumming through my veins.
“Fine. If you won’t tell us where they are, I’ll just have to get them to come to me.”
Before I can question him, Trey snaps a picture of me with his phone, tapping away on the screen before lifting it to his ear and heading out of the room. “Morning, son,” I hear him say as the door clicks shut behind him, his words chilling me to my bone.
No. No no no.
When the guys see that photo, they are going to come barging in here, guns blazing.
My father’s grin is maniacal looking as he smiles down at me.
“Now, we wait.”
Chapter 45
The sun is beginning to pierce the dark sky when my phone vibrates on the bedside table, jarring me out of a deep sleep. I roll over, ignoring it as I reach out to pull Sophie’s hot body against mine. I’m barely awake, but the hard-on in my pants wants to make itself known to her.
Except, my palm meets nothing but cold sheets beside me. Stretching further across the bed, I come in contact with a muscled abdomen that definitely doesn’t belong to Sophie. Opening my eyes, I swiftly snap my hand back as I discover Sophie isn’t in the bed, and that I’m way too close to a half-naked Ty.
My phone vibrating again reminds me of what woke me up. Shaking off the disconcerting feeling forming within me, I grab my phone off the table, checking the caller ID.
My entire body freezes as I take in the name on my screen.
Trey.
I haven’t heard from him since we escaped Kirk’s house the night he found out we turned on The Beasts. He blew up my phone the day after, but I ignored every one of his calls and deleted his voicemails without bothering to listen to him. So the fact he’s calling now can’t be for anything good. Whatever he has to say can only be bad. Seriously fucking bad.
I hesitate with my finger over the call button before finally pressing it, knowing there’s no point in putting off whatever he has to tell me.
Answering the phone, I bring it to my ear, not saying anything. After a moment’s silence, my father chuckles down the phone. “Morning, son,” he laughs, his jovial attitude immediately putting me on edge.
“What do you want?” I bark, irritated that he’s stringing me along instead of getting straight to the point.
“I’m guessing you’ve realized by now that you’re missing something...or someone.”
I say nothing, grinding my teeth as I wait for him to continue. Either my pissed off tone or the sheer fucking rage emanating from me right now has woken Preston, who sits up, looking quizzically at me. I ignore him, focusing on my father’s next words.
“She walked her pretty little ass right in here, all by herself—”
God-fucking-dammit, Sophie. What the hell were you thinking?
I tune out my dad’s words as I start mentally cussing out Sophie. That bloody woman is going to be the fucking death of me. What the actual fuck did she think she was doing, going there alone in the midd
le of the fucking night?
“This is your one chance to redeem yourself—”
Redeem myself? What the fuck is he on about?
“—You might want to hurry. Kirk’s not a patient man, and your girl is looking worse for wear already.”
Fuck. Shit. Fuck.
My phone smacks off the far wall, dropping to the floor before I even comprehend that I’ve thrown it.
Ty jumps awake, instantly on alert. “Dude, what the hell?” He shouts, glaring at me as Preston climbs out of bed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and picking up my phone as he stomps past it.
The device pings in his hand—I guess I didn’t break it then—and he glances down to look at the screen, freezing at whatever he sees.
“What the fuck is this?” His voice is a deep, threatening, demand. His head snaps up as his furious eyes meet my own, and he hands the phone over for me to look at the screen. There’s a crack in the top corner, but there isn’t enough damage to the screen to distort the image in front of me.
Sophie. She’s tied to a chair, with blood covering her face and body. She looks like she’s barely conscious. It’s a miracle the phone doesn’t snap to pieces in my hand as my rage crescendos to never before reached heights.
They are all fucking dead for this.
The image of her sitting there, weak, vulnerable, in the hands of those fucking vultures, catapults me out of the bed as I grab whatever clothes are closest to me and throw them on.
“What the fuck is going on?” Preston demands again, grabbing my arm and halting me in my rush to get to my girl.
Fuck, I’d forgotten he’d even asked a question.
“The Beasts have Sophie,” I inform him, yanking my arm out of his grip and pulling on a Henley. My voice is monotone, showing none of the fury I’m feeling.
