“You’re behaving remarkably well, considering the circumstances,” he whispers in that gorgeous voice of his, the one that sounds the way this double dark chocolate espresso ice cream tastes. I pretend like I’m not affected by his presence and shrug. It was Aaron who told me to try to find happiness in every, single moment. I’m really trying here. Oh, and besides, I’m starting to realize that I’m one seriously messed-up bitch who enjoys adrenaline rushes.
I, Bernadette Savannah Blackbird, am an adrenaline junkie.
“Your victim mentality crap is driving me nuts,” I tell Leigh, taking over the conversation, much to Hael’s pleasure. He’s just howling with laughter in that usual way of his, all reckless abandon and corrupted youth. He should be just a fun-loving kid, but the world has turned him into this cackling beast with a hard body and a perfect cock. I almost smile again, but then, I haven’t quite reached that level of creepy. “There’s nothing worse than someone who acts like they’re being bullied when, in reality, they are the bully themselves. It takes away from those who actually are being abused.” I point at the Vincents with my spoon. “You are not victims. You chose to exploit your position of power and trust in the community to bring harm to others solely for the purpose of, what, having a motherfucking undercounter freezer for your organic ice cream?” I feel myself getting growly and pause to wet my lips.
Leigh just keeps looking at me, her face nearly the same as the last time I saw it, six years ago. She’s had a nose job though, I’m pretty sure. And likely something with her tits, too. They were small and saggy last time we met up, but that wouldn’t have mattered if she was a good person. Alas, she is not, and I’m going to drag her looks through the mud, too.
“What do you want us to do?” she asks, finally getting the big picture.
Either she cooperates or, very likely, she dies and goes the way of the Kushners.
“First off, we’d like to double back on the idea of your on-the-way friends,” Oscar purrs, his gray eyes the same color as the ocean beyond the glass. As the afternoon’s worn on, the sun has started to hide behind the clouds, like she knows this isn’t her month or season to shine. “I’m curious as to how many holes we’ll have to dig to accommodate them.”
“Nobody’s coming,” Marcus Vincent says, finally finding his balls and speaking up. He glances over at his wife’s wide eyes and pursed lips. “It’s just us here until we go back to work on Monday.”
Wow. What a fucking moron.
“Excellent,” Oscar says, setting aside his tablet. “Now that I’ve disabled your security system, we can speak more freely.” He crosses his legs in front of him and then bands his hands around his knee, fingers intertwined together. “Tell us: what do you know that you think is worth trading for your life.”
“What?” Marcus chokes out, glancing over at his wife again. His hand must be killing him, broken and now bound behind his back. “You said this wouldn’t come back on us. Why is this happening, Leigh?”
“If I tell you what I know,” Coraleigh begins, flicking her eyes to me before turning them back to Oscar. She glances briefly at Vic, but then quickly switches to me and Oscar again. She’s decided that Victor isn’t a threat. Funny that, considering I’m quite sure he’s the most dangerous person in this room. After all, look at what a nightmare Oscar is; Victor controls that nightmare. I take another bite of my ice cream, tapping my heels against the front of the white cabinets. “Then you’ll kill me.”
“If you don’t tell us,” Oscar says right away, giving a hideous smile. “We’ll just have to torture it out of you then kill you.” He reaches up long fingers to rub at the demon hands tattooed on his throat. The way he holds his chin up like that, a smirk ribboned across his lips, he looks like an aristocrat born into the wrong life. “Your choice. We have some possible uses for keeping you alive, so there is hope, however slim.”
The Vincents exchange a long, studying sort of look, like they’re actually debating their options. What choice do they really think they have here?
“You said you didn’t remember me, but that you’d heard of me,” I begin, drawing Coraleigh’s attention back around. “Want to explain that for me?”
Hael hops onto the counter on my other side, sitting as close to me as I am to Callum. All the places we touch burn, and when I breathe in, I smell coconut and motor oil—even though we’ve been staying in a hotel for three days straight. That scent must just be a part of who he is now. He steals the ice cream from me, and I stab him in the side with an elbow. May as well jab at a goddamn rock for all the good that does. Hael Harbin is hard and fit and he knows exactly how to undulate that pelvis of his.
“Ophelia Mars warned me about you,” Leigh says, and it takes me nearly a minute to process what it is that she’s said.
Ophelia.
As in Victor’s mother.
As in … what the actual fuck is going on?
“What contact have you had with Ophelia?” Victor asks, suddenly alert. He leans forward and parks his elbows on his knees. His stare is intense, like looking into the dark eyes of a shark before it bites down. No malice there, just survival. Doesn’t mean you’ll bleed any less.
Leigh sputters, like she’s been caught with her hands in the cookie jar.
“Ophelia is … well, she’s well-known in our circle …” The disgraced social worker trails off as Aaron comes down the steps, lips pinched, eyes hard. He has a soft spot for children and not only because of his sister and cousin, but because every person that matters to him had their childhood stolen away.
Innocence is precious and these people profit off of breaking it.
There’s nothing worse.
“The girls are watching a movie in the home theater,” Aaron says, one hand resting on the newel post at the bottom of the stairs. He looks at the Vincents the way one might examine a pile of dog shit. “And that kid … she’s fucking nine years old. Her name’s Alyssa.” His voice is staccato, almost robotic. I imagine that he’s trying really hard not to kill somebody right now.
“Do you think they’ll try to eavesdrop on us?” I ask as Aaron gravitates toward me like he’s being pulled by an unseen force, resting his palms on the tops of my thighs as he stands between them. It’s like he’s so fucking angry that he needs to ground himself, to find something to hold onto. I love being that something, a sun that he orbits in hope of warmth. I wonder if he knows that I feel the same way about him? That I crave his smile, his approval, his affection.
Aaron shakes his head, his slightly curly, chestnut hair falling onto his forehead.
“I warned them that if they did, there’d be one less Christmas present under the tree for all of them.” He smiles, but the expression is tight. “If I know Kara—and I know that I fucking do—that’d be enough to keep her and Ashley in the room. Heather, too, probably, because Kara’d fight like hell to keep that present count up for Ashley’s sake.” He gives a feral grin that has me shivering. I’m aware that everyone—including Coraleigh and Marcus—are staring at us. Also, I don’t care. “But I don’t know Alyssa, so I pushed a dresser in front of the door, too.” He shrugs and glances over his shoulder again, eyes narrowing slightly. “Wouldn’t want them to see something they’d never forget.”
“Like brain and bone, for example,” Callum supplies, joining in the conversation with a smile. He kicks his legs the same as me, biting into his apple. His blue eyes shimmer like the sea under the setting sun outside the window. It’s getting dark already, but that’s no surprise. I mean, it’s nearly December.
“Ophelia said her son had a gang, and that his new wife was a kid that’d spent some time in the foster care system. That’s all I know,” Coraleigh pleads as I glance around Aaron to look at her. He doesn’t seem inclined to move, much to Victor’s chagrin. Vic asked me once, during those first few weeks, if I could multitask. Apparently, he’s really good at it: he can question a mark and be a jealous alpha-prick at the same time.
“All you know?” Victor echoes, standing up from the sofa and wandering absently into the kitchen. He opens the freakishly large Sub-Zero refrigerator that has no right existing for only two people. It could hold food for an extended family of a hundred. Jesus. Is that worth the blood and bone of children? A nice fridge? The fuck is wrong with these people. “No, that’s not it.” He leans into the refrigerator and starts placing items on the counter. Some deli meat, a head of lettuce, a fat tomato. Sandwich makings. “You wouldn’t have suggested selling us such pitiful intel.”
I raise my brows as Victor goes about preparing himself a sandwich in the kitchen of two people who are currently tied up and begging for their lives. Why is that hot to me? Yep, dick drunk. I am officially dick drunk.
Stifling a groan, I turn back to the Vincents.
“I find it interesting that you insist on lying to us,” Oscar muses, but since he hasn’t pulled out his gun, I’m guessing he’s placed money on the Vincents actually being useful to us. The Kushners had nothing we could use, and they were nothing. So they were executed like it was fucking nothing.
If I said their deaths had no effect on me, I’d be lying. Because, unlike the Kushners or the Vincents or my ex-bestie Kali Rose-Kennedy, I have a soul.
“They must not value their lives,” Victor agrees, and Marcus makes a whimpering sound. It’s clear that while he’s aware of his wife’s activities, he doesn’t participate in them much. There’s nothing he can tell us, which is a shame because he looks easy to break.
I stab the frozen lump of ice cream with my spoon as Aaron steps back, moving to the side next to Hael, so we can all watch the Vincents squirm.
“Ophelia is an important member of Oak Park high society,” Leigh sputters, her brown eyes flicking from side to side. She’s stalling for time. The question is: why? “She’s been a major donor at the fundraisers I’ve hosted in the—”