Seven Graves, page 27
“You’re a fucking liar,” she said through her teeth, lifting the knife in her right hand and stepping closer.
“Truth will out, Princess.”
“Sure will.” I turned my head over my shoulder to see Declan stroll through the doorway with a tablet in hand. “Havin’ a bit of trouble with your horn there, mate? Might should ring a tech guy.”
“Shoulda known.” Jonas rolled his eyes, resting the back of his head against the wall. “Doesn’t matter. You might think you’re winning. But you’re still just a couple half-breeds. Sandbox is for the big kids. The luck of the Irish is for the Irish. Not the rabble. You might put me down, but this is far from over.”
All that played through my mind was that tattoo on Seven’s waistline. The pot of gold underneath it. She’s the only luck I’ve ever needed. I grinned. “Think so? Let’s free the lines up, Dec.”
“Gladly.”
He poked around on the tablet, turning it for Jonas to see the screen while I rang up an old mate. “McKinley.”
“Malek. We’re here. Shipment’s waitin’. Are you bringin’ O’Dell?”
Jonas’s face paled and his brows fell. The cameras we had at McKinley’s warehouse finally popped on screen. Poetic, in my fucking opinion.
“Oh, I am. Just wanted to see if you were sure about your recipients.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because, mate. They’re not in the business of suckin’ the cock of their enemies. Your trade lines are done. Your deals are squared up. You’re outta friends, and you’re also outta time. Shoulda learned some loyalty, Ace. At least you were right about one thing.” A ten second timer started counting down in the corner of Declan’s screen. “The lot of you shoulda been more worried about me. Burn bright, bitch.”
“You fuckin’ son of—” The warehouse exploded, every gun and soul inside along with it, and the camera sputtered for a split second while a cloud of fire and debris battered it. The line went dead, and I lowered the phone from my bloody ear.
Jonas had about two seconds to finish watching his world come crashing down and Bridget didn’t hesitate. She closed the space, and plunged the knife up through his chin, the other up into his groin, staring into his wide eyes like a starving animal until he stopped gurgling. Wasn’t as theatrical as I would have liked, but for her first hit…I’m damn proud. And I hope she never has to do it again. She let go of the handles and let him slump to the floor, stepping backwards until her back pressed into me.
“Take several pictures of that,” she breathed. I eased an arm around her, clutching her to me, and took the photos over her shoulder. “Get the key out of his left pocket. Is he tellin’ the truth, Malek? About Daddy?”
“I dunno. But I need you to show me where they’re keepin’ her before we figure it out.”
She turned in my arm, and her lip quivered. I can’t tell if it’s because she realizes what she just did, or if it’s because of everything…but Declan is audibly losing his nerve next to me. “She knows, Mal. About Shavonn…”
…Fuck…I’m…fuck.
I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if she’s trying to tell me Seven heard the truth from her own mouth, or if it came from one of these fools. I should have told her. I was going to…fuck, I was going to this morning. I just never got the chance. I didn’t get the chance to wake up next to her after deciding that I’d come clean. Bridget kissed my cheek and went straight into Declan’s arms. Not sure what’s surprising me more right now. She planted both bloody hands on his face and now I understand why she gets nauseous and throws a fit whenever she’s bearing witness to anything remotely intimate in my regard. I’m gonna puke. And I kinda wanna gut him.
But it somehow makes all the sense in the world…
“Shamrock!” We all turned towards the door, and one of Vincent’s guys popped through it with an arm full of looted shit. “House is clear, except for the basement. We can’t get in it. It’s a reinforced metal door. But, Vinny said to tell you Miguel and the others have the two old guys from the photos. They’re tied up in a fancy office down this hallway.”
“She’s down there.” Bridget pulled away from Declan and knelt next to Jonas’s very unclean body, digging through his pocket. She tossed me a set of keys. “One should open the big door; the other one will get her out.”
“Did anybody find Zane? The buff one?” I asked.
“Nope. We looked. If he hasn’t snuck out, he’s gotta be down below.” I nodded at Edward Cullen, and he disappeared down the hall.
“Take care of my sister, or I’ll have fun carvin’ your heart out, Declan.” Bridget crossed her arms and threw a hip out, giving me the finger.
“If I fail, I’ll let ya, mate.”
“Want us to back you?” Bridget asked.
“No…no, this I’m doin’ alone.”
I dug my knives out of Jonas and didn’t say another word, flying down the main staircase and following the blueprint I’ve committed to memory down to the lower level.
…I’m one step closer to the end of our deal…and I’m terrified.
CHAPTER 25
The Mortician
Does anyone else have a thing about their feet or hands being dirty? Well, I do. I’ve been staring at the nauseating state of my feet, wiggling life back into my toes every few minutes. I’d rather not know how many people have been in this hole or what happened to them, and I’m sure I’ve probably cleaned worse, but…whatever is on this floor is caked to my soles and I shudder to think about the kind of rot it’ll cause. I’m past the point of being cold. My stomach started eating itself hours ago, and if I so much as picture Emmy or Vivian…or anyone else in that house…
I’m sinking into madness, and it hasn’t even been a whole twenty-four hours.
They took Bridget to God only knows where. At this point, if anybody ever comes back in here, I’ve decided I’m gonna tell them where to find Kendall. If I end up in another box, so be it. At least I’ll have clothes and three shitty meals a day. And at least I’ll have a toilet. Amazing, the shit we take for granted. None of this is worth my family. Especially when none of this was more than a couple of incredible fucks with a guy just as unstable as me. I do deserve this, despite what Bridge thinks. Jonas gave me twelve hours, and I don’t even know how many of them are left. For the first time…death does seem a little different. A lot different where it concerns the people I love most, and their blood staining my hands for the rest of my existence. Mrs. Porter would be shaking her head at me right now.
The sound of the door clanging down the hall startled me, but I don’t have the will to move. I rested the back of my head against the wall and turned it to watch the door to my cell. It’s not Jonas. It’s the other one. I don’t even remember his name.
“Smells of pish in here. Well done. Made it to the level lower than dog shite.” I stared blankly at the bastard. I’m not in the mood. “Must be pretty hungry by now.”
“There a purpose to this visit, or are you just here to make sure I haven’t killed off before you could get answers?”
He smiled, and honestly…if he wasn’t such a prick, I’d almost think he was the more attractive of them. He doesn’t have shit on Malek, but I’m too upset to even think about his charming fucking face right now. I hope he’s alive so I can bash it in.
“I came to see if you were ready to talk.”
I raised my knees and stared at the wall where Bridget’s mattress laid. “Depends. What’s in it for me?”
“Other than five or six funerals?”
I scoffed and laid on the moldy, disgusting excuse for a bed. “You’re probably the worst kidnapper in the history of kidnappers. And you’re not even hot, so sadly, you don’t have the dirty fantasy aspect going for you either. You gotta give to get, asshat. You wanna know where your brother’s sorry ass body is? Gimme proof of life and at least a turkey sandwich. I’m pretty sure I’ve got a couple more hours.”
“Ya talk a big game for somebody sleepin’ in her own offal. Jonas is a bit more kind than me, lass. She was prettier than you…American rubbish.”
Shavonn…he’s talking about Shavonn. Well. Score one for asshole. That stung.
“Could say the same for you. You talk a big game for somebody enjoying the freedom of a country he obviously hates, but refuses to go back to wherever he came from. American dream too good for ya?”
“Soith bhréan…”
Yeah, it’s only sexy when he does it. Pretty sure I just threw up in my mouth a bit.
“English please.”
“I said, foul bitch. And you want your proof, or not?” I sat up, watching him turn a phone towards me, and there sat Leviticus House. Time was stamped in the bottom corner. Took me a minute to realize it was a live video feed from a dash cam. I could hear someone eating and a radio turned down low.
“And how do I know they’re safe inside?”
“By the lack of a phone call or a text with their kill order. Where the fuck is Kendall?”
The video feed glitched, sputtering out, and he looked at it in confusion. I found myself doing the same, darting my eyes from the screen to his face.
“What’s happening?”
“Don’t know. Feed’s out.” He dismissed the camera feed and brought up a number, hitting call and pressing it to his ear. A few seconds later, he lowered it. The call isn’t going through. “Fuckin’ basement. I’m goin’ upstairs. I’ll come back with somethin’ to eat, and when I do…you’re talkin’, or I’ll make you talk. Jonas might be keen on playin’ games, mate…but I’m not. I don’t care how long he gave you.”
“Whatever.”
I went to lay back down as he turned and started to walk down the hallway, but we both nearly jumped out of our skin at the sound of gunfire—and a lot of it. Directly above me.
God help me, I wanna hate him right now…but I know in my heart it’s him.
Malek came for me.
My fingers are gripping the bars to the door so hard that they ache with cold and pressure. It sounds like an all-out bloodbath upstairs, and this nameless fucker went to go investigate, only to hide out like a pussy at the end of the hall. He’s tried several more times to get that phone to work, and I can tell he’s nervous. Small light at the end of the fucking tunnel for me. He knows what’s coming for him. Even worse? I think he came down here unprepared. He was under the impression that he’d come talk shit and report back to his brother, but…now he’s stuck without anything to protect him except his hands. It’s all I can do not to laugh.
A handful of Irish curses I’ve grown accustomed to hearing Malek say are flying out of his mouth and I’m betting he’s pulled a few wads of his hair out, pacing back and forth at the end of the hall. This is karma at its finest. And the silver lining is that it seems like he can’t make a call to hurt my family just to spite me or get at Malek. My excitement was short-lived when he turned towards me, storming towards the door and I stepped back, letting go of the bars.
“If I’m goin’, ‘yer goin’ down with me, Princess. He’ll find you about as alive as his other bitch.” My heart thrashed, and any snarky retort was lost on my tongue as he jammed a key into the lock. I can fight, and probably kick some ass with the help of adrenaline, but…he’s obviously stronger and bigger than me, muscular, and brought up in violence. I’m not gonna last five minutes. I breathed raggedly, and prayed to God somebody could hear me past all the racket upstairs.
“Malek!” I screamed, hoarsely. “Malek, I’m down here! Hurry the fuck up!”
The only response was more gunfire and Armageddon above us. I backed myself to the farthest wall, my chest heaving while I watched dipshit struggle with the lock—and then it hit me.
His key isn’t fucking working. He can’t get in here.
“Fuck!”
I guess the key doesn’t unlock both doors…how am I getting this lucky?
Lucky…
A flash of amused green eyes and a four-leaf-clover ran through my rattled mind. A crooked smirk. An annoying strut. Sharp objects and candy that tastes like cough syrup. A coincidence that made sense, for once, about the reason I drunkenly got what I used to believe was the dumbest tattoo in fucking history. We’re each other’s own brand of luck. And like all luck…it eventually runs out. If we don’t die tonight, then the reality is it’s gonna kill me to let him go. And I have to.
Meatball spun around, and I jumped at the sounds of bullets pelting the metal door, echoing down the hallway. Loud bangs followed behind it and several muffled voices. None of them sounded like Malek. Jonas’s brother chuckled under his breath and dragged a palm down his face, bending over and bracing his thighs as if he couldn’t believe just how unfortunate he is right now. It only took another second for him to turn around and try to pry the door to my cell off with his bare hands. Dare I say…he might be strong enough to manage that…especially pissed and facing a brutal end. My panic came back full force.
Do something, idiot. Do something!
I stumbled towards the door and went for his fingers. It’s the only play I’ve got. Fuck it. I bent my arm, ramming my elbow into them and he growled, shaking it off while I did the same to his other one.
“Fuckin’ bitch!” Every blow I made, crushing his fingers against metal, he went right back for, trying his damnedest to get a hold on that door. I used elbows, knees, my filthy feet, until he gave up trying to touch it. “When I get my hands on you…I’m gonna snap your fuckin’ neck. I’m gonna rip every limb from ‘yer body, and—”
“Viper!”
“Malek! Down here!” I beat my fists against the bars, and the brute turned, blocking the only way to me. The metal door smacked against the wall and Malek emerged from the dark like a fucking god. Bloody. Sweating. Disheveled.
I might come on myself.
“Sev…” It was like a shattered affirmation of life. I couldn’t help myself. I smiled at him. “Step away from that fuckin’ door, Zane…and I might make it quick for you.”
“Make it a fair fight for once in ‘yer pathetic life, half-breed, and we’ll see how quick it is for one of us.” Malek cocked his head in confusion.
“He’s unarmed. And he doesn’t have the right key,” I snapped. Zane braced himself and Mal grinned like a sadistic idiot. I’m trying to tell myself it isn’t hot as fuck. His hand raised and a set of two keys dangled from his bloody fingers.
“This key?” he chuckled.
“We doin’ this shit, or what?”
My breathing went rogue, and my eyes got wide when I watched my Irishman drop every weapon he had to the floor. He kicked a few of them further down the hallway, and they started circling each other while he stuffed the keys into his pocket. I honestly don’t know who’s gonna win this. I know Malek is a killer, but how well can he brawl? And what happens to me if they both die in here and I’m stuck in a moldy basement? Where is Bridget? I swear my head is a mangled shitstorm.
Zane put his fists up. Malek didn’t. They danced around each other for what seemed like forever, until Zane finally threw the first punch. It grazed his collarbone with his quick dodge, but he still took a hit. I guess it was enough to start the blaze of rage…or maybe it was the way we saw each other as he passed the cell door. Maybe that did it for him. All I could see or hear after that was the contact of skin on skin—and not the sexy kind. Zane’s fist slipped on the sweat and blood Malek had on his face. Malek’s jabs seemed like they barely put a dent in the toned muscle of Zane’s trained body. I covered my eyes. This isn’t going well. So much for that luck.
“Did he touch you, Viper?” Malek asked, straining while he held off the prick, and drove an elbow to his neck. Zane grunted, obviously hurt, and backhanded him before they were grappling each other again.
“No. And you kinda suck at this! For fuck’s sake, just shoot him or something!”
He smiled at me from over Zane’s shoulder as he got bulldozed backward and kicked over a folded knife that clanged against the metal. They hit the floor, wrestling each other, and I knelt down, reaching through the bars for the golden ticket outta here. But once it was in my hand…
I’ve never killed anyone. That’s not what I do.
This only ends if I end it. I’m about to commit murder. Self-defense, or not…there’s no going back once it’s done. The alternative is that we both might die if I don’t. The other thought is that if it were in my hands and Zane had gotten through that door—I know I would have at least attempted to kill this fucker anyway. I flicked the blade open and for a split second, caught Malek’s eyes. Message received. I slipped it through the bars, holding it with both hands and now I know what he was saving his strength for. He raged, busting open his knuckles on Zane’s face, and pulling him up as he stood. I couldn’t even see the green in his eyes anymore as his pupils dilated and he screamed, grabbing Zane with both fists by the front of his shirt and ramming his back into my knife.
I felt the muscle give, and the tip of the blade cut through sinew and bone. I know what the inside of a body looks like. I know what I’m severing. But it’s so much different when it’s a fresh one. I feel sick. Malek kept his eyes focused on Zane’s face, pulling him forward and repeatedly bashing him back into the blade until the front of my white t-shirt was drenched in blood. I finally dropped the knife, my hands shaking and backed away as Malek threw his limp body to the side. We stood there looking at each other, both of us utterly breathless.
“Probly a bad time to tell you how fuckin’ sexy you look in rival blood, right?” I wanted to smile. To answer. To do something other than what the fuck I did right then. My chest sputtered and I felt hot tears streak down my dirty face. “Sev…”
I dropped to my knees and couldn’t control it. My hands were violently shaking, and I turned them over, stupidly looking at my bloody palms in shock. I barely registered that the door unlocked, and then he was instantly there, grabbing hold of both sides of my face and forcing me to look at him while I choked on my own oxygen. “I—I killed—”
“No, you didn’t. I did. Look at me.” I heaved, and he pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Baby, look at me. You’re whole. You’re safe. I’ve got you.” I don’t feel whole. I don’t feel anything. Is that worse? Am I more like them than I thought? Am I even speaking? I guess I wasn’t. He raised us to stand, and reached under my thighs, hoisting me up, and I instinctively coiled my legs around him, throwing my arms around his neck while my face buried into it. This helps. His arms tightened around me, and I let loose.
