Page 115 of Slaughter

“Yes.”

I look at him, waiting for a punch line. Instead, he pulls his cell out of his pocket and dials a number. He leans back in his chair and lifts his right foot, placing his ankle on his left knee. “Hey,” he says gently when the person answers. “How are you doing?” he asks in a soft voice. “Yeah, I’m still in Vancouver.” He nods to himself as a soft smile spreads across his face. “I was wondering if you could make a house call?” he asks and runs his finger over his lips. “Yeah. It’s …” He looks up at me. “Complicated.” Then looks away. “I need to stay here, but I can send the jet for you.” His smile grows. “Thanks. See you soon.”

He hangs up and drops the phone to his lap. His eyes meet mine, and the stupid grin on his face drops off. “What?”

“Either I’m drunk, or that was a woman who you have a thing for,” I say.

“It’s nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

He sighs. “I called her because she is the best at what she does. She deals with cases that involve women like herself and Presleigh.”

“She’s a victim?” I ask slowly.

His eyes narrow, and he throws back a drink. “Yes.”

_______________

I didn’t sleep at all that night. I actually never left my study. I sat there until the flame went out and the bottle of scotch was gone. I actually got a buzz. And that hasn’t happened in years. I started drinking when I was fourteen. My father found me and my friends sneaking his fifteen-year-old scotch and made us drink the entire bottle. We were sick for days, pretty sure we had alcohol poisoning, but it got me hooked. And the more I drank, the more my tolerance grew for it. I’ve never been one to drink to get drunk.

I sit up on the couch and rub my sleepy eyes, wondering what Bunny is doing. Did she sleep well? Did she have nightmares? Is she in pain? I don’t think she would tell me even if she was. Last night was the first night since I found her that we didn’t sleep in the same bed together. And I hate it. We haven’t spoken about what happened while she was taken. I don’t wanna hear her tell me what she went through, and I know that makes me a fucking asshole.

The door opens, and I watch Marvin walk into my study. “Good morning, sir.”

“Morning, Marvin.” There’s nothing good about it.

“I just wanted to let you know that Presleigh had a cup of coffee in her room but didn’t eat much of her breakfast. And that I fed Lance his piece of bread and water as well.”

I hate that I have to feed the fucker, but if I want him to survive longer so I can continue my torture, I gotta give him something.

I nod. “Thank you.”

“Would you like your breakfast now, sir?”

“No. I’m not hungry,” I tell him, and he nods before walking out and closing the door behind him.

“Knock, knock.” I hear my brother’s voice on the other side of the closed door.

“Come in,” I mumble, placing my elbows on my knees, and take a deep breath, letting my head fall to my hands. I hear the door open, and I dig my palms into my eyes. “I need to call Kayn. See if he has made any progress,” I say more to myself than Tristan. “That fucker needs to die …” I look up and stop talking when I see he is standing in my study with a beautiful blonde next to him. He has her tucked into his side with his hand on the small of her back.

“Avery. This is Chloe. Chloe, this is my brother, Avery.” He introduces us.

I stand from the couch. “My apologies. Nice to meet you.”

She nods as she places her small hand in mine to shake. Her dark green eyes widen when she looks at my shirt. The same shirt that I wore last night when I tortured Lance. I hope that fucker hasn’t bled to death yet.

She removes her hand from mine and swallows nervously. “Is he the one I’m here to see?” she whispers to my brother.

“No. Although he needs help, but that will have to wait until another day,” he says, making her give a nervous laugh.

“Bunny is up in her room.”

“Bunny?” she asks.

I open my mouth, but my brother speaks. “That’s a little nickname he calls Presleigh.”

She nods once.

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