Page 147 of House of Lies

I don’t think I trust any of the Balmont Boys as far as I can throw them, but when Myles peeks out from behind the plastic curtain and beckons me with a flick of his fingers, what fucking choice do I have?

“Will you two hurry the fuck up?” he calls.

“Ethan?” Cassidy’s voice is steeped with panic. “What the hell is going on?”

“It’s okay,” I murmur, wrapping my arm around her shoulder. “You’re safe with me.”

She walks hesitantly at my side, her gait uneven as if she’s still considering bolting out the door.

I force a swallow and then push aside the plastic sheeting so we can step into the sealed off area inside the Den.

Cassidy screams.

I grab her as she turns to press her face into my chest, and take turns glowering at Myles, Rich, Troy, then Smith.

Only Myles makes eye contact. The others are all focused on the man tied to the chair in the middle of the plastic-covered floor.

“Surprise!” Myles shouts, popping a bottle of champagne and gesturing toward a cocktail table filled with champagne flutes. “You made such a fucking fuss about Lady Agnew, I felt bad about the whole retirement gift thing. Thought this might be a bit more appropriate.”

“What. The. Fuck?” I bite out.

“Don’t glare at me like that,” Myles says, still grinning. “Come, get some champagne.”

“Jesus, Myles, how the fuck could you?—?”

“If everyone could be quiet, please,” Smith says. “I think he’s trying to say something.”

Cassidy shivers violently, but then turns to peek over her shoulder. Even I drag my hateful glare away from Myles, latching onto the wretched human being in the chair.

Angelo’s head lolls, and an awful rasping sound comes out his throat.

“Wa…er.”

“He’s dehydrated,” Troy says.

“Weren’t you supposed to water him?” Richmond asks, taking a glass of champagne from Myles as he passes.

“Me?” Troy frowns at Rich. “Thought that was your job.”

“No, no.” Rich tuts him with a finger. “I got the shit job, like always.” He looks at me over his shoulder. “I literally had to clean up his shit.”

“Here you go, old chap,” Myles says, walking gingerly closer to Angelo, trying to avoid the splashes of blood on the plastic sheeting. He takes one of the champagne flutes and tips it against the man’s split lips. Foam bubbles up from his mouth, first white, then pink as it mixes with the blood around his lips.

Angelo sputters and coughs, turning his head away.

“That was Cristal, you ungrateful bastard.” Myles backhands him with the flute, and Angelo gives a pathetic cry as glass slices into his cheek.

“What is he doing here?” Cassidy says in a shaky voice as she turns in my grip.

“He’s a gift, cherry pie.” Myles hands her a glass, and she takes it absently like she’s in a trance. “We thought you two might like to spend a little quality time with him before we put him out of his misery.”

“He should be in jail,” Cassidy says, taking a tiny sip of her champagne as she moves closer to the chair. I keep our bodies close, an arm slung around her chest, ready to rip out throats or smash in skulls if anyone so much as looks at her wrong. “Why isn’t he in jail?”

“You get three square meals and lodgings in prison,” Smith says dryly. “Think he deserves that after what he did to Becks? After what he tried to do to you?”

“No,” she whispers. She’s trembling, but not with fear anymore. There’s heat coming off her body, an anger I feel bubbling up inside me, too.

Angelo is so out of it, he doesn’t even seem to recognize anyone standing around him. They’ve already done a number on him—one eye is bruised shut, there’s a lump on his jaw, blood all over his throat and chest. He’s wearing a pair of blood-encrusted boxers, and I think Richmond skimped on his duties, because I can smell puke and shit from where I’m standing.

---