Page 83 of Taming Achilles

“An ice pick, brass knuckles, or …” I lifted up my own meaty fists. “Should we do this the old fashioned way?”

Rhodes snarled, though his feet dangled, barely taking his weight. He tried to kick me, but I blocked it and he swung around like a strung up pig.

“I’ll get to the questioning later.” My own sadism was burning to come free. My need to hurt. My need to break this man was immense, because he hurt the one person I would happily kill for. “It’s time for a bit of fun.”

Chapter 40

Pippa

During some of my short, lucid moments, Callum and Lea came with Geordie in tow. His knuckles were swollen. Dried blood crusted the cuff of his button down sleeve. Had he gone to see Rhodes?

They said Chloe had been here, but had been sent away to take a shower and get some rest.

“Cabbage smelled like an airport,” Callum said, wrinkling his nose, and I tried to chuckle with him. Then he leaned forward to look at me. “We need to talk. All of us. About the white van.”

I tensed. The machines beeped faster, my heart rate rising. Geordie rushed to my side, placing a hand on mine, and holding it close to his chest.

“Calm down, love,” he said, placing a kiss on my brow. I closed my eyes, leaning into his kiss.

“It seems like a simple solution,” Callum said, leaning back in his seat, rocking a little on the backrest. “The Sideshow preys on people who are unattached, which was why they tried to recruit me.”

He grabbed his wife’s hand, and squeezed it. She ran gentle fingers through his auburn beard and they smiled. She grounded him, pulling him from his loneliness. I envied that.

“You two should get married.” Callum paused, then looked at us for a reaction. “They take her out, then there’ll be questions. And they can’t possibly kill the two of you without dealing with an inquest from me and every other chocolatier, who I’d mobilise to the cause. I’d even get Callisandra Davenport on the story.”

Callum had always been good at knowing people. The chocolatiers was a colloquial term for people like us who graduated from St. Michael’s boarding school in Switzerland. We never had a Prom, but if we had, he would have been King. There wasn’t an influential man who didn’t fall under his charm or owe him a favour.

He leaned forward in the seat, bracing his elbows on the desk. He steepled his fingers. “They know I’d exhaust every single asset and contact I had for one of you four. They wouldn’t dare …”

“That could work,” I found myself saying, staring at Geordie who was stoic, his face an unreadable mask. Would he want to marry me? Was the ring on my finger a true declaration, or was it just another piece of jewellery?

“I could get a priest here in hours, Geordie. You backdate a licence and we can get it into the courts, all nice and legitimate,” Callum continued. “We can even have a Catholic ceremony in a church if you wish.”

“No,” Geordie said, a ring of disbelief in his voice.

“Alright, no church.” Callum got up and moved towards his laptop, ready to work whatever contacts he had. “We can at least get you a nice suit, though. That won’t take long.”

“No,” Geordie said again. I wasn’t sure what he was saying no to. The suit? The church? Me?

My heart was constricting, but I was scared to ask. The beeping intensified.

“What about you, Pip? You own enough white dresses. Do you want to get changed?” Callum was ploughing ahead. But Geordie looked like he was fighting a rage. Like a volcano about to erupt.

“Lads and I will get dressed. Get some good whiskey and celebrate.” Callum’s voice was light, as if he was looking forward to this whole thing.

“No,” Geordie said again, in the same tone. The same word. But nothing else for me to understand.

Callum put the phone to his ear, calling up a local clergy to find an available priest.

“No!” Geordie bellowed. Everyone froze. Everything went silent, save for my heart monitor which beat at a frantic rhythm. “I will’nae do it.” As if to make me bleed even more, he said it again in perfectly enunciated English, punctuating each word. “I will not do it.”

He ran a hand through his hair. He looked pained. I suppose that marrying me would be painful. I couldn’t blame him. Maybe a ring was just a ring. Maybe Venice only mattered to me.

“We’ll find something else,” Geordie whispered, his hand still on mine.

There it was. He wouldn’t marry me. Ring or no ring, I was still just a … a … whore to him.

I pried my hand from his, but he gave me a warning look and grabbed it back again.

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