Page 29 of White Rabbit

I let the silence sink in once again as the rest of the inmates and visitors chatter around us.

After five excruciating minutes, and I know because I’d watched the clock on the wall, I offer a little tidbit I’d learned on my course. “Did you know that in the medieval era, they would use rats to torture people.”

His face pales. “What?”

Nodding, I continue. “They would tie a person to a table, and place the rat on their bare chest or stomach under a metal bucket. They’d then light a fire on top of the bucket, to panic the rat, you see.”

Sucking my teeth and making an obnoxious noise, I examine my nails as if he’s boring me. Men like him hate being considered boring. They like to be the life and soul of the party. Even now I can see a vein bulging in his neck as he sits there, a mix of fear and outrange on his face.

I know he’s thinking ‘How dare you treat me like this? Who do you think you are?’. Indignation is always one of my favorite emotions. I swear I can taste it in the air in times like these as his body practically vibrates with barely restrained anger.

“Rats are incredible creatures. Smart. True survivalists. They will chew through anything, tearing through flesh to escape is nothing to them.”

This time he trembles, his face going a shade of green as he pictures a rabid rat, eating its way through a stomach, leaving behind a bloody, pulpy mess of guts.

I stroke my stubble thoughtfully. “Now, I’ve never used rats in my work. But I’m always open to experimentation.”

“You’re crazy. Delusional. I don’t have to sit here and take this.” He tries again to stand, and once again Nicco pushes him back down. They say the definition of insanity is repeating the same action and expecting a different outcome. Chad wasn’t insane, just fucking stupid.

Waving my hand dismissively, I roll my eyes. “I don’t care how you do it—whether you break up with her cleanly or you simply vanish from her life—as long as you’re gone.”

“What do you even want with Ava?” Chad’s breathing is choppy and uneven now, as his common sense finally kicks in and he understands he has no power and no other option here.

“As I already explained, she’s mine.” The corner of my mouth lifts into a smirk. “I thought you were smart, being a money guy and all, but I guess not.”

It looks as though he’s about to protest, his lips parting before he thinks better of it, and promptly closes his mouth again.

“Nicco will take you to your apartment. Or would you rather be dropped back to your gym, that’s where you were headed, wasn’t it?”

He nods, looking down at his hands, defeated. He doesn’t move or try to get to his feet until Nicco nudges him. I share a look with my man, letting him know to keep an eye on the snake before us, to which he responds with a small nod.

As they leave, I lean forward in my chair and growl. “Chad—you have three days to end this little charade of a relationship. After that, I’ll cut off a finger for every additional day. If you run out of fingers, well then, we’ll start on your toes. And if we run out of toes, then I’m sure I can find bigger things to slice off. But I’m not a very patient man, so let’s not get to that point.”

He practically runs from the visiting room while I chuckle to myself. When I return to my cell, I fire off another email to Cato. It wasn’t enough just to watch the outside of her building anymore, no; there needed to be eyes and ears inside her apartment. I wanted to see if Chad Wilson would do as he was told or if he’d try running his mouth. I also despised not knowing what happened inside those walls. Once that front door shut, she shut me out too, and that was unacceptable.

Cato’s reply is quick, which means they are likely sitting in the passenger seat, working on their tablet while Nicco drives them back to Chad’s gym. Cato lets me know they’ve dispatched some of our people to handle the additional surveillance. At the bottom of their email, there are two links and they’ve written ‘Thank me later!’

Opening the first, I’m taken to the website for a small exclusive gallery based in Newtown. On the homepage, they were showcasing several pieces of work from an artist known simply as ‘Le Fou’. A quick search shows me that le fou means fool or madman, but it’s also used for a certain piece on a chessboard. The bishop.

There’s only one reason Cato would show me this, which means I was looking at the very soul of Ava Bishop, poured out onto canvas. The bold colors and strong brushstrokes were ripe with emotion, spilling out everywhere. Some of them were dark, with anger pulsing in every stroke on the page. There she was, underneath the image of the dutiful daughter and respectful officer, the ball of anger and grief. My white rabbit, innocent and yet so sinful. Calm and still, a raging storm, a woman bound by her life but alive in her art.

The second link takes me to an event page for the Lutwidge Trust annual auction. It’s a charity Jules and Rosie support. In fact, Rosie recently joined the board as part of their public personas. But why was Cato sending me this?

As I scroll further down, I inspect the lots up for auction and that’s when I spot it. A previously unseen brand new Le Fou artwork with a starting bid price of $25,000 dollars.

Well, it looked like my apartment was about to get some new additions. After all, it was for a good cause.

Chapter Sixteen

AVA

Gritting my teeth, I nod and fake a smile as another rich older woman pulls me into an uncomfortable embrace.

As she pulls away, she cups my cheeks. “You look just like your mother, darling. May her soul rest in peace.”

My mother passed away over four years ago, and while part of me likes that people still remember her, another part of me wishes they would stop trying to find traces of her in my face. The woman currently being over friendly is Clarissa Wolfe, someone who used to play tennis with my parents every week. She’s the fourth person to bring up my mother so far, and I haven’t been here for more than an hour yet.

“Are you married now? Weren’t you dating that young man who handles finances?” Clarissa says, letting go of my face to hold my hands and squeeze them.