Page 112 of Ink's Devil

“The drugs are not here anymore. I told you that.”

“Who took them?”

“And I told you that too,” she replies steadily. “I don’t know.”

“Where’s Connor?”

“Connor’s dead,” I cry out.

It gets his attention on me. He looks up into my face. “You’re a fucking freak. Give you a thrill does it? Fucking a bitch like her?” The last is thrown over his shoulder to Dirt.

Dirt’s face goes apoplectic. If he was my boyfriend, he couldn’t be angrier.

“I’d give her a try.” One of Phil’s men stops what he’s doing long enough to leer at me.

I’d break his freaking dick if he came near me. It’s noticeable my father doesn’t say a word on my behalf.

“Where’s Connor?” he repeats.

“In the morgue,” I say, sharply. He must see my reddened eyes; must know we’ve spent the evening crying at the loss of my brother. I know it’s imperative he doesn’t suspect we don’t believe it’s true for one second.

“You believe that?”

“Why should this lie?” Picking it up from where Mom had set it down, I throw the death certificate at him.

He peruses it while frowning and doesn’t look as certain as he did before.

“Nothing in the garage, boss.”

“Nothing upstairs, either.”

One by one the four men return, presumably from searching every area of the house. Empty handed, of course.

“Where’s my shit?” Phil demands once again of my mom.

“I don’t know,” she replies.

“Who took it?”

“I don’t know. They broke in. Seemed to know exactly what they were looking for. Shifty looking men, like yours.” Mom’s getting annoyed.

“Describe them.”

I take over. “There were two men. One was tall, dark hair, angular features. One was Hispanic.” I shrug, making it all up, hoping I’m not describing a pair that he’d pick up and question for no reason. “They went straight to Connor’s old room and took the stuff.”

He eyes me carefully as though trying to assess whether I’m telling the truth.

“No one would fucking cross me,” he declares at last. “Connor must have had a side deal going on. And you,” he swings around and his narrowing eyes land on Dirt, “there’s something about you I don’t like.”

“Phil,” I snap, wanting to get his attention back to me. “You know we don’t have what you want or know who has. I suspect you might get a thrill out of terrorising women, but other than that, there’s no point in you being here.”

“Mouthy bitch aren’t you?”

“Phil, that’s your daughter you’re talking to,” Mom snaps.

“Oh,” he says, in a sly tone I don’t like, “I’m well aware of that.” He nods to one, then another of his men. “Bring the freak, she’s coming with us.” He turns to my mom who’s looking on in horror. “My daughter will enjoymyhospitality for a time while you have a think about who took those drugs. I’m sure with the right incentive, you’ll remember.”

I try and signal with my eyes that Mom has to keep her mouth shut. God knows what Phil will do if we give him the information he’s after and we’re no longer of any use to him. But her eyes flash sympathy and her own warning. She knows what he’s capable of, after all. If he could contemplate killing his son, he’d not hesitate to take out his ex-wife and daughter.

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