Page 35 of It Will Always Be You
It’s ironic. Up until now, he’s seemed like the big bad wolf, but in comparison to Angus and the threat hanging in the air since he arrived, Kyle feels like the safer option. Better the devil you know. Kyle, as sick and cruel as he may be, clearly wants a living pet, someone to torture and fuck when and as he pleases. But to Angus, I’m disposable. He replaced me once; who’s to say he can’t and won’t do it again?
With a grunt of agreement, Angus wedges the knife into his waistband before tossing me over his shoulder with his hand firmly planted on my backside. His wandering hand as we make our way back to the basement is the least of my worries. Tossing me down onto my cot, he follows me down with that damn knife in his grip once again.
“Now, why don’t we play a little game? Let’s see how many cuts it takes to make you squeal like the rat you are.” He cackles as he presses the tip of the knife against my collarbone, his beady eyes glued to the blood that swells up. Over his shoulder, Kyle shifts his weight from foot to foot, the same sick desire dancing across his features.
Time blurs as my skin turns red and pools of blood seep into the threadbare mattress. His erection presses into my hip, his enjoyment more than evident. Bile threatens to escape at the implications of what’s to come. The clicking of his belt buckle is soon followed by pressure against my entrance. A whimper escapes me as I feel him push himself inside, and wetness I refuse to let fall gathers in the back of my eyes. Somehow, this is even worse than when Kyle uses my body for his pleasure.
“You like that, don’t you? A slut like you is only good for spreadingher legs, isn’t that right?” he jeers from above me in between groans of pleasure. Biting my tongue against the venom that wants to spew out, I focus on the ceiling, counting the blood spatters once more. I wonder how many of those were here before me, how much of my own blood stains the walls of this place now.
Not satisfied with my nonresponse, he digs the tip of his knife into my chin as he demands, “Kyle, make yourself useful and get the poker. I’ll get this bitch to cry out one way or another.”
The implication of that threat has me frantically shaking my head as I plead with the devil between my thighs. But no amount of pleading or begging is going to stop him, that much is clear, from the euphoria painted across his face to the way he picks up his pace, thrusting himself deeper into my body with every movement, regardless of the pain he’s causing.
“O’Neill will never want to touch you again, not after we ruin you for good,” he taunts before stuttering to a stop with a shout. As he climbs off me, the weight of his body is replaced by the weight of his words, and the tears I’ve been holding back slide down my cheeks in silent agony.
He works to shackle my ankles and wrists to the bed while raining down more taunting remarks, but I’m not here anymore. I’m so lost in my head, in my heartbreak, it’s like I’m floating above my body, watching.
Watching as they make good on their threats to ruin me.
As Kyle joins Angus at my bedside with the red-hot poker at the ready.
As Angus holds me down and Kyle presses the brand into my hip.
As they take and take andtakewhat they want from my body until no part of me remains untouched.
As the tattered remains of my heart crumble with the pain coursing through my body.
Please, let this hell end.
Chapter 32
ATable meeting is neither a good nor bad sign—it’s simply a measure of time. Da used to say these meetings were integral to keeping the ever-fragile peace between the five most powerful crime families in the UK and Europe. That, without these meetings, tensions would have room to fester and boil over. Personally, having all that ego shoved into one room seems like the perfect way to tempt fate. One wrong move—hell, one wronglook—and an all-out war could start.
It’s never used to discuss the regular shit either. Extortion, drug deals, illegal weapons—those kinds of discussions are our common ground in the same way our disgust for dealing in the skin trade is. It’s as natural to us as dealing in the stock trade is to investors, or drafting up a contract is to a lawyer.
So, no, none of that is grounds to call a Table meeting. Considering every man in this room has his own mile long list of crimes he’s wanted for, with at least two different agencies actively hunting him down, wasting time is the last thing we can afford to do. What is also a given is the fact that none of us will ever seethe inside of a jail cell—we’ll never pay for our sins. Call it corrupt. Hell, I’ll be the first to hold up my hands and concede that fact. That’s the perk of having the connections and wealth the crime world provides.
As the heir of the Four Points, this status quo has suited me quite nicely. Why the hell wouldn’t it? Never having to worry about the consequences of my actions was something I took for granted. Then, Helen entered my orbit, only to be ripped from it just as swiftly. And so now, as I sit here surrounded by the leaders of the Italians, Russians, Chinese, and Scots, all I can think about is how different things would have turned out if not for this shitshow. If it weren’t for this never-ending war I was born into, would she still be mine? Would we have stood a chance if the odds weren’t stacked against us from the start? A man could go insane pondering all the what ifs.
The rapid sound of gunfire, followed by exclamations, draws me back to the here and now. And here and now, Angus has officially lost the plot. The whole damn point of these meetings is we’re all disarmed to stop shit exploding. Yet there he is, pointing his gun at Salvatore as he rants and raves. Ivanov clutches his shoulder, the once-white shirt stained red, while Jianyu Li has ducked under the table. Fucking coward.
“What do you want to do, boss?” Seamus mutters under his breath from behind me. Sharing a look with him, I jerk my chin at the door. Our best bet is to get out of here while Angus is caught up in his issue with Salvatore. If we can just make it to the other side of the double doors, we’ll be able to reclaim our weapons and even the playing field. Silently, I slide my chair back and make to move, only to freeze when movement to the right catches my eye.
Slipping in a side door, crouched low to the floor with determination lining his features, is Angus’ son, Logan. Last I heard, he was practically an outcast, all but disowned. It’s clear there’s no love lost on his side either as he rugby tackles his father to the floor and swiftly disarms him before using his forearm to apply pressure to his windpipe.
“Sorry to interrupt. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get rid of the trash andleave you to your meeting.” With a tip of his chin, Logan disappears as quickly as he appeared, dragging his father’s body along with him.
“What the fuck?” Salvatore mutters, breaking the stunned silence.You can say that shit again.
“He’s gone too far this time,” I spit out. I always knew he was an unhinged bastard, but opening fire at a Table meeting is too damn far. He may as well spit on everything we stand for. Shared looks of anger and muttered curses float around the room before Jianyu Li chimes in.
“He needs to be stopped,” he mutters, dusting off his suit with narrowed eyes.
“Agreed. Next time, why don’t you step up and help instead of hiding like a coward?” I demand, ignoring Seamus’ warnings as I advance on him. Jun Weng, Li’s second, quickly steps in front of Jianyu, crossing his arms and puffing out his chest in an effort to look bigger than he is.
Quirking an eyebrow, I drawl, “You do know relying on Weng to fight your battles does little to disprove my point, right?”
“I’d like to point out that I was the one shot, and you don’t see me taking part in this pissing contest,” Maxim mutters as his second makes a tourniquet on his arm to stop the blood flow. He knocks back his drink with a wince before turning his icy glare on us.
