Page 31 of Hearts Held
He chuckles with an accompanying snort. “Ya, brother? Well, you don’t kill family. So how the fuck you going to make me regret it?” he challenges, cocking an annoying, egotistical eyebrow.
I slam him against the wall for good measure as a gasp leaves his parted, bloodied lips. I calmly, ever-so-softly state in his ear, “I may not kill you, but I know firsthand how to beautifully torture someone. It seems you aredyingto find out.” Leaning my head back to gaze at him, my eyes light with fire. He tries to shove my hands off his lapels but I’m much stronger and more sadistic than him.
“Let go of me!” he shouts, panic setting into his eyes.
Bobby comes around the corner, questioning, “What’s going on, you fuckwits?”
Frederick bitches, “He’s being a fucking arsehole, Robert, get ’em off meh!”
Bobby looks between Frederick and myself as I keep my steel gaze on Frederick. Then he eyes my assistant cowering in the corner.
“Oh, love, you okay?” He reaches for her.
She stammers, explaining, “He…he wanted to force me to…to…”
Bobby holds up a compassionate hand. “No more, love, I can figure it out. If you’d like to quit, we understand. We can give you compensation. I’m so sorry this happened,” Bobby explains and holds out an endearing hand to help her out of the corner she backed into.
Bloody bleeding heart, he is.
She knew we were ruthless fucks, though that gives no excuse for Frederick to threaten her, lay hands on her or demand anything out of her that isn’t within her job description.
She mutters softly, “That’s all right, Mr. Robert. I’m all right now. I’d prefer to keep me job, please.”
He nods, then tells her to take a long lunch break.
Spinning to face us, Bobby gets into Frederick’s face, as I move to firmly grip Frederick by the neck.
“Get your fucking shit together. Maybe we should treat you the way you fucking treat others and you’ll finally get off your high horse, you overinflated shit bag,” Bobby spews with a pointed finger as Frederick snarls at us.
I think of the poor girl who died in the parlor as I eye Frederick up and down.
“Did you fucking kill Silvy?” I ask point-blank.
He looks up at me, puzzled and confused.
“Wha?” he spits out.
“I asked—” Death is exuding from my glare. “Did. You.Kill. Silvy?”
He gives another confused furrow of his brow, then replies, “No.”
His performance is convincing, but I determine that I need some men to follow him and provide intel on his whereabouts. His drunken rage, his entitled behavior, could have lead to a perfect storm for murder.
I let go of my piece-of-shit brother and he stumbles to the floor, then storms out of the office giving us a vulgar gesture.
Bobby carefully approaches me. “He is becoming more and more unhinged, brother. Bloodytrain coming off the tracks. I know we ain’t supposed to kill our own family, but for fuck’s sake, can we make an exception?”
I keep quiet, mulling over my thoughts as a beautiful green-eyed girl tries to invade them, like ink in water. Shaking away the threatening distraction, I state, “Just get to work. In time he will come to his senses. Don’t act like such a hard-ass, Bobby, we know you couldn’t kill anyone.”
Bobby chufts under his breath, “Fuck off, Everett! On a different matter, I got somethin’ entertaining to show ya.”
I raise an eyebrow, as he expects me to follow him into his office.
Without any time toentertainanyone, I retreat to my desk, going over the paperwork for missing firearms and alcohol shipments. The veins in my neck are pulsating with the rise of my blood pressure. This on top of a bloody murder… The stress couldn’t possibly get any worse. At times I wonder how my father dealt with all of this stress and juggled such problems seamlessly.
My ears perk up at a sound I have never heard before. Sounds like something rolling across the floor, a cartmaybe? A cart that has no direction or is out of control. I stand, getting ready to leave my desk to inspect the sound emanating from the hallway until the sound barges into my office.
Bobby in an office chair with fuckingwheels.
