Page 30 of Stolen Rival
I don’t want to make it obvious that I need to get to the orchard, so I start with the closer, more familiar paths of the flower garden. The air smells sweeter here, despite most of the flowers not being in bloom. They say decomposition brings a sweet tang with it. Are there bodies buried in the flower beds?
A shudder slivers down my spine at the thought. Will Cormac be joining the worms under the blooms?
As the darkness blends into morning, a thick mist hangs low on the cool air. Soggy leaves squelch underfoot, the only sound on my otherwise deafeningly silent walk with a disgruntled stranger.
“What’s your name?”
McMountain ignores my question. Ugh. This is going to be a looooong morning walk. Da would be disappointed with my lack of something to make conversation about other than the first fucking book I grabbed off the shelf. If he won’t answer what his name is, what chance do I have of him talking about literature?
For most of my life, I was grateful to be on the fringes ofthe family business. My lack of gumption is largely due to my inexperience, which no one in my family sought to correct. But for just one minute, I’d love to know what the fuck to do in any given situation I find myself in.
“Have you worked for Patrick for long?” I risk a sideways glance at my chaperone, trying again to get him to engage in idle chat. He stares back at me with a blank expression on his face. Maybe I could offer to make it worth his while if he helps Sean to get me the hell out of here.
Silence is my only answer. Was he instructed not to talk to me? I wouldn’t put it past Patrick to isolate me from everyone, drive me up the walls with silence… The man is trying to break me.
Well, I refuse to be broken.
“Do you have any pets?” My voice hangs heavy in the crisp morning air, another question going unanswered.
Resigned to not getting any chitchat out of the bouncer, I jam my hands in my pockets and keep walking.
As we approach the edges of the orchard, the silent giant accompanying me on my morning stroll yawns and pulls out a packet of cigarettes. While he lights up, I let myself scan the space a little more purposefully for something,anythingout of place.
The temptation to bum one of the bodyguard’s smokes and somehow use it as a weapon makes my fingers twitch, but I need to stay patient and trust in my people.
My people. I still have people. The relief in my body is tangible that Da’s people really are mine.
A billowing plume of smoke drifts toward me on the heavy morning air, sending me into a coughing fit. The beefcake smirks as I waved away the pungent air and move awayfrom him.
He points his cigarette at me. “Stay in my line of sight.”
I hold my hands up. “I’ll just be over here.” I hook my thumb over my shoulder. “Where there’s no cancer stick in my oxygen.”
He glowers at me but otherwise stays silent as he takes up a position with his back against an apple tree. I don’t doubt if I step even a foot over whatever imaginary boundary he’s set for me, he’ll drag me back inside by my ponytail, or worse, so I need to stay on the right side of him.
No amount of searching high or low brings Sean into view. Where is he? My fingers and toes are starting to get chilly, the early spring sun doing little other than dancing off the leaves.
It’s so peaceful out here. If this place was really where I had to spend the rest of my days, I could see myself enjoying many a morning in the orchard. It’s too early in the season for the fruit trees to bloom, but there’s a patch of wild rhubarb a few feet away that my growling stomach urges me to pick.
It’s unyielding, and if I tug much harder, my stitches will reopen. Patrick won’t like that at all. And I don’t think I can cope with another round of him fixing me up, or his surly bedside manner.
There’s no point in asking my companion for an assist. He’s glaring at me like he’d sooner shove my face into a massive tree trunk than help me pick rhubarb. I strain my ears as I give it another tug.
When a stalk pops free, I wipe it on my shirt and take a bite. I prefer to dip it in a bowl of sugar, but I’m hungry, and it’s what I’ve got. Other than my crunching of the tart vegetable, there’s not another sound. No one else is out here, just me and my minder. The bitter taste of disappointment fills my mouth as I sigh. Maybe tomorrow.
My limbs are heavy as I turn back toward the house. Mystomach dips. It takes my brain a second or two to catch up to what my eyes are seeing. What… what the hell is that?
It looks like a mannequin’s head on a stick right in our path back to Patrick’s house. The same path we walked down to get here. It wasn’t there on our way here, which means someone’s done it while I was hanging about in the cold waiting for Sean to appear. That someone’s got to be Patrick. He’s fucking with me. Well two can play at that; his childish games have nothing on the shit my siblings pulled on me growing up, or even Eabha who’s a terrible prankster. I’ll take a leaf out of her book and show him what a real prank looks like.
As I get closer, a sucker punch to the gut almost takes my legs out from beneath me. Oh, God… Jesus Christ. It’s… it’s Sean’s dismembered head.
My half-eaten stalk of rhubarb falls from my hand onto a bed of soft leaves. His face is contorted in agony, but it’s undeniably him.
I stare at it, my jaw hanging open, my brain trying to rationalize what my eyes are telling me. When I force myself to look away, to take in a deep breath, movement in the upstairs window of the house grabs my attention.
Patrick stands watching me, arms folded, his face an impassive, unreadable mask, and without a single word, his message has been delivered loud and clear. He knew about the plan to get me out, and instead of simply telling me, he let it continue as planned to teach me a lesson.
Who ratted Sean out? Some overeager member of staff keen to get in Patrick’s good graces? Or did one of my own betray Sean and his team?
