Page 87 of Wicked Little Game
“We’re going to be there in around—” He yells at the others to get ready before he continues. “One hour. Keep everything under control until then.”
They must have flown here last night. Rockwell really has some kind of sixth sense when it comes to things like that.
“Yes, sir,” I say before we hang up. I breathe in deeply, shaking my head as I look at myself in the huge hallway mirror.
It’s dead silent as I walk back towards the office and for a moment I’m worried that Ruby strangled her father, or killed him with a goddamn ballpoint pen straight to his eye socket, but she just stands there, shaking like a leaf as she stares out of the window.
He’s unconscious on the floor, looking more roughedup than I remember. Blood seeps from his nose and there’s a nasty-looking split in his eyebrow.
Ruby doesn’t turn around as I lift him into his chair and tie his hands together with duct tape before I do the same with his ankles. His head slumps forward, so I decide against putting tape over his mouth.
She seems to have done quite a number on him.
He’s going to be unconscious for a good while. I roll him out of the office and into one of the spare bathrooms. Lights out, he doesn’t need to see anything while we wait for his ride to arrive.
I already have an idea about what Rockwell has planned for him. He won’t spend his remaining years in federal prison, but compared to where he’s going to end up, prison would have been a vacation.
It’s honestly the best solution. Having him in detainment allows us to get more information out of him without causing problems for Ruby.
Not that there would have been an official report either way, but if someone asks, her father died from a heart attack while on a business trip. Too much cocaine isn’t good for the human body in the long run, after all.
Forging documents is usual business, and we’ll provide Ruby with all the necessary stuff to prove his death to the authorities so that she can inherit his money and live the rest of her life in peace.
At least that’s what I tell her while I force her to sit down on the couch in his office, where we watch his blood seep into the wooden floorboards. I’m pretty sure she’ll need to replace them.
“Did you know what he did to my mom?” she speaks up after what felt like an eternity.
“Found out a few days ago,” I say. “Told one of my men to dosome digging. Your father isn’t the most humble person, bragged about to a few of his goons who were happy to talk for the right amount of money. You lived in Indiana back then, right?”
She nods, her jaw clenching as I put my hand over hers.
“Is she buried there?”
“We’re pretty sure.”
Tears run down her cheeks and I pull her closer.
“I never believed that she ran away,” she forces out in between sobs, her whole body shaking. “That she left me behind.”
I’ve never been good at calming people down and I physically can’t bring myself to tell her that everything is going to be all right because I don’t know if it’s the truth.
Sure, we are going to take care of the situation with her father. She’ll get his money and is finally free to live her life, but something tells me that this isn’t all it takes to make sure she’s okay.
I don’t allow myself to think about what it really needs, because I don’t think I can be the one to give it to her.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I couldn’t. I didn’t know how you’d react and there was too much at stake.” I swallow thickly before I continue. “I only thought about myself. I’m sorry, Ruby. I should have told you the second I found out.”
“It was probably better that you didn’t,” she mumbles into my shoulder. “I would have shot him the second he set foot in this house. Sorry that I ruined everything.”
“You didn’t—don’t worry about that now, okay?”
She nods, snuggling closer to me. I hold her, stroking over her head while I tell her silly stories. I can’t stand even a second of silence between us right now, even less than the tiny sobs that still come from her from time to time.
Over time, she calms down. She stops crying and evenstarts chuckling softly when I tell her about the time Max fell through the ceiling in one of our safe houses.
I try to tell myself that this means she’s going to be okay, as if she’s not just trying to shove everything back into the corners of her mind where she doesn’t have to think about it. But honestly, I can’t even suggest a different approach. I have been doing the same for all my life.
