Page 103 of The Thief
No. I can't think like that. Freddie's alive, Henry's alive, and they're coming for me. They have to be. There is no reality where Freddie won’t come for me.
Footsteps echo from somewhere above, growing closer. Multiple sets of heavy boots on wooden stairs. I close my eyes and let my head loll to the side, trying to look unconscious. Maybe if they think I'm still out, I'll learn something useful.
The door opens with a squeal of rusty hinges.
"She awake yet?"
American accent. The voice is smooth but hard. It makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
"Don't think so. Tony hit her pretty hard with the sedative."
"Good. Let me have a look at her."
Footsteps approach. I keep my breathing slow and even, fighting the urge to flinch when fingers touch my face.
"Pretty little thing, isn't she? I can see what all the fuss is about."
The voice is closer now, right next to my ear. I can smell expensive cologne and something underneath it, something sick and twisted that makes my skin crawl.
"Shame she won't stay pretty for long."
A laugh, cold and empty. Then the footsteps retreat.
"Wake her up. I want to have a conversation."
Cold water hits my face like a slap. I gasp and sputter, opening my eyes to see three men standing over me. Two I recognize from the kidnapping—Tony with his broken nose and bandaged hand and another thick-set brute who looks like he bench presses small cars for fun.
The third man is different. Mid-forties, expensive suit, perfectly groomed in the way that screams money and power. He's got dark hair going silver at the temples and cold eyes that study me like I'm an interesting specimen.
Trace Harrington. Has to be.
"Good morning, Alastríona," he says, like we're meeting for tea instead of him having me beaten and kidnapped. "I hope you slept well."
I don't answer. I just stare at him, trying to project more confidence than I feel.
"Not much of a talker, are you? That's all right. I do most of the talking in these situations anyway."
He settles into a folding chair someone's brought down, sinking into it like he's perfectly comfortable. Like this is just another day at the office.
"You know who I am?"
Still nothing from me.
"Of course you do. Your new family's told you all about the big bad wolf who's been hunting them. The monster who killed poor Jerry Houlihan, who's been picking off the Gallaghers’ closest allies one by one."
The way he says it, so casual and matter-of-fact, makes my blood boil. Jer was a good man, and this bastard talks about killing him like discussing the weather.
"What they probably didn't tell you is why. Why I've declared war on your precious grandfather and everyone he cares about."
He leans forward his eyes fixed on mine. There's something hungry in his gaze, something that makes me want to shrink back against the wall.
"It's because of a woman. It's always because of a woman, isn't it?"
Ava. He's talking about Ava, the woman Freddie loved. The woman who betrayed them all.
"Her name was Ava. Beautiful, intelligent, perfect in every way. She was my wife, the love of my life, the mother of my unborn child."
The pain in his voice sounds genuine, which somehow makes it worse. He really loved her, this monster. Loved her enough to start a war when he lost her.
