“There a purpose to this visit, or are you just here to make sure I haven’t killed off before you could get answers?”
He smiled, and honestly…if he wasn’t such a prick, I’d almost think he was the more attractive of them. He doesn’t have shit on Malek, but I’m too upset to even think about his charming fucking face right now. I hope he’s alive so I can bash it in.
“I came to see if you were ready to talk.”
I raised my knees and stared at the wall where Bridget’s mattress laid. “Depends. What’s in it for me?”
“Other than five or six funerals?”
I scoffed and laid on the moldy, disgusting excuse for a bed. “You’re probably the worst kidnapper in the history of kidnappers. And you’re not even hot, so sadly, you don’t have the dirty fantasy aspect going for you either. You gotta give to get, asshat. You wanna know where your brother’s sorry ass body is? Gimme proof of life and at least a turkey sandwich. I’m pretty sure I’ve got a couple more hours.”
“Ya talk a big game for somebody sleepin’ in her own offal. Jonas is a bit more kind than me, lass. She was prettier than you…Americanrubbish.”
Shavonn…he’s talking about Shavonn. Well. Score one for asshole. That stung.
“Could say the same for you. You talk a big game for somebody enjoying the freedom of a country he obviously hates,but refuses to go back to wherever he came from. American dream too good for ya?”
“Soith bhréan…”
Yeah, it’s only sexy when he does it. Pretty sure I just threw up in my mouth a bit.
“English please.”
“I said, foulbitch. And you want your proof, or not?” I sat up, watching him turn a phone towards me, and there sat Leviticus House. Time was stamped in the bottom corner. Took me a minute to realize it was a live video feed from a dash cam. I could hear someone eating and a radio turned down low.
“And how do I know they’re safe inside?”
“By the lack of a phone call or a text with their kill order. Where the fuck is Kendall?”
The video feed glitched, sputtering out, and he looked at it in confusion. I found myself doing the same, darting my eyes from the screen to his face.
“What’s happening?”
“Don’t know. Feed’s out.” He dismissed the camera feed and brought up a number, hitting call and pressing it to his ear. A few seconds later, he lowered it. The call isn’t going through. “Fuckin’ basement. I’m goin’ upstairs. I’ll come back with somethin’ to eat, and when I do…you’re talkin’, or I’llmakeyou talk. Jonas might be keen on playin’ games, mate…but I’m not. I don’t care how long he gave you.”
“Whatever.”
I went to lay back down as he turned and started to walk down the hallway, but we both nearly jumped out of our skin at the sound of gunfire—and a lot of it. Directly above me.
God help me, I wanna hate him right now…but I know in my heart it’s him.
Malek came for me.
My fingers are gripping the bars to the door so hard that they ache with cold and pressure. It sounds like an all-out bloodbath upstairs, and this nameless fucker went to go investigate, only to hide out like a pussy at the end of the hall. He’s tried several more times to get that phone to work, and I can tell he’s nervous. Small light at the end of the fucking tunnel for me. He knows what’s coming for him. Even worse? I think he came down here unprepared. He was under the impression that he’d come talk shit and report back to his brother, but…now he’s stuck without anything to protect him except his hands. It’s all I can do not to laugh.
A handful of Irish curses I’ve grown accustomed to hearing Malek say are flying out of his mouth and I’m betting he’s pulled a few wads of his hair out, pacing back and forth at the end of the hall. This is karma at its finest. And the silver lining is that it seems like he can’t make a call to hurt my family just to spite me or get at Malek. My excitement was short-lived when he turned towards me, storming towards the door and I stepped back, letting go of the bars.
“If I’m goin’, ‘yer goin’ down with me, Princess. He’ll find you about as alive as his other bitch.” My heart thrashed, and any snarky retort was lost on my tongue as he jammed a key into the lock. I can fight, and probably kick some ass with the help of adrenaline, but…he’s obviously stronger and bigger than me, muscular, and brought up in violence. I’m not gonna last five minutes. I breathed raggedly, and prayed to God somebody could hear me past all the racket upstairs.
“Malek!”I screamed, hoarsely.“Malek, I’m down here! Hurry the fuck up!”
The only response was more gunfire and Armageddon above us. I backed myself to the farthest wall, my chest heaving while I watched dipshit struggle with the lock—and then it hit me.
His key isn’t fucking working. He can’t get in here.
“Fuck!”
I guess the key doesn’t unlock both doors…how am I getting this lucky?
