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“Why?”
“Because his brother’s a sadistic, psychopathic fuck who terrorized him and his family. A bully. A thug. Pearl’s father wasn’t exactly a legit businessman, but he was smart. Wealthy. Bernard King is a loose cannon. No one wants to do business with him. Be associated with him.”
I cock my head, watching as Brad tries and fails to restrain his anger. “The Russians and Mexicans do. And that speaks for itself.”
Brad eyes me briefly. He agrees. “King killed Pearl’s dad in a rage when she was ten. Made it look like a drunk-driving accident. Her mother ki—” It looks like he’s shaking something out of his head while clearing his throat. Jesus fucking Christ, please don’t say what I think you’re going to say. “Her mother killed herself and left Pearl in the sole care of King when she was thirteen.”
Everyone looks both engrossed and really fucking worried, and they don’t even know Brad’s mother committed suicide. Jesus Christ.
“Her father’s twenty-million-pound estate was left in a trust fund until Pearl turns twenty-five, so King had to wait until then to force the sale.”
“Or kill?—”
“He’d gotten away with one murder and a suicide. It was too risky.” Brad’s head drops. “He did . . . things.”
“Like what?” I ask, feeling everyone’s shocked eyes shoot my way.
Including Brad’s. “Don’t make me say it.”
“I need you to say it. I need everyone here to know and understand the gravity of your burning anger right now.” I stand. “I need everyone to know what we’re dealing with and how gruesome King’s death will be.”
Brad’s breathing becomes heavy. “He put a tracking chip in her neck so she couldn’t run away. He put a fishing hook through her lip so he could reel her in to him.” Sweat starts to bead on his forehead. Pearl’s piercing. A fucking fishing hook? “He punched her in the side of her head because he simply felt like it. Knocked her out. Put her in a crate and fed her from a bowl like a dog. Your average, everyday child abuse. Depending on his mood, of course. On a good day, he’d lock her in the outhouses in the dead of winter with no clothes.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
Goldie’s head goes into her hands, Ringo’s cheeks balloon, and Otto strokes at his beard, his lips straight. James is expressionless. But utterly disgusted.
“He lived like a lord on Arnold Kennedy’s estate. Parties, shootouts, blowing things up. He kept Pearl as a pet. Then, I assume, he was introduced to the dark web and hit the one-hundred-million-dollar jackpot.” Brad laughs, a little manic, a lot in agony. “And do you know what’s most fucked up?” he asks the room. “Pearl wanted to go. She thought she was getting away from the evil fucker. She thought it would be better with her new owner.” He laughs harder, his fists balling. He’s going to explode. “But it wouldn’t have been, would it? It would have been the same, but with the added bonus of being raped every day.” He swings around and punches the wall. “Fuck!”
I don’t go to him. I stay well clear. I’m wondering how the fuck he’s still here and not on a manhunt.
“And now he’s not been paid, he wants his pet back, intact, and the fucker has my son too.” He falls back against a wall and looks up at the ceiling. Sweating. But I can’t let him focus on his anger and hurt for too long. It’ll eat him up inside—he needs to trust me on that. I’m sure James is thinking the same.
“The guy who came to the club looking for her,” I say, my plan working, Brad’s attention piqued instantly. “He had nothing on him?”
“A phone. It was empty.”
“Odd.”
“I gave it to Otto.” Brad looks at him.
As do I. “You knew about this?”
“I was given a phone,” Otto says. “I looked into it. Came up with nothing. I didn’t know I had to run everything past you.”
I feel my lip twitching to curl. Now is not the time to pick a fight with Otto. Or is he picking a fight with me? Feels like it. “Where’s the body?” I ask, slowly tearing my eyes from Otto to Brad.
“Nolan got rid of it.”
“Oh, so Nolan knew about it too?” I ask. “The fuck, Brad?”
“What did you want me to do, Danny?”
“Talk to me!”
“Oh, like you talked to me when Rose got inside your head? Like you talked to me when you fucked off to Winstable to meet the Romanians on your fucking own?”
I back down instantly. Fuck. I was protecting Rose. Protecting him. God, how is that nearly four years ago? I remember Brad looking like he was having a fit on the driveway as I drove away. I push my lips out, sulking. “Rose was planted. I was worried you’d kill her if I told you all the sordid details.”
