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“Alright.” Plans are rapidly solidifying now. “Caruso, Enzo, and Robbie, you’re gonna take one of our tour guides here and disarm the patrolling guards. I don’t care if you have to bribe them or kill them. Just make sure they’re not a problem. Go.”
They nod and take off at a sprint, following one of the guards as he leads them onward. “Curse, you’re with me.” My brother nods, and we both turn to the remaining guard. “You’re going to take us to see your boss. Although he’s not going to be your boss for much longer,” I say, my lips curling in disgust, “because he’s about to fucking die.”
Chapter 44
Deirdre
The two men pull me through a large, sunlit lobby into a pretty sort of sitting room with a huge, glassless window that looks out over the dock and beach. The floors are pale hardwood, and white curtains flutter with the tropical breeze. Gorgeous, vivid flowers bloom in pots in corners and on tables. I stand in this beautiful room with my bleeding hands and knees and my ruined wedding dress and feel like I’ve stepped into an alternate reality.
That alternate reality feeling only intensifies when I see Bridget reclining on a white couch. The same Bridget who used to clean our house. The Bridget who’s been secretly fucking my dad for years.
The Bridget my dad chose to bring here with him instead of me. She sits up when she sees me, tossing her glossy chestnut hair behind her shoulders.
“Deirdre! Hi! Do you remember me?” She gets off the couch, the long skirt of her gauzy sundress rippling with the movement. She’s holding some kind of drink served in a coconut. Idly, I wonder what time it is here. She’s got to be drunk to be as happy to see me as she is. She’s acting like nothing’s weird about this at all.
I ignore her, my eyes tracking my father as he goes to stand beside Bridget. Mr. Brigham strides to a large wicker chair and settles himself into it with an audible “ahh” sound that makes my skin crawl.
Bridget and my father sit down on the couch, and Brigham’s two men leave the room. I stay standing in the centre of them all, silent and swaying on rubbery legs, wondering what the hell is going to happen now.
I feel like I’ve been locked into a castle with a moat, and the moat is the literal fucking ocean. Elio might not have even figured out I’m here yet. He could be wasting time fighting people like Darragh, if he’s even able to fight at all right now.
My stomach twists. If he isn’t alright…
I swallow bile, staring at my father.
“How about you look at me instead of him?”
I tense, slowly turning my gaze to Brigham. He leers at me, his thighs spread, his gaze like the thin blade of a knife.
“Come sit with me. You look lonely in the middle of the room like that. And I imagine that your legs must be feeling very weak after the drugs.”
He’s right. Right now the only thing keeping me upright is my locked knees and the strength of my bones. My muscles are barely more than jelly right now.
“Come here. Now.”
His expression goes cold. Sickeningly merciless. This cannot be happening. I’ve already gone through so much. And finally, with Elio, I thought… I thought…
I thought that maybe I could one day learn to be happy.
“If I have to come over there and get you then you will lose a finger,” Brigham says. “One for every second you keep me waiting.”
He’s not joking.
It’s a silly, childish, self-pitying thought, but suddenly I’m on the verge of sobbing, thinking about not being able to play violin anymore. What will Elio think if his Songbird can’t sing?
I won’t wait to find out. Forcing my body into mindless, mechanical movement, I walk until I’m standing right in front of Brigham. The leer is back, and my insides liquify with fear when I see unmistakeable thickness at his groin.
“I said sit.”
I spin like a ballerina in a box and then fall stiffly onto his knee, sitting as far forward on his leg as possible.
“Not like that.”
He locks an arm around my waist and drags me forcefully back until I feel the nauseating press of his erection against my ass. My father looks away, face red. Bridget sips her drink as if this shit happens every day, and I wonder what it normally is that happens in this place for her to look so blasé.
I already know that I don’t want to find out.
Brigham makes a horrific noise, something like an exhale of arousal that makes my hairs stand on end despite the warmth in here. He kneads fingers across the beaded bodice of my dress, moving downward, gathering the jagged edges of the skirt into his fists.
