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Vince ignored me, grabbing the phone beside the bed and ripping it and the cords from the wall with a hard yank before tossing it into the corner. Then, he casually picked up the remote from next to the television and walked over to the small table and chairs by the window.
He hit the power button, and the news suddenly flashed on. My eyes widened at the picture on the screen.
“That’s your—”
“Controlling, overbearing, thinks-he’s-always-right father,” he practically spat at the screen. “Idiot wouldn’t listen to me. Was so focused on keeping the peace with that stupid fucking club that he wouldn’t help me out.”
I sat in shock, reading the words as they moved across the screen.
Frank and Clarita Martelli found dead in their home. Law enforcement considers their deaths to be suspicious and are searching for an individual, though they have yet to release a name.
Oh God.
It all came rushing back, and I gripped the bedding underneath me. “You killed them.”
He grabbed the remote and sent it flying across the room, where it hit the wall and shattered into a couple of pieces. “He should have listened!” Vince roared, his chest heaving as his breathing became heavy and erratic. “For years, I’d been telling him how much money the family could be making from selling girls to overseas buyers. He said it was too risky and too many things could go wrong, but I knew if I could prove it to him, show him just how easy it could be, that he would finally see my true potential.”
I got it now.
Frank Martelli was intelligent and calculating. He was a man who was very distinguished and rarely let anyone see anything other than his absolute class.
Vince was the problem child—erratic, destructive, pure chaos—and constantly fought for his parent’s love and approval. He was probably the kid who was told to stay in their room while his parents had important guests around. He was probably the child who was constantly playing up and lashing out in the hope that someone would take notice of him.
He was the child who they attempted to silence.
However, as Vince got older and started to understand his father’s business, he wanted to be more involved. And to do that, he had to impress.
The fake name at the front desk made sense now. He was making these plans without his father’s knowledge, and Bishop had said the name Martelli was known far and wide.
He got to his feet, pacing the room.
“I found the girls. I spent months putting them out on the streets, training them—”
“Training them,” I exclaimed, my head instantly pounding harder. I pressed my fingers to my temple, trying to push through the pain. “You… you got them addicted to drugs and forced them to let men abuse their bodies if they wanted more!”
He spun around, his narrowed glare like ice, chilling me to the bone. “Sarah was just meant to be a plaything for me, but when you took Alice, I suddenly had a buyer and no girl.” He walked slowly toward me, and I clenched my fists. I could see where his thoughts were going and needed to do everything within my power to get the hell out of there before shit went sideways. “Then Sarah up and left me too,” he said through clenched teeth, standing at the edge of the bed.
I shook my head, scooting to the opposite side of the bed and getting to my feet.
I knew things were about to get bad because I was feeling incredibly weak, and he was enraged and standing between me and the only way out of the room.
“Do you know the kind of shit you’re starting?” I warned breathlessly. “Bishop and the club will go to war over this with your family. People are going to die. He is going to come for you.”
I wasn’t sure if baiting him was going to make things worse, but it felt like, at this point, there was already no way out. Vince was in a world of his own, and it was a long way from reality.
“Your Old Man is nowhere near as frightening as the man I sold you to,” he sneered, his face seeming to light up just a little. “You’re a little older than he originally wanted, but I made sure to let him know you would make up for it with your… expertise.”
I was going to be sick. There was no way.
No fucking way.
I didn’t escape from hell once, only to be sent back there by this psychotic bastard.
Lurching toward the small hotel room table, I grabbed the wooden chair and swung it hard, using every ounce of strength I had. Vince had nowhere to go, simply covering his head with his arms as it struck him.
“Fuck!” he cried in pain, but I was already stumbling past him and the bed toward the door. It wasn’t easy. My body had already been screaming at me to let it rest, yet now I was pushing it to its limits once again, my heart racing, pumping blood and adrenaline through my body as it prepared for either battle or bail.
Fight or flight.
