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“Come on, come on, come on.”
Nothing.
If it’s at all possible, Michael drives even faster. “I’m sorry, Zee, I never put it on silent, I swear.” I know he’s telling the truth—he never would have, knowing the girls might need us—but right now I’m not feeling very gracious. I’m feeling like I’m being pushed toward the edge of a very steep cliff and I’m doing everything in my power to prevent myself from falling over the edge. I give him a tight glance out of the corner of my eye, waiting. Waiting for the sound of the ring, ringing in my ear to turn into Sloane Romera’s beautiful fucking voice.
It just keeps on ringing.
Part of me is being sensible, reminding me she could have wanted anything. There are a million reasons why she could have called Michael, but the rest of me knows better. That’s not how things in my world work. It’s always been the most dire outcome; the most serious result; the most dangerous consequence.
“Should we call Rebel back? He might get there before—”
“He’d better not get there before us. It had better not take us more than another few minutes to get back to that girl, otherwise I’m going to start breaking things,” I tell him. I’m fighting hard right now. I'm battling not to get seriously fucking mad at him—accidents happen, the buttons on cell phones get knocked onto silent mode all the time—but it's proving very difficult. I suck in a deep breath, blow it back out again. “Look, it's fine. I'm sure she just wanted to tell—” The ringing suddenly stops; I hear the click of the line connecting.
“Zeth, where the hell are you?” Sloane's voice sounds stressed and angry, but it's still a relief to hear. “You need to get back here right now.”
“I'm coming. What's happened, Sloane?”
There's a pause, and then my worst fears are confirmed. “You have a visitor. Your former employer has broken down the door and is now demanding that Lacey goes with him.”
This can’t be fucking happening. “What? Why does he want to take Lace?”
“You do not want to know. He—” There's a scuffling sound, scraping, shouting, a high-pitched scream—not Sloane’s—and the muffled sounds of a cell phone being fumbled.
“Hello, son. I ’ear you’re having a bit of trouble getting hold of your Mrs. I have to say, seeing her close up like this, I can understand what all the fuss is about now.”
My blood is boiling in my veins. “Stay the fuck away from her, Charlie. I mean it.”
“Oh, come on now.” He sounds almost offended. “What, don’t ya think it’s about time I met your beautiful girlfriend? Honestly, I’m nowhere near as bad as you’ve made me out to be in your ’ead, son.”
That’s fucking laughable. “Charlie, I used to kill people for a living and even I think you’re evil incarnate, now get the fuck away from her.”
“Alright, alright. I can sense there’s going to be drama here. I know ’ow sensitive you can be.”
There’s talking in the background. Women talking and someone raising their voice. It sounds like Lacey. “If I come back there and you’ve hurt a hair on either one of their heads, I will skin you alive. That’s a promise. I’ll skin you alive, and I’ll fucking enjoy it, motherfucker.”
Charlie tuts. “That’s a very nasty name,” he says. “Though I can’t say it’s totally undeserved. You don’t have a thing to worry about, though, my boy, I promise you. The Duchess is coming off life support. She’s gonna die today. I’ve sworn off all killing, maiming and actual bodily harm for the next twenty-four hours in ’er honor.”
So the Duchess is finally on the outs. That’s hardly a surprise. However, if that’s the case, what the hell is Charlie playing at? He should be with her. “Why are you at that apartment, Charlie? Charlie? Charlie!”
The line is dead. Charlie’s gone, and he’s at the apartment with the only two people in the world who mean anything to me. I suddenly feel vicious, like I want to soak my hands in blood. The blood of absolutely anyone who thinks twice about coming between those girls and me. I throw the phone into the foot well between my feet and press my fingertips into my forehead. This is fucked. This is so, so fucked.
“Get me to that apartment right now, Michael. Run every red. Break every speed limit. Get me to that fucking apartment.”
*******
Charlie Holsan is a fucking pig. I’ve never thought ill of anybody so badly that I’ve wanted to see them suffer. It’s sick to admit this, but I don’t even hate the guys who took my sister as much as I hate this man. I despise him all the more right now because he has let Lacey out of her room and is currently walking out of the front door with her.
I feel so pathetic; there’s nothing I can do to stop them from leaving. My wrists are locked behind my back, tied together, burning like crazy. “Lacey, please don’t do this.” I’ve been trying to appeal to her common sense, but it seems to have fled her entirely. She’s looking up to this guy like he’s the freaking Dalai Lama, not the murderous, vile piece of scum that he is. Charlie’s got his two asshole henchmen—the same ones who I dealt with back at my place what seems like forever ago—standing in between Lace and me, blocking my path. One of them is clutching his right arm with a look of violence in his eyes—directed at me, of course.
