Page 109 of Ricochet

There was something to be said about the heart’s tenacity, it’s refusal to accept defeat and give up on what it desired most. Maybe it was my restored faith in love that drove me to fight for what I wanted, when I knew the battle was so much bigger than me.

Or maybe I was just bat-shit crazy.

“Fuck you.”

“Goddamn it, Cox. Don’t make me shoot your other shoulder. It’s a pretty sure bet I’ll hit the mark from this distance.”

His eye twitched, and he snatched the phone from my hand. “Your little boyfriend’s probably been skinned alive by now.”

I ignored his words and the urge to pummel his face.

“I want you to tell him you found me. And Achilleus X. Understood? Both of us.” As he lay beneath me, I pressed the barrel of the gun to the top of his head. “You fuck this up and you’ll be fishing for brains, fingers and toes across the floor.”

CHAPTER 49

Nick

Dark. Cold. I opened my eyes through the fog clouding my brain, to a room that shifted in and out of focus. Tugging my hands brought me to the realization that I’d been tied up.

A sharp angle pressed into my back, and I blinked past the fog to see the drill above my head. Binds bit into my forehead when I attempted to look down. I’d been strapped.

To an industrial-sized, vertical milling machine.

Culling’s face came into view, and that fucking smile I hated stretched his lips. “The infamous Eye for an Eye killer.” He lifted the black ski mask, before tossing it over his shoulder. “Welcome! I’ve waited a very a long time for you. Tell me, how should I address you? E-for-E? Alec Vaughn? Which do you prefer?”

“Nick. Nick Ryder.”

His eyes narrowed. “Nick Ryder is dead, my friend. A very trusted source assures me he was shot in the head.”

“Well, your trusted source is for shit. That, or you can see dead people.”

His lips pursed for a moment. “Whether you are, or not, your name is inconsequential to me. My police chief informs me you’ve been wreaking havoc on the Seven Mile Crew.”

“Man, fuck that crew.” The voice to the right of me told me there were more thugs in the room.

“My concern isn’t the Crew,” Michael continued. “My concern is that you’ve stolen my wife!” His lip curled into a snarl. “And I want her back!”

My mind made a mental rundown of any torture I’d been subjected to while I was out. No trouble breathing. Aside from a fading blur, I could see, so my eyes hadn’t been gouged. No nausea or numbness or tingling anywhere. “I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong man. See, I don’t plan to tell you shit.”

His snarl popped to an evil grin—one that warned of pain. “You know … the jig borer is said to have accuracy up to ten thousandths of an inch. I could essentially perform a lobotomy on you right here.”

“Brilliant. I’m sure I’ll have the wherewithal to remember where I stashed your wife after that.”

Eyes clamped shut, Culling rolled his shoulders and his nostrils flared. “You know, my father was a machinist. In fact, he worked in this very factory when I was a child. A lowly blue collar worker.”

“The hell kind of torture is this? Crucify me with a genealogical lesson on your goddamn family tree?”

I caught a flash of white, before pain rocketed through my jaw.

Culling flexed his fists and shook out his hand, as the dull ache throbbed in my teeth. “As I was saying … my father worked in a factory for years. When he came home, he drank until he could hardly keep himself on two feet. Every. Fucking. Night. And when he was drunk, he liked to seek out my mother, or me, if I happened to be in his way. Any reason he could find to beat the ever-loving shit out of the two of us, he would.” He paused for a moment, eyes narrowed. “On one occasion, I was given a gift. A ring from a young girl I’d befriended. Nothing particularly special, aside that I’d never received gifts. Never had a friend. Never understood the concept of friendship, until she came along. Even then, I struggled to see the benefit but found her … a curiosity.” Head bowed, he paced beside me. “My father, the bully that he was, found my ring and took it from me. When I fought to get it back, my mother stepped in. He murdered her in front of me. And for a week, he kept me tied to a machine in the shed, where he spent his drunken nights beating me. Torturing me. Doing whatever the fuck he wanted, because no one in that shithole neighborhood gave a fuck about another bastard child. They’re all white noise to the dysfunction that thrives in hellhole cities like Detroit.”

Realization hit my gut like a sledgehammer. “You’re … the boy. That Aubree told me about.”

His brows winged up, lips stretched into a weak smile. “Ah, you’ve had intimate conversations with my wife about me. I’m flattered.” He sniffed, licked his lips. “You know what the problem is with this city? It’s not the crime. It’s not lack of money. It’s really not even about blacks or whites.” Fingers curled into a fist, he stood beside me. “It’s lack of ambition. An entire class of lazy, ambitionless fucks, who have nothing better to do than go to the same miserable fucking job day after day, then come home and drink, and beat the shit out of their families.” With a sigh, he shook his head and went back to his pacing. “Eventually, I was found. After a week of hell, someone finally noticed I’d gone missing. I was taken away from my father and moved to the suburbs, raised by a stoic but successful man—a lawyer—and his wife. What a different life. I’d never dreamed of college before then. Never hoped to do more in life than become some fucking apprentice at a machine shop. And yet, look at me.” Hands brushing down his side, he tipped his head and smiled. “I run this fucking place now. I own this city. How ironic is that? The shop that owned my father, who owned me, is mine!” The smile on his face withered to a serious expression. “In all that time, I never forgot Aubree, though. Never forgot the little bitch who’d claimed to be my best friend, and yet, never said a word when I’d gone missing.” His stare, directed beyond me, told me he’d fallen into memories. “I came back for her. Found her. Stalked her night after night. Enrolled in one of her therapy classes. I decided to give back to her what I’d felt every night that my father came to mete out my punishment, while she’d lay cozy in her bed, sparing no thought to what happened to me at all.” The devious twist of his lips had me wishing I could break the binds and pummel his fucking face. “That hopeless feeling, when you wish someone would just fucking kill you already.”

He must’ve somehow manipulated her into feeling sorry for him. Guilt-tripping her into marrying him. No other reason could explain what the hell would make a woman like Aubree, as strong and bull-headed as she could be, fall for a psychotic asshole like Culling.

“The first job I took out of college was as an internist at my foster father’s law firm. With the money I earned, I paid a man in prison to murder my father. It was one less blue collar worker in the world. One less miserable, drunken asshole. And it occurred to me then, how brilliant a plan it was—to eliminate the middle class all together.” His finger pointed in the air, emphasizing his words. “Divide the city into rich and poor. And then have them kill themselves on the streets. Why have the good people pay to keep them locked up? Hand feed them in their prison cells. Survival of the fittest. Stop the breeding of complacency, and open the doors to prosperity and innovation.”