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The man on the floor trembled at his approach.
He stopped, gave a long hard stare, and then slammed his boot into the man’s side.
The man toppled over while giving a restrained scream.
Then Bartholomew rested his boot right on top of his head, like a man conquering an unknown land, and pushed down a bit, squeezing the man’s head against the floorboards.
Jesus Christ.
“Speak your truth, Bayard.” Bartholomew put down more weight, making the man squirm as he tried to relieve the pressure from his military boot. “Choose your words carefully because they’ll follow you wherever you end up.”
What did that mean?
“It wasn’t me,” he said in a strained voice. “How many times do I have to tell you, you got the wrong guy?”
Bartholomew went still, staring down at the man with that detached expression. “Got the wrong guy, huh?”
The man’s eyes were wide, unsure what he would do next.
I didn’t know what he would do next either.
“The. Wrong. Guy.” Bartholomew removed his boot then stepped back, arms at his sides, slowly nodding like he was digesting information. “Let’s see about that.” He turned and landed his gaze on me. It was like a fishhook right in my lip. It snagged me and dragged me forward to his side. “Camille, do you recognize this man from the charity dinner at the palace?”
My eyes stayed on Bartholomew.
His head cocked sideways slightly, his eyes demanding my incrimination.
My testimony would decide this man’s fate. I would either be responsible for his life or his death.
He nodded to one of his men.
The guy on the floor was forced upright so his face was on display.
I did recognize him. Instantly. He’d worn a loud purple tie that pained my eyes.
He recognized me too. It was obvious in the way his eyes contracted. Then they pleaded. Pleaded for mercy.
“Camille.” Bartholomew demanded my answer.
I didn’t know what this guy had done, but I didn’t want to be the one to pull the trigger. “I-I’m not sure.”
The man closed his eyes in overwhelming gratitude.
The room was already silent, but somehow, that silence deepened. The look on Bartholomew’s face was indescribable. He always wore an impassive face, but this was the first break in that habit. He took one step toward me, his heavy boots making a distinct thud. He took another step. Another thud. Then he stopped directly before me, his eyes burning with ferocity. “Fuck with me again and see what happens. This is your only warning.” He lowered his voice, speaking so only I could hear the horrifying threat.
Cauldron could be scary at times. So could Grave. But Bartholomew…was different.
Bartholomew stepped away. “Camille.” Now he raised his voice, his anger getting to him. “Do you recognize this piece of shit on my floor?”
The man started to shake, knowing his death was sealed.
I had to watch a man burn me with his gaze while another man begged for his life. And this all happened in silence. But I knew Bartholomew was already aware of this man’s betrayal, so my lie wouldn’t spare him anyway. “Yes…I recognize him.”
It all happened so fast.
Bartholomew moved like an animal, jumping on the man on the floor and slamming his boot down into his head. Over and over.
I gave a gasp and ran out of the room, hearing the screams as they followed me.
