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He spins to face me then, anger bleeding into his expression. "Watch your tone, boy." He looks as though he's trying to stretch himself to make up for the few inches I have on him.
"Where is my fiancée?"
He chuckles humorlessly. "Ottilie is inside, at the party. Is she not?"
Oh, fuck this.
I back my gun out of my waistband, taking advantage of the fact that my father was stupid enough to stand out here all alone. We're out of view and earshot of the party. His eyes widen a fraction of a second before my gun collides with the side of his head.
He staggers but doesn't fall, holding on to the railing as I hit him again. He's almost doubled over. I poke the barrel into the side of his neck, holding the collar of his shirt with the other. Blood spills onto his white tux.
I put our foreheads together, staring into his soulless eyes while he tries not to wince from the pain. How does it fucking feel, father? Images of him doing this very thing to me in his office, in front of Jeffrey, flash in my mind.
"I've been holding back," I say through clenched teeth. "For her sake. She doesn't like it when I get like this." I push the gun into his neck until I feel his windpipe. "So you'd better fucking tell me where she is, or I'll make you wish you died and met the Devil instead."
"You wouldn't dare," he says with a hissing sigh. "Not in front of everybody. Not when you don't even know if you're on my will."
"Do you think your fucking money matters to me, father?" The word is bitter in my mouth. "Without Alize I don't have a reason to live. I'd kill you a million times over if it meant I would always have her."
He chuckles.
The motherfuckerchuckles.
The blood from his head wound is trickling down onto my hands now, warm and wet. The coppery tang of it has my hair standing on edge. I want more of it.
I'm about to knock his fucking teeth out when he says, "Are you sure she feels that way about you?"
I narrow my eyes. "What?"
"Are you sure that if given the chance, she would be loyal to you like this? That she wouldn't just disappear to live her life without you?"
"What the fuck are you on about, old geezer?"
"How do you know she didn't run away from you?"
He's holding my gaze like he knows something I don't, and my stomach grows cold. What sort of game is he playing? Alize would never run away from me. My father doesn't know the entire story, either.
This is just one of his fucking tricks.
A cheap one at that, because Alize would never ever do such a thing.
Maybe she would have a few months ago. But not where we are right now.
Wesley interrupts us.
I've been so caught up with twisting the truth out of my father that I haven't even realised he had approached us. There's shock written all over his face, but I can't be sure if it's because he's seen that I'm about to kill my father.
"Y-you need to see this." Wesley practically hangs his head.
Guilt flickers on his features.
No.
I toss my father to the floor with a heave. He loses his balance and falls back. For all his bravado, the blood loss is clearly affecting him. I follow Wesley down the terrace, in the direction of the bathroom.
Stuart is standing by the steps that lead down into the garden below, his face solemn and unreadable. When I look down at my bloodied hands, they're shaking, so I clench them into fists.
My tongue is heavy, insipid.
