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"Informant?" she mumbles through the pain. "Don't know what you're talking about. I don't know anything, and I didn't do anything."
Her denial rings hollow in my ears, another lie to add to her collection. One of my men grabs her by the chin, squeezing hard as he gets in her face. "The butler said you wanted Jackson dead. Why?"
To my surprise, she laughs before spitting blood on his face. "Jackson was an asshole who treated people like shit. I didn't kill him, but I send my thanks to whoever did."
She laughs again before groaning in pain as he hits her. The amusement in her eyes vanishes, replaced by a gleam of defiance that fuels my anger.
My men ramp up their efforts, their hands relentless and forceful as they continue their assault. Every strike, every harsh word, seems to magnify her screams until her agony fills the room like a haunting song. The air thickens with her cries, and it's a chilling reminder of the monstrous path I've chosen. I feel a twinge of something, regret, perhaps, but it's quickly smothered by the flames of my vengeance. Her pain is a necessary evil, a means to an end. The truth has to surface eventually, no matter the cost.
"Are you working with the Hawthorns?" he asks, and her eyes snap to him with even more confusion.
"Hawthorns? What do they have to do with anything?" she asks.
Her response leaves me questioning my men's tactics. Then, her eyes widen before she puts up a weak struggle.
"If you've hurt Seraphina, I will kill you!" she threatens.
Her words echo in the room, a chilling promise that roots me to the spot. I sit up straight, my body rigid as her words send a shockwave through my system. The confusion in her eyes and the tone of her voice all paint a picture of genuine surprise.
She has no idea about the informant or the Hawthorns. Her concern is elsewhere. She speaks of her friend with such worry, such fear. A chilling realization creeps up my spine, causing my heart to stutter in my chest. Is it possible that Isabella had no hand in my brother's murder?
Then, why would she run? A treacherous thought nags at the back of my mind, casting a shadow over my newfound doubt. Could this all be a ruse? Is she merely a talented actress playing her part to perfection? The thought is both tantalizing and terrifying. The room around me blurs as my mind races, trapped in a whirlwind of confusion and skepticism.
"Enough," I say, silencing the screams and the sounds of struggle. My men halt mid-action, turning their eyes to me. "Clean the tools. We're done for the day." I keep my face impassive and my tone unyielding. I can't afford to reveal the storm of thoughts brewing in my mind.
I can see their surprise, but they don't question my orders. They know better. I watch them clean up in silence, and my gaze never leaves Isabellas. She's panting, collapsing back and hanging as they release her. Her face is a mask of pain, but there is a stubborn light in her eyes that refuses to fade.
"Leave two men to guard the place," I order, standing from my chair and walking towards the door. I pause at the doorway, turning back to look at the gruesome scene one last time. "We resume tomorrow."
As I leave the room, I can feel their eyes on my back, but I keep my stride steady and my posture straight. It's crucial now more than ever to maintain control, to project an image of uncompromising command. No matter the doubts gnawing at the back of my mind, I can't afford to let them see I'm anything less but control.
As I step into the chill of the night, the door slams shut behind me. I pull my phone from my pocket and dial Victor's number. The ringing echoes in my ear, a sharp contrast to the quiet around me.
"Victor," I say into the phone. "Pick up Daniel Hawthorn and meet me at our other warehouse."
There's a moment of silence before he answers. "Are you sure, boss?"
I feel a growl rise in my throat. "Yes, I'm sure." I snap. I end the call before he can respond.
In the stillness of the night, my car roars to life, cutting through the quiet as I speed away. My thoughts whirl in my head in a chaotic storm that refuses to be tamed. The image of Isabella, bloodied and broken, flashes in my mind over and over, each time followed by a pang of remorse that cuts through me.
If she's innocent... The thought hangs in the air like a haunting reminder of the mistake I could be making. I've lived by one rule. I don't hurt innocents. The thought of breaking it, of causing pain to someone who doesn't deserve it, claws at me. If Isabella is indeed innocent, if she had nothing to do with this... I wouldn't be able to forgive myself.
The city lights blur past in a colorful haze that mirrors the confusion in my mind. As the distance between Isabella and me grows, so does the weight of my actions. The night stretches out ahead of me, filled with uncertainty and regret, a mirror to the turmoil within me.
13
CHAPTER 13
Damien
I skid to a halt in front of the warehouse, with dust billowing in my wake as a gritty announcement of the hastiness of my arrival. Not wasting any time, I step out of the car and slam the door shut behind me. The familiar scent of oil, metal, and damp earth wafts toward me as I head inside.
The warehouse greets me like a long-lost friend, with its darkness wrapping around me like a blanket. The silence is deafening, broken only by the occasional drip of water onto the cold concrete. The place holds an essence of death, a chilling aura that clings to its very core. It's a menacing presence that’s noticeable, lurking in the corners, hiding in the cold steel of the abandoned machinery, whispering in the echo of my solitary footsteps. Victor's figure emerges from the shadows with a sense of urgency marking his features.
"Daniel's waiting," he says, his voice echoing in the hollow space. "Wasn't easy to get him, so make it quick, boss."
I nod in acknowledgment. This might be the key to unraveling all the mysteries, the final piece of the puzzle. I walk towards Daniel, each footstep echoing through the silence, and a sinister smile etches onto my face when I see him.
