Licking his lips, his eyes drift closed, a sigh of contentment following the movement as he releases a groan. “I’m gonna fuck each and every single one of her holes until she’s so crazed, she’s not gonna know which pain to concentrate on more: my cock brutalizing her inner flesh, or my blade sawing through her outer. And right about the same time she’s strugglin’ through her last breath, I’m gonna shoot my load all over that pretty little face of hers. Mind ya, this’ll take place after I’ve whispered your name into her ear, letting her know you’re the reason why she’s dying. I figure it’ll add a bit more torture to her final experience on this here earth. Can’t deny I’m one creative bastard.”
His smile slips away as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his desk. “I’ll tell ya what, Brockster. Though your girl’s death will be anything but slow, when I cut off her perky nipples, I’ll make sure to send ya one, gift-wrapped and all.” Folding his arms over his chest, he palms his chin and scratches at his stubble, his gaze squinting in mock thought. “You know what? Considering the circumstances, I’m gonna be a nice guy. I’ll pay the extra few bucks to ship it overnight, so as to ensure its freshness for you before it starts to rot away.” He rises, takes a bow, and steps in front of the camera, his face covering up the entire screen as he shakes his head. “Please, please. No need to thank me, bud. I figured it’s the least I can do. Besides, what are enemies for? I want ya to have something to remember her by before I zip through my list of your loved ones.” He sucks in a slow breath, his eyes hardening before he screams out, “Until then, no one, not a single soul around ya, can be too safe! Keep your eyes and ears open, fucker, because I’m comin’ your way. If not today, next week, next month, or next year, you’re gonna feel my wrath! One way or another, I’m ’bout to make the rest of your living days hell on earth!”
The screen fuzzes out, all traces of Derick disappearing as I try to breathe, try to think. Head fucked sideways, I swallow what feels like a bucket of nails, revenge roped around my muscles as a familiar voice whispers, “You know we have to kill him first, right?”
I spin and catch Ryder’s eyes, his filled with as much venom as mine as he approaches, cautiously taking the shotgun from my grip. He sets it on the coffee table, his face hardened into stone as he meets my stare. Though he’s on my shit list, his presence is welcomed, his visible need to take Derick down a filter of light to the darkness shrouding my entire being as I nod in response.
“How much of the video did you . . . see?” I ask.
“All of it,” he answers as he lifts his weary gaze to the television. “And it’s my fault that kid’s dead, not yours. The cocksucker was right. Had I let you get rid of the girl like you wanted, he’d still be alive.”
“Motherless,” I point out. “Don’t let what that asshole said or did fuck with you, Ashcroft. You hear me? Neither of us is responsible for that kid’s death. Derick is, got it?”
Though he nods in agreement, I can tell it’s eating at him as much as it is me, our stares locked on each other as we share a moment of grief for the kid. The kid whom we’ve never met, his face a mystery to us, but whose death is linked to my sins, the temporary moment of insanity that’ll forever change my world.
Lost as to why he would just show up out of nowhere, especially after the way we left off—not having spoken a word to each other on the way back home—I cock my head in question, already knowing the answer. “Amber called you, didn’t she?”
“Yeah.” A pause, hesitancy slowing his words. “She was a mess, bro, in absolute hysterics. I could barely make out what she was sayin’.”
Figures.
Still, I can’t blame her. The fear in her eyes when I told her to wait in my ride was unlike anything I’ve ever seen . . . unlike anything I ever want to see again. Set on making sure she’s never afraid like that another day in her life, I head into the kitchen, my brain exploding with thoughts of my next move to ensure her safety as Ryder leans his hip against the kitchen island.
“Madeline and Lee are downstairs with her,” he adds, placing his gun on the counter. “I was in the shower when Amber’s calls came in. By the time I got out, she’d hit my phone close to ten times. They knew something was up, so they insisted on taking a ride over here with me. I told them to wait with her until I knew everything was cool.”
I shoot him a look. “Did you—”
“No,” he interrupts, his hands held up in mock surrender. “I didn’t say shit to him, boss. Though he keeps prodding around, asking me tons of questions every goddamn chance he gets, he still has no clue what’s up.”
I nod, my gut churning with confusion. After I killed Dom and Bobby, Ryder and I discussed whether or not we should let Lee in on what happened. Though it was a tough decision, I’d decided it was a no-go. I didn’t want anyone knowing what I’d done, how I’d killed two men in an instant, not even Lee. Still, this shit changes everything. Not telling Lee what happened, keeping him from what’s sure to go down, can put him and Madeline in danger, their lives at risk from this second forward.
Either way I’m screwed, royally fucked with no easy way out of this mess. If I tell him about Dom, I have a potential loose cannon on my hands, someone who can turn around and use that shit against me somewhere down the road. Not that I think Lee would ever do that to me—the thought a vague, annoying whisper at best. But time and life’s brutal hand can change a person, their loyalty to friends and family tossed out the window when shit hits the fan. In the same breath, if I don’t let Lee in on every detail, I have a potential dead friend on my conscience, a buddy who’s risked his life for me chilling in the morgue as his, and possibly Madeline’s, demise rests on my shoulders.