“Yes, darling?”
“I think I love you.”
42
James
She loves me. And she’s the first person, apart from my mother, who’s ever said those words.
I hadn’t realized until now just how much I needed to hear them. But instead of saying it back, I kissed her silly and gave her food and roses, like that would make up for the fact I couldn’t get the words to pass my lips. Not that I don’t feel them; I do. I just don’t know how to say them. And therein lies the problem.
But even though fear beats against my soul, worried she’ll take the words back, or still think I’m using her for some other purpose, I push it deep down, because what I’m about to partake in has nothing to do with love.
My eyes take in the three men who are bound and gagged, chained to the walls in the basement of The Lagoon. They’re naked, their pathetic bodies shivering from the dank concrete floors and the cold AC that blasts through the vents.
I walk toward them, the clack of my shoes the only sound other than their whimpers, and my fingers flex inside my gloves. My eyes glance down, scouring along their skin, searching for the mythical mark.
And when I find it, I wish I never had.
It’s exactly as Tommy described; a gold pocket watch with a crocodile wrapped around the face. The sight of it makes me ill. This seems personal. But how is it possible that someone knows? Then again, how is it possible for this to be a coincidence?
The twins walk up to the three men, ripping the black cases off their heads, and tearing the tape from their lips. Their eyes widen as they see me, standing in the middle of the room, watching them.
“Hello, boys.” I grin. “Lovely tattoos. Tell me…” I tilt my head. “Where did you get them?”
None of them speak.
“Ah.” I click my tongue. “The silent treatment. I see.” My hands rest on my hips as I blow out a breath. “Well, I was hoping to do this the easy way, but I can see now that isn’t going to work.”
One of them spits at my feet. “Get fucked, Hook.”
I raise my head to the ceiling, chuckling. “Now, there’s no need to be rude.” I slide my knife from my pocket, twirling it in my hand. Turning, I nod to the twins who walk to the far wall, retrieving three buckets.
“Normally, I enjoy this type of back-and-forth. But you see, I’m a little perturbed, because there’s somebody trying to ruin my good mood. And I heard that you gentlemen might know who that is?”
The buckets clank against the floor, as the twins set them down by the men’s sides.
I walk forward, crouching in front of the one who spit, rage twisting my features into a wide grin. “Twins,” I say without breaking my stare from the man before me. “Would you mind bringing me our guests?”
“You got it, boss.” A fourth bucket appears, scratching sounds and squeaks coming from the inside.
“Do you hear that?” I cup my ear with my hand. “They sound excited.” Reaching inside the bin, I pick up a small, furry animal, its tail flicking against the sleeve of my suit. I bring it up to my face, staring at its small, beady eyes. “Probably on account of how hungry they are.” My gaze slides back to the pathetic traitor who’s chained to my wall. “After all, rats always know when they’re on the brink of death.”
I place the first rodent inside the bucket next to the man, before grabbing another one from the bin, and repeating the process, until there’s half a dozen there, scratching at the sides, attempting to escape.
The twins appear, handing me a long lighter before moving forward, picking up the bucket and flipping it upside down until it rests on the man’s stomach. They crouch down, their forearms resting along the rim, ensuring it stays in place.
The man squirms, no doubt feeling the rats skittering along his skin.
“Now,” I say. “I’m going to ask one more time nicely. Who gave you that tattoo?”
The man’s body shakes, pathetic whimpers leaving his mouth, but still he doesn’t speak.
“Very well. I do wish you had shown that type of loyalty to me, but I respect it all the same.” I flick on the lighter. “Do you know what happens when you starve a rat?” I ask, smiling at the pathetic waste of space. “They don’t generally need much food. But if you withhold for long enough, you’ll find that they become rather ravenous.”
The first scream pierces the air shortly after I put the flame to the bottom of the bucket, heating it from the outside in. I raise my voice to talk over the noise. “Add a little bit of heat, and they become frenzied in their need to escape.” I chuckle. “I think you’ll find they’re quite the survivalists. They’ll even take to chewing on flesh… and intestines… and bone.”
“Stop!” he screams, “Please! God! It was a wo-woman!”
I keep the flame lit, the bloodlust overtaking my brain until red seeps in the corner of my eyes, and my heart pumps out nothing but vengeance against all who dare to go against me.
“I already know it was a woman, you blithering fool. Tell me something useful before I let them eat you whole.”
But it’s too late, his eyes rolling back in his head, losing consciousness as the rats feast on his middle.
Sighing, I take away the flame and look to the other two chained-up fools. “Who’s next?” I smile, twirling the lighter between my fingers.
“The woman,” one of them rushes out. “She worked at the bar.”
My movements freeze, insides squeezing tight. “What bar?”
“Yours!” he cries. “The JR.”
I crack my neck, letting out a long, loud laugh, disbelief running through my veins. Because there’s no way this man is saying what I think he is. That the woman is not Tina Belle, nor is she a stranger. I rush over to him, my fingers gripping his jaw, my knife out in a flash, slicing against his cheek.
“Please,” he begs.
“Do not lie to me,” I demand. “Are you insinuating that someone has been taking advantage of my hospitality?” I ask, fire brimming behind my eyes. “What is her name?”
His body trembles beneath my grasp, his hiccups and heavy sobs making his words sputter.
“Tell me!” I spit, my knife pressing deeper, drips of his blood running down his face.
“Moira!” he cries. “Her name is Moira.”
43
Wendy
“Wendy?”
Relief flows through me when I hear Jon’s voice. I was in the shower, and when I got out and saw that I had missed his call, I started blowing him up until he answered, not wanting to do anything until I heard him speak.
“Jon, hi,” I breathe down the line. “How are you?”
“I’m okay.”
“I miss you so much, my dude.” My voice cracks, the emotions from the past few weeks bubbling over. “I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to call until now.”
“Oh, it’s okay, James told me you were sick.”
My breath stalls. “Ja… what?”
“Yeah, he said that’s why he was calling to check on me instead. Listen, I really don’t need babysitters.”
My heart explodes in my chest, my mind racing at what he’s saying; at what that means.