“You asshole!” Violet had risen to her feet, staring at the broken piece of technology, fury stamped all over her pale, delicate features. “That was my phone!”
Interesting. Her response was anger rather than fear. Another little fact to file away for future reference.
“Not any more.” He pocketed the SIM card for flushing down the toilet later. “I’m going to have a shower and get cleaned up. So sit down, shut up, and if you’re very lucky, I might tell you what you’re doing here.”
She did as she was told, but there were wild, blue sparks in her eyes.
Again, interesting.
He’d witnessed a few altercations that Violet had had with her parents, and her responses had always been of the ‘whatever, man’ variety. She’d never been as openly furious as she was now.
As if, for a moment, he was seeing a different Violet.
Or maybe what you’re seeing is the real Violet?
“Asshole,” Violet repeated, her expression still furious.
Christ, what did it matter what he was seeing? She was merely his hostage, and he didn’t give a shit what kind of person she was as long as she sat down, shut up, and did what she was told.
Elijah ignored her, turning and heading back toward the bathroom.
After he’d gotten rid of the SIM card, it took him a while to get clean, the pain making the shower a lesson in agony as he washed off the blood. Then he had to bind up the wound and get rid of his dirty, bloodstained clothes. It wasn’t until he pulled on a clean T-shirt, jeans, and a thick, black hoodie, that the pain began to subside from a shriek to a dull roar and he began to feel moderately human again.
It helped that the plan on how he could use Violet was coming together in his head.
He was still turning the details over, but he thought it might work. In fact, it fucking better since he really had no other options, thanks to Eva goddamn King, a really piss-poor decision, and lack of planning on his part.
He’d never expected Rutherford to not protect her. He’d never expected her to pick up the gun and shoot Fitzgerald herself.
Bitch.
Let it go. You can’t change it now and anyway, you have bigger fish to fry.
His anger coiled like a snake, shifting and turning.
Since losing Marie, he’d managed to divest himself of every single emotion. Anything that could hurt, anything that could undermine, he’d gotten rid of. Everything except anger. And that he’d kept sharp and bright, and most of all cold. He’d had to. After all, revenge took its time and hot rage burned itself out soon enough. Cold rage though, that kept going, kept sustaining.
And he was going to need all of it if he wanted to go through with the plan he was forming in his head right now. A plan that was bigger than merely crushing Fitzgerald.
A plan that took it right back to the source.
To Jericho.
Back out in the lounge, he found Violet frantically going through her purse, bits of crap strewn all over the couch. As he approached her, she had her hands in her lap and was bent over them, one hand twisted over, something clutched in her fingers.
It took him a moment to realize she was trying to get the handcuffs open with a hairpin.
He stopped not far from the couch and folded his arms, watching her. There was no way she was going to succeed, but a tiny part of him was vaguely impressed with her tenacity. Especially since it was clear by her movements that she’d never picked a lock in her entire life.
After a moment she stopped what she was doing and looked up. Color crept into her pale cheeks. Then she tossed the hairpin away and leaned back against the couch cushions, her expression changing from steely determination to barely masked boredom.
Ah, that’s the Violet he knew.
“It would never have worked,” he said flatly. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Yeah, well, that’s pretty fucking obvious.” Her turquoise gaze met his, then flickered away again. “So what am I supposed to do? Just sit here? Wait until you deign to tell me what you’re going to do with me?”
He ignored the questions, studying her instead. She was definitely scared, he could see little flashes of it leaking out from underneath the mask of sarcasm and anger she was desperately trying to hide behind.
Good. He was doing his job properly then.
“Yes. That’s pretty much exactly what you’re going to do.” He turned toward the kitchen area, sectioned off from the rest of the apartment by a big white wall.
“Tell me why I’m here.” Again the edge of desperation in her voice. “Tell me about Dad.”
“All in good time.” He had to get himself something to eat, something that would get rid of this fucking dizziness.
“No,” Violet demanded. “Now.”
He didn’t know what it was in her voice that made him stop and turn around, but he did.
She was sitting bolt upright on the couch, the look on her face blazing. Fear was there, yes, definitely, but a healthy measure of anger too.
Jesus, she had some nerve. Handcuffed and his prisoner, she was sitting there demanding answers like she had a right to them. Like she wasn’t merely the spoiled daughter of a man the Mafia would have been proud to call their own. A woman oblivious to the monster who’d given her life.
A poor little rich girl whose life had never been touched by darkness. An innocent.
The volcanic rage inside him flared.
Why should she remain untouched? What made her special? When her father had been the one who’d destroyed Elijah’s life. Who’d killed everything that made him human, everything he’d loved.
Why should she be spared anything?
“Your father died a few hours ago,” Elijah said coldly. “He was shot in the head.”
Violet blinked. “But … but, I—”
“You don’t understand, do you? You don’t know what he was.”
“What who was?” Her throat moved. “What are you talking about?”
There was no room for mercy in him anywhere. “Your father ran one of New York’s biggest crime rings. He had a string of drug dealers, ran underground casinos, and had been making it big in sex trafficking too.”
Her eyes went huge and black, her mouth falling open. “What?” she whispered faintly. “No, I don’t believe it.”
“Think about it, princess. Where do you think he got all his money from?” Elijah smiled. “Why do you think he had someone like me guarding him all the fucking time?”
She was starting to shake her head, all the fight draining from her eyes. “No … I don’t … I mean, I can’t…”
“Believe it. It’s all true. All that happening right under your pretty little nose. Your father was a murderer, princess. A rapist. A master manipulator. He was the devil himself.” Elijah paused, watching her face, seeing the shock set in. Once he would have felt regret for hurting her like this, for hurting anyone like this. But regret was something he’d long ago ceased to feel.
“He had plans for you too, did you know that?” Elijah continued. “You were never going to escape. He liked to use anyone and everyone for power, no one was exempt.”
She’d fallen silent, gone still, her only movement the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.
He wouldn’t spare her. No one had spared Marie.