Firethorne

Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

Damien

I gave her twenty-four hours to cool down. I had cameras set up in every corner of the apartment, so I knew she was okay. I checked on her and watched her for most of the day as she paced the floor and scoured the apartment for a way out or for something she could use as a weapon. She wasn’t successful, but I got a sick fascination from watching her squirm. My little captive had more fight for survival than I thought she would when I first met her. I admired her spirit. It'd help her in the long run.

As I pushed the door open and entered the apartment, she shot up from the sofa, charging over to me.

“Let me out,” she snarled, like a rabid dog ready to rip me to shreds, and when the door closed and locked itself behind me, I grinned and said, “Oops,” she threw her whole body at me, nails ready to gouge like claws, arms to fight, legs to kick. But she was tiny, and I was six-foot-two. She didn’t stand a chance.

I caught her in my arms, twisted her and lifted her in the air, her back to my front, with her legs kicking as I whispered in her ear, “Calm down, little one. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Don’t fucking patronise me,” she growled, as she clawed and scratched at my arms, but I managed to put her back on the sofa, and as she huffed angrily and blew her hair from her face, I smiled.

“Sarcastic, yes... but patronising?” I shook my head. “Never.”

“Why are you here?” she asked, sitting forward, her eyes beads of fury as she glared up at me.

“To check you’re okay.”

“Don’t act like you care.”

“I don’t. Act, I mean. I leave that to Lysander.” I shrugged, knowing that would piss her off, but I couldn’t help it. I liked her feisty side.

“Fuck you,” she barked.

And I smirked. “You really need to work on your putdowns. There’s a whole lot of cuss words you could use instead of fuck. Mix it up a little. Call me a cunt, a bastard, a motherfucker, even.” I cocked my head. “You like that f-word, don’t you?” I laughed because I knew she was holding her tongue, trying not to tell me to go fuck myself.

“You told me you saved me,” she said. “If that’s the case, why are you keeping me here like a fucking prisoner? And why”—she gripped the edge of the sofa like she was holding herself back from launching at me again—“didn’t you warn me back at Firethorne that I was in danger? Because you did know that, right? You said so yourself, yesterday.” Then her eyes darkened as she lowered her gaze at me. “I’m guessing it was you that left the dead rat on my doorstep with the message, telling me, ‘They’re all liars here’. Did you really think that’d work? Did you think that was enough to drive me away? And the writing on my bathroom mirror...”

This wasn’t going the way I wanted it to.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” I snapped.

“You didn’t do enough though, did you?” she hissed through her teeth, and I took a breath, took a moment to calm the demons that were rising inside. Clawing their way out of the graves that I’d kept them buried in for a long time.

She shook her head as I stood there watching her, holding my tongue and waiting. “I can’t believe I ever had a moment of weakness with you. I can’t believe I let you touch me.”

“We all have moments of weakness,” I replied, smiling through the anger bubbling under the surface. “Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

“Oh, I don’t,” she replied. “I know you took advantage of me.”

It was my turn to let the rage reign, and I balled my fists, wishing I could punch a fucking wall.

“I don’t remember you using the word ‘no’, Maya. In fact, I seem to remember you telling me you wanted it, making all those little noises as you ground your soaking wet pussy on my hand.”

Her cheeks blushed at my words, but her face glared as her eyes burned at me. If she could strike me dead right now, she would.

“I know the truth,” she said. “My eyes are wide open to what you are.”

“Which is?” I couldn’t help but goad her.

“You’re your father’s little monster. His bastard.” She grinned wickedly as she added, “You’re right, it does feel good to use other words to describe you.”

I’d been called a bastard more than my own name for most of my life, so that insult rolled off me like water off a duck’s back. But when she said, “Lysander has done more to save me than you ever could,” I knew she was trying to poke the beast inside me.

“Lysander did fuck all to help you, and do you want to know why? Because he doesn’t have a clue what our father does for a living. He has no idea what happens behind that fucked up curtain in Firethorne Manor. The curtain my father likes to hide behind. Lysander spends his days in his studio, pretending to be an artist, trying to fill the emotional void his daddy left him with when he told him he didn’t love him and called him a failure. And when he’s not painting his shitty landscapes, he’s in the nearest town, fucking his way through every barmaid, shop girl, anything with a pulse, actually. He’s not fussy.”

“I don’t believe you,” she replied with scorn in her voice.

“I don’t give a fuck whether you believe me or not, but I’ve got no reason to lie. He wasn’t trusted with the family business like I was. I was fourteen when my father showed me what it was all about.” Her eyes went wide. “That’s right. He might be a failure, but he was still the golden boy. The one he wanted to protect. And me? I was the bastard. You’re right about that part. I was the one he thought had the balls to take over from him when he died. The dark one, quiet, trustworthy, with an edge he could manipulate... or so he thought.”

“And you took the reins so well,” she snarled.

“I took fuck all. Those reins are ready to be cut, the chains broken. Not everything is black and white, Maya. And that’s where I live, deep inside the murky grey shitstorm we call life. Being a shadow. Keeping secrets, twisting lies. He trusts me, and I’ve worked for over a decade to make that happen, to maintain it. You can’t fuck up hell unless you take a trip there. I’m a trojan horse. Only, I don’t need to enter my Troy, I play in the devil’s lair every fucking day.”

“If that’s the case, why haven’t you stopped him already?” she asked, with a furrowed brow, judgment and condemnation clear on her face.

“I’m working on it.”

“But it’s not enough. And why haven’t you stopped men like The Butcher? Because he’s still out there, preying on innocent victims.”

“Because Rome wasn’t built in a day, Maya.” I threw my head back, trying to calm myself. “Rome wasn’t built in a fucking day, and neither was my organisation. I live in the real world, not some fucking Hollywood movie. You don’t go in all guns blazing, take these people out and everything stops. It takes time. Work. Strategy. It takes patience. My father has bosses. The butcher has contacts, a network. If I take them out, I don’t get any higher up the chain. The bosses, the really evil fuckers, they’ll just move on and find others to run their business. And then what’s the point of any of this? That won’t stop them. Trust me when I say, I know what I’m doing.”

“If you know what you’re doing, why didn’t you get me out sooner? I could’ve been taken at any minute.”

“I told you, on the night of the party, after you ran away that I’d drive you to the fucking station. But you wouldn’t listen, would you?”

“I didn’t trust you. I still don’t trust you. You think you’re in control, but you’re not.”

“Do you want to know exactly what I did? Do you?” I knew I’d lost it now. But I couldn’t help myself.

“Apart from send me shitty little messages? No, I don’t know.” She folded her arms over her chest. “So, go on. Tell me. What exactly did you do?”