Page 80 of Shattered Souls
Grabbing the half-full bottle of whiskey on the countertop, Grayson throws it at the wall. “You call trying to kill our fucking girlnothing,” he screams. His jaw tightens, and his fists clench, his knuckles turning white. His eyes blaze with barely contained fury, rage simmering just beneath the surface.
For the first time since we barged our way in here, Vincent has the good sense to look fucking afraid. His Adam’s apple bobs, and the color drains from his face. “What? Nah, man, no way. It was just some chick. Some rich bitch. This lady paid me to get rid of her. There’s no way that pretentious bitch was Ruthless’ girl—y-your girl.”
I tilt my head, my cool, calm facade to Grayson’s incinerating one. Which only terrifies the fuckwit more. “Auburn hair, hazel eyes,” I drawl. “That ringing any fucking bells?”
“Oh god. Oh god. Oh god,” he stammers on repeat, trembling like a fucking leaf in my hold. My nose twitches, and it takes a second for me to realize the dumb fuck has pissed himself.
“Jesus.” Grayson’s face crunches in disgust. “Have some fucking dignity, man. That’s disgusting.”
I snap. Expression twisted in fury, I land a punch square on Vincent’s jaw. He cries out, and if it weren’t for my firm hold on him, he’d have crumpled to the floor like the spineless piece of shit he is.
“I didn’t know she was your girl,” he sobs pathetically. “I had no idea. I would never have gone near her if I’d known. You gotta believe me, Ruthless,” Vincent pleads, his voice shaking.
With my hold still on the front of his shirt, I yank him toward me before slamming him back. He cries out, but neither of us has any sympathy for the rat. Grayson holds up his phone in front of Vincent’s face with a picture of Lydia on it. “Is this the woman who paid you?” he demands.
Vincent barely looks at it before nodding in alarm. “Yeah, yeah, that was her. She paid me ten grand to get rid of this chick. I had no idea. I just needed the money, man, you know?”
My lips curl into a sneer. “You agreed to kill another human being for a measly fucking ten grand? You’re fucking scum.”
Weirdly, that’s what seems to enrage him, and in a surprising turn, Vincent locates his ballsack long enough to snarl, “We can’t all be lucky enough to be born into fucking riches, can we? Ten grand might be nothing to you, but it’s a fucked ton to me.”
“Yeah, I bet that buys you a whole lot of booze, drugs, and hookers,” I seethe.
“You’re a fucking piece of shit!” Grayson growls, his voice low and dangerous. He kicks Vincent in the ribs hard enough that a snap renders the air, and he doubles over, wheezing.
“Please.”
Grayson kicks him again, harder this time. The trailer shakes with the impact, and I let go. Vincent slides down the wall as I drive my fist into his gut. Spittle flies from his lips and dribbles down his chin as he sags onto the filthy floor, curling up on his side to try and shield himself. But it’s no use. Both me and Grayson are relentless, our fury boiling over as we beat the shit out of him.
There’s a catharsis in the violence. It won’t solve anything, but it’s a much-needed distraction.
When we finally slow down, breathing hard, Vincent is a bloody, unrecognizable mess on the floor. Grayson plants his hands on his knees, bent over as he catches his breath.
Vincent moans and I grab a fistful of his hair, wrenching his face to mine. “You’re done with The Depot. I don’t ever want to see your fucking face again.”
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Grayson says, spitting on Vincent’s unconscious form. “This place fucking reeks.”
“You don’t need to tell me twice.” I’m already heading for the door. The worst of the fury has drained, leaving only a deep need to get back to Riley, to ensure she’s safe.
The first step in doing that is eliminating Lydia once and for all.
That bitch is a dead fucking corpse walking.
23
RILEY
The sound of the front door snicking shut wakes me from sleep. I stir in Logan’s arms, which tighten around me as he groans into my shoulder. A makeshift bed had been constructed on the living room floor when I arrived home from the hospital, piled high with pillows and blankets. I’ve been cocooned in it all day while Logan plied me with food and distractions. When none of that worked to make me relax, I’m pretty sure he dosed my juice with pain meds because I don’t remember falling asleep.
“Five more minutes,” he mumbles, making me smile despite the heavy weight that has been wrapped around my throat, choking me as it sits painfully on my chest since Bertram dropped the bomb thathehas Aurora.
That weight making it impossible to breathe? It’s fear.
Terror over what Bertram has been doing with my daughter all these weeks. Dread over what hewants.What his end game is. Trepidation over how I get her back… howweget her back.
Bertram might be Aurora’s father, but that little girl ismine.
If Aurora’s going to call anyoneDaddy, it won’t be him. It’ll be the three men who were as knocked off their feet as I wasto discover the truth. The three men who have vowed to do whatever it takes to get her away from him. To bring her home.
