“I’d like to help.” Another man I’ve never met enters the room holding a thick file. His eyes are focused on me, and I swallow nervously. I see in his sympathetic gaze that he knows everything.
* * *
Holden
Getting a call that Noelle was here at my parents, wasn’t how I expected my day to begin. When I first saw her, the fear and pain exuding from her were enough for me to decide that her uncle would die. The fresh bruises on her cheek, jaw, and neck only solidified it.
Danny boy walking in with a file and a request to help commit murder only prove I’m right. The man needs to go. But if the shared looks passing around the room are anything to go by, I’m missing something. There’s vital information that hasn’t been shared with me yet, and I don’t fucking like it.
“Aria, go and keep an eye on Sawyer. Make sure he doesn’t wake up alone,” Mom instructs my sister, who nods and does as she’s told, which rarely happens.
“What’s going on?” I stare at my mother because I know she's always apprised of everything. She makes it her business to be informed.
“You should sit down, Holden,” my dad suggests as he takes a seat behind his desk. I remain standing with Noelle pulled in close to my side.
“You sure about this?” Daniel looks at Mom and then Noelle—who both nod—before handing me the file in his hand.
Releasing Noelle, I can feel her body shaking next to me as I flip it open. I see her backing away as I begin to read.
Injuries that sent her to several hospitals. Broken bones. Teacher reports. But the one that catches my attention is a record of birth.
“Is this fake? So she can get custody of Sawyer?” I ask the question even though I know the answer.
“It’s real, Holden,” Daniel says the words, and my ears start ringing.
Slowly, I turn my head to stare at Noelle. “Sawyer is your son?” It’s not until I say the words out loud that they register, and white-hot fury explodes inside me. My vision tunnels until all I see is Seth’s lifeless and bloodied body in front of me.
“Fourteen,” I hiss. He raped her when she was thirteen. Forced her to have a baby. Forced her to raise the child without being able to acknowledge that he was her own son.
Dropping the folder on the desk, I spin on my heels and leave the room, ignoring the calls for me to return and listen. To understand.
Instead, I hop in my Tahoe and call up Nolan. “Busy?” I barely get the word out without erupting.
“Not really,” he says.
“Want to help me bury a body?” This time he won’t be unidentifiable. He won’t be lost in a swamp.
“Where am I meeting you?” Nolan’s easy acceptance of help isn’t surprising. It isn't the first time we’ve killed together, and it won’t be the last.
* * *
“How are we doing this?” Nolan asks as we stare at dear old Uncle Seth strapped to an oil drum, rope around his mouth. Blood drips down the sides of his face, and tears stain his cheeks.
“He needs to suffer,” I inform Nolan. I hadn't explained much when I requested he grab the man from his work. After cutting security cameras in a three-block radius, Nolan got in and out with no one the wiser that Seth was now in danger. “He raped Noelle when she was thirteen.” I finally say the words aloud. Reading about it, thinking about it, it hasn't felt real until now. “Forced her to have his child,” I seethe, barely able to get the words out.
“You are one sick son of a bitch,” Nolan growls, reaching into his bag of tricks. “Brought Dad's torch if you’re interested.” Seth whimpers.
Grasping the compact machine in my hand, I bring it to life. “I’m very interested.” Nobody’s death has mattered to me as much as this one. “If you have something to say for yourself, now’s the time.” I pull the rope away from his mouth.
Seth begins screaming for help, and we laugh. The warehouse on Beechmont is not only isolated but soundproofed and locked up tight. Nobody is coming for him.
“She’s a filthy whore. She begged for me!” He screams the words as if I’ll believe him.
Starting at his feet, I bring the flame closer; the smell of burning rubber fills the air as Nolan takes a seat to watch. His father, Luther, taught the man many ways to torture someone with a blow torch, and luckily, he passed the lessons on to me.
“Remember the first night I brought her home; I warned you not to touch her. Explained to you what would happen.” He nods as a pool of piss runs down the concrete floor. “Why didn’t you listen, Seth?”
“Because she likes it!” he shouts, his own anger at being caught far greater than his fear of the consequences. Which means this could be a long-ass night.