30

Julian

As I watch Nora exit the room, I’m cognizant of a thick, heavy pressure in my chest. She’s trying to hide her pain, to be strong, but I can tell that what happened is ripping her apart. Her breakdown this morning was just the tip of the iceberg, and the knowledge that I’m to blame for this—that I’m to blame for everything—adds to the violent rage churning in my gut.

This is all my fault. If I hadn’t been so fucking eager to please her, to make her happy by giving in to her every whim, none of this would’ve happened. I should’ve listened to my instincts and kept her on the estate, where nobody could’ve touched her. At the very least, I should’ve denied her request to go to that accursed club.

But I didn’t. I let myself get soft. I let my obsession with her cloud my judgment, and now she’s paying the price. If only I hadn’t let her go alone to that restroom, if only I’d chosen a different club… The poisonous regrets swirl in my brain until I feel like my head will explode.

I need to find an outlet for my fury, and I need to do so now.

Turning, I head for the front door.

“I brought the cousin here,” Lucas says as soon as I step out onto the driveway. “I figured you might not want to go all the way to Chicago today.”

“Excellent.” Lucas knows me too well. “Where is he?”

“In that van over there.” He points at a black van parked strategically behind the trees farthest from the neighbors.

Filled with dark anticipation, I walk toward it, with Lucas accompanying me. “Has he given us any info yet?” I ask.

“He gave us access codes to his cousin’s parking garage and building elevators,” Lucas says. “It wasn’t difficult to get him to talk. I figured I’d leave the rest of the interrogation to you, in case you wanted to speak to him in person.”

“That’s good thinking. I definitely do.” Approaching the van, I open the back doors and peer into the dark interior.

A skinny young man is lying on the floor, gagged. His ankles are tied to his wrists behind his back, contorting him into an unnatural position, and his face is bloodied and swollen. A strong scent of piss, fear, and sweat wafts toward me. Lucas and my guards did a solid job of working him over.

Ignoring the stench, I climb into the van and turn around. “Are the walls soundproof?” I ask Lucas, who remains on the ground.

He nods. “About ninety percent.”

“Good. That should suffice.” I close the doors behind me, locking me in with the boy—who immediately begins to writhe on the floor, making frantic noises behind the gag.

Pulling out my knife, I crouch next to him. His struggles intensify, panicked noises growing in volume. Ignoring the terrified look in his eyes, I grab his neck to hold him still and wedge the knife between the gag and his cheek, slicing through the piece of cloth. A trickle of blood runs down his cheek where the knife cut him, and I watch it, relishing the sight. I want more of his blood. I want to see this van covered with it.