Chapter 26

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Violet

God how I love working with Cain. I love the way his brilliant mind works. I love the way his eyes narrow, sharp and determined, when we need to do something that requires concentration. He unravels mysteries with a fearless resolve that makes me goddamn wet.

It's dangerous, sometimes, how deeply he affects me.

"Go on," he says in a low voice, his hand on my lower back. It took me a while to get used to his protective nature around me, but I'm getting there. I'm so used to taking care of myself, I had to remind myself at first that it's okay to let a guy touch you, it's okay to let a guy want to lift heavy things for you, it's okay to let someone… take care of me for once.

Not sure I'd let anyone but Cain do such things, though.

"Jesus," he mutters. "Not a single person in sight."

I shouldn't be surprised there's no one here. Nothing but an empty hall and the dank smell of an abandoned basement.

"It's almost as if he wants someone to break in," I say, shaking my head. "Why hire all that security only to have it be so easy to get in?" I lower my voice and retrieve my knife. It's quieter at times like these. "Unless…"

"It's intentionally too easy."

"Right."

It's likely Descamps' security's absolute shit.

And it's just as likely we've been set up, and they're only biding their time before an ambush.

We walk, weapons ready, to the doorway that leads to the basement hallway. Old houses like this on the North Shore were solidly built, some at the turn of the century, with large, roomy basements for both storage and safety in the event of a hurricane or storm. The ceilings are low, but the walls tight, not a draft or wisp of cold air escapes even on the coldest of days.

We walk silently, waiting for a sign that we're seen, that someone's nearby. I hear nothing but the distant dripping of water and wonder idly where it's coming from. A clock chimes.

It smells like an old library down here, slightly musty but familiar. The basement's finished, with a thin Berber carpet, and tidy, even the wooden beams on the low ceiling gleaming. It's dark, though, with only a few small windows letting any light in.

We both freeze at the sound of voices and footsteps overhead.

Then a thin, reedy voice travels to us from above. "Then find them. I don't want anyone coming here unannounced. You know that." The voice quickly dissolves into a hacking cough that morphs to a coughing fit.

"I think we've found our man," Cain whispers. I nod. They've taken our bait.

To the left is a staircase that leads upstairs, but to the right, there's a door. Cain opens the door, and his eyebrows raise. If we weren't avoiding being found, he'd probably whistle. I peek around him to see what he does, surprised to find what looks like a mini spa, complete with a jacuzzi and sauna and fluffy white towels. It smells vaguely of lemon and mint, and tiny white fairy lights dance around a table with a tea kettle and teacups. It's a perfect paradise of relaxation, right here in the minister's rambling home.

"Someone enjoys himself here," I mutter to Cain.

He nods but doesn't reply. His lips are set in a grim, thin line, his brows knitted together. I know before he tells me exactly what's on his mind—this is the room he'll use to get our answers.

"We draw them out," he says in a whisper. "Get security locked down, then bring our little friend down here for some answers."

"Perfect. I always wanted to do an interrogation wearing a fluffy white robe. If only there were a pair of slippers nearby…"

Cain gives me a lopsided smile, takes my hand, and gives me a firm squeeze.

"Make some noise, baby."

"Shouldn't we secure the security exits first?"

"Already done."

I glance quickly at the door where we came in to see the deadbolt's been thrown from the inside, then quickly look to the windows. They're so tiny even I couldn't climb through, and I'm used to getting through tight spaces. These windows are no bigger than a shoe box.

Cain's made sure no one's getting in from this entrance.

"We need to get the stairs situated. Can you do that, baby?" he whispers. I know why he wants me to handle that part of the job. I'm half his size, so it's much easier for me to climb the stairs without making them creak like aching bones. I nod.

I tiptoe up the stairs as quietly as possible, and when I get to the top, I check all the locks. There's one that bolts from this side, as well as another lock. We need to lure Descamps down here, then lock the door. Once we do, no one will get to us.

"Now, Violet," Cain says in a whisper, his gun in hand and ready to shoot. "Go."

I grab a metal can filled with screws from a nearby shelf, yank open the door, and whip it as hard as I can toward the stainless-steel dishwasher. It explodes on impact, making a deafening noise. In seconds, we can hear shouts and yells, but I'm already down the stairs behind the staircase with Cain when they finally come.

It takes him three shots of the gun to take them down. One on the left, bullet to the leg. One on the right, wound to the left shoulder. Last one he shoots is the third target, and he's prepared. He ducks, then lunges for me, acting on instinct. The son of a bitch must know Cain would lose his shit over me being hurt before he would himself.

Doesn't matter. I'm glad to have the chance to get at one of them. With a quick duck and jab, I nail him straight in the solar plexus. He doubles over, and I waste no time, my knife to his throat before he can even blink.

"Stay right fucking there and I might let you live when all this is over," I whisper in his ear. He freezes, not even breathing. I have him on his knees while Cain secures the others, and in one minute flat, we've got all three tied to chairs, secured with duct tape. Not the most original tool, but damn does it get the job done.

Three. Only three. Cain nods to me, eyes on the stairs, then jerks his chin at the guy I secured. I hold my knife to his neck.

"Any more security on today?"

He shakes his head.

"He's lying," Cain says. I trust Cain implicitly. I don't question or give it a second thought, but press my knife to the guy's neck until he bleeds. He pants, sweat dripping off his forehead.

When I first began working for Cain, interrogation intimidated the hell out of me. I still don't like it, but I've come to see its merits. I don't fucking like it when someone lies to me.

I lean in and give him one more chance. I'm shaking with anger. I want answers. "If I find you're lying to me, I'll find whatever it is that matters to you, and you'll wish you'd told me the truth."

"One more," he gasps out. "Didn't count the personal bodyguard."

Cain nods, both accepting this and giving me permission to let this guy go. I secure his mouth like the others and walk quietly to the stairs. Listening. I don't have to wait long.

"Who's down there?" Cain's eyes cut to me. The voice is the high-pitched, nasally one we heard before.

Cain and I stand as quietly as we can, side by side under the stairway. From the stairs, no one can see the guards we've secured far to the right.

A foot hits the top stair. A worn, ancient leather moccasin. I wish this guy wasn't an asshole. I usually sort of like old people.

Cain squeezes my hand. He knows how I feel about interrogation.

"I get him secured, and you'll go upstairs and look for the other guard." His lips press in a thin line, and I know exactly why. He'd much rather have me babysit while he runs interference, but in this case, it isn't the wisest decision, because I'm smaller and faster.

"Got it, boss," I say with a teasing wink. I'm the only one of his staff that doesn't usually call him "boss." He gives me a wry smile back, making my heart thump a little faster even now.

I wait, crouched, while Descamps makes his way further down the stairs. In seconds, Cain's got him fully restrained in his arms. Descamps shouts and kicks, but Cain easily secures him.

"Go, babe. Meet me by the sauna."

I knew that's what he was thinking.

Taking the stairs two at a time I race to the top, my Wilson tucked securely in my palm. I don't have to wait long. I turn the corner, gun at the ready, when I hear someone move behind me. I duck and swivel just in time, missing the meaty punch of Descamps' personal guard. I step back, giving myself room to maneuver, and quickly let loose a roundhouse kick to the gut. I've trained with both knife and gun and use them well, but when push comes to shove, I'll always prefer to use my own body as a weapon.

He's bigger than I am, though, so my body won't be enough. He's winded and on his knees from the kick I gave him, but I have to make sure he doesn't hurt me. I slice at his thigh with my knife, ignoring the fresh, hot blood that cascades onto the tiled floor. He screams like a little girl, whimpering, but not before he gets a good solid punch to my cheek. I see stars, my head spinning, but don't lose my concentration. I slash again, striking his arm, then again, until he recoils in pain.

A minute later, he's secured with duct tape as well. I'm not sure I'd have been able to hold off a man as large as he is if I hadn't had the element of surprise on my side.

"You'll stay right here," I say with a patronizing pat on the head. Any son of a bitch who defends that guy we're about to interrogate deserves absolutely no mercy. "Anything we need to know about your boss before we begin?" I ask pleasantly, in the same tone as one might ask, ‘Do you want fries with that?'

He shakes his head vehemently from side to side, glaring at me like I just killed his puppy. Likely embarrassed he was taken down by a girl.

I, on the other hand, am pleased as punch and can't wait to haul this asshole down to Cain.

I leave him secured at the top of the stairs where I can see him and go down to Cain.

What I see when I enter the room would've chilled me to the bone a year ago.

Gray Descamps, with a generous belly and meaty jowl, sits, secured in a chair beside the jacuzzi. He eyes the tub with terror. Score for Henri.

"Gray," I say pleasantly, taking the folding chair Cain hands me. I sit across from him. "I'm sure I'm not familiar to you."

He stares at me, unblinking, and at first doesn't respond. He opens his mouth to speak, then clamps it shut. I don't tell him not to. I let him look into my eyes. He won't be able to hide his recognition of me if there is any.

His eyes hone in on mine, narrowed with suspicion and anger, but when I lift my chin so the overhead light shows the color of my eyes, he freezes.

"I know you. I—I knew your parents, too, I think. Is that why you're here?"

I look to Cain. He nods. Sometimes he has an agenda. Today, we just need answers.

"It's one of the reasons. Why don't you tell me about my parents and how you know who I am."

"You're the girl with the violet eyes. Name's Violet, isn't it?"

I nod. "It is."

"Your mother had the same color eyes." His voice is high-pitched with fear. "I remember her. That was a long, long time ago. A lifetime ago."

A cold shiver runs down my spine. No one in my entire life has ever told me that. "Did she? What else can you tell me about her, Gray?"

My voice is not my own, sounding distant and disembodied like I'm a ghost speaking to someone on Earth.

"I—I didn't know her."

Cain shakes his head like a disappointed father. "Now, now, Gray," he says, while he pushes himself to standing from his seated position. "We won't allow lying. We've gone to a lot of trouble to come here today, and we want answers."

His phone buzzes. He glances at the screen and scowls. Cain's voice drops to a menacing octave. "And the intel my men just sent me makes it a lot easier for me to put the screws to you if necessary."

"Tell me."

His eyes quickly dart to mine, then back to Gray. "Those accusations? Some were true. We have court-verified intel and eyewitnesses. And some of the women were minors at the time."

Fucking hell. My hands clench into fists when I see the wide-eyed terror Cain's words bring out in Gray.

He's guilty as fuck.

"Now tell us, please, before we have to get a lot more unpleasant. Did you really not know my parents?"

Gray clamps his jaw shut and looks away. Cain moves as if by instinct. He walks to the jacuzzi, flicks the chrome handle, and water begins to pour into the tub. "Something tells me you don't like water, Gray. Is that true?"

His face is red, his eyes beady as he shakes his head from side to side.

"He's lying," I tell Cain.

The water in the jacuzzi's already a third of the way to the top. Cain shuts off the taps and steps toward Gray, who shakes his head from side to side. "I didn't know them! I swear, I didn't?—"

Cain ignores him, picks him up bodily, chair and all, and drags him over to the jacuzzi.

"No! No, don't, please!"

"Tell me, Gray," Cain says, his lips a thin line of fury. "Is that what the girls you molested said to you when you took them into your home?"

Without another word, he dunks the minister's face in the pool of water. I want to look away, but I don't. What Cain does and who Cain is are inexorably intertwined. If I love him—and I do—I love all of him, even the cruel, vindictive parts that lurk in the shadows. Those are the parts that make all of him whole.

I watch Descamps struggle, thrashing in the chair he's secured to until I know he can't breathe. My own air's constricted in my lungs until Cain brings him up. He hasn't even broken a sweat.

"Anything more to tell us, minister?"

A pause. He's breaking. When he doesn't say anything, Cain submerges him in the water a second time.

The first time I saw Cain torture someone, I had to look away. I hated that I did. I wanted to face the cruelty he inflicted, because it was always, always justified. With ruthless determination, he gets what he wants when he wants it, but he always has good reason. He doesn't torture for sport and never without a damn good reason.

This is why I hired Cain. This is what we came for. I need these fucking answers.

Bubbles emerge from the water. He's got Descamps right on the edge.

Cain looks in my eyes as the minister faces his own mortality, and I feel that stark, honest truth to my very soul. We don't speak. We don't blink. We stare in solidarity of a shared purpose, and I love him for it.

He lifts Descamps out of the water. A rivulet of water floods his eyes and face, his hair dripping onto the cold concrete floor below. The light blue dress shirt he wears is soaked from the collar to the first three buttons, his pants still untouched. Cain slams him back on the floor.

"Answer."

"Fine! Fine," he says, crying softly to himself. He glares at Cain, and his words feel like venom. "I had an affair with her mother when I was newly ordained."

Now that, I didn't expect.

Ew .

"And?" Cain stands with his arms crossed on his chest. "If you think we have all day, minister, I can speed things along?—"

"No! No," Descamps whimpers. "I… I knew her well. We ended what was between us and went our separate ways. I began my ministry and she… she married Violet's father. They had her less than a year after they married, but I always kept in touch with Anya."

Anya. I've never heard anyone use my mother's name.

Cain nods. "Go on. I know you've got more to tell us, Gray."

"You were the one that married them," I said.

Gray nods.

"And you were the one that knows why they were killed."

Gray looks away, not answering, but when Cain lifts the chair, Descamps screams. "I'll tell you more!"

Cain thumps the chair back on the floor. "Go on."

Gray shivers and looks out to where his team sits, but every one of them's restrained. Still, just to be sure, I walk over to the door with my Wilson in hand, half hoping someone will give me a reason to shoot. Cain continues the interrogation.

"Her parents did some work for them. For… for me."

He hangs his head and looks at the floor.

He didn't say my father… he said… my parents?

I turn back to him just as something crashes behind me. My gun's raised and pointed in seconds. A huge, muscled guy with a gun comes straight at me. My finger hovers over the trigger. I've shot the target at the range so many times I could do it in my sleep, but I've never shot a human. In a split-second, I imagine the torn flesh and blood, the pain in his eyes. My hesitation costs me. He tackles me to the floor before I can shoot, as a gunshot blasts.

He screams, grabbing at his shoulder, and as crimson blood spurts to the floor, he rolls, and Cain's deadly voice echoes in the small room.

"Move again, and I shoot you between the eyes."

I want to kick myself. Goddammit, I couldn't pull the trigger and Cain had to come and clean up my mess. I want to cry.

Instead, I make up for my hesitation in the only way I know how. I swivel, propel myself forward, and grab his wrists to secure him in place. Cain comes up beside me and ties him down.

"That's my girl there, buddy," he warns in a tone that's anything but friendly. "You fucking try to hurt her and you're dead." The guy stares at Cain like he just saw the devil himself. Cain has that effect on people.

"You were saying, Gray?"

Gray shakes his head, crying, but when Cain reaches for his chair, he screams like someone's bitten him. Cain drops the chair to the floor. Blood spurts from Gray's temple.

He's shot. Someone shot him.

Adrenaline courses through me while I look for who could've possibly killed him. Cain looks to me, then immediately dismisses me. I stare at my own gun as if it shot him without my permission.

It makes no logical sense and takes half a minute to really register with me.

Someone shot Gray.

That someone was not me, and it was not Cain, nor was it any of the bodyguards we have restrained here.

Someone shot him because he was about to reveal a truth they didn't want known.

Cain curses and pulls out his phone.

"Get down for cover, Violet," he grates, as tires squeal. Whoever killed Gray just took off. I fall to the floor and lay flat as Cain makes a phone call.

"Team Alpha," he says with resignation. His clean-up crew will have to come and clean this shit up.