6

6

KADE

My trigger finger has a permanent indent. I never really noticed it until now. Strange to think that will always be there. That if I ever escape my position, it’ll be a constant reminder of the people I’ve killed.

The skin is rough and dry. I rub it with the pad of my thumb and study it while Base hums a Taylor Swift song to himself.

There’s a tremor in my fingers too; they shake absentmindedly, but at least Ewan will stop asking me to work with him, since I probably can’t use a screwdriver or a spirit level for shit. I doubt I’ll be able to shoot with any sort of precision now either.

I fist my hand to stop the annoying memento of my torture.

If Stacey ever lets me hold her hand again, will she feel all the death I’ve caused?

She’d be disgusted with who I am now. Especially when she sees the scar from the corner of my mouth to the middle of my chest. If she ever asks me how many people I’ve killed, do I lie? Do I admit that I’ve lost count? That I enjoyed most of the killings?

I’ll never have her looking at me the way she did when we were teenagers.

When my mind is blank, it’s her voice I hear. A giggle. Singing. Crying. Screaming. Begging. When my hands are wrapped around someone else’s throat, my psyche likes to fuck with me and show me her face – Stacey struggling beneath me as she clings on to the final breath trapped within her lungs.

I’ll never feel her lips on mine again. Feel her fingers interlacing with my own while we hide our linked hands under the blanket. Kiss her during a game of dares. Laugh with her while she belts out songs from The Greatest Showman.

Stacey won’t in a million years give me another chance, no matter how much I beg.

And why would she? I’m a fucking mess. I ruined her too. I treated her like shit and walked away when she needed me. Plus I’m shaking like a junkie looking for their next hit, aching for it with a deep hunger – a need to feel that high to escape reality and lose my fucking mind. It could also be the fact that I am having withdrawals. I haven’t felt this ill in… ever.

Is she even still alive?

Did whoever buy her make it quick for her? Not that I’d grant the fucker the same courtesy – when I find out the person’s name and where they live, not even my mother could stop what I’ll be unleashing.

I screw my eyes shut in the darkness and sit up.

Thinking makes me emotional, and when I’m emotional, I lose focus. I do things wrong. I make mistakes in my work. And when I make mistakes, I end up with a punishment. Or Bernadette takes it out on Base.

He shouldn’t even be here – he should be in America chasing my sister around while she pretends not to be interested. He should be partying, getting drunk, being his usual wild and dickish self and loving his life, not here, with me, forced to do messed-up shit.

Fuck. We’ve even been forced to beat the crap out of each other. Probably Bernadette trying to turn my best friend against me. But no matter what she makes us do, whether that be fighting or… other things, we’ve kept strong. We told each other that we’d both get out of this together. One goes, we both go. We got stronger. We fought for our sanities.

We still do.

He said his family would interfere, but it’s been a year since he promised they’d come for him, for us, yet we haven’t seen or heard from them. Hope is slowly fucking fading away.

I close my eyes and lie down once more in my cell and try to picture my bedroom back home, instead of this shithole. I try to pretend there’s a dip in the mattress at my feet, where my dogs Milo and Hopper are asleep, an arm slung over my waist, with a leg between mine, my fingers buried in thick hair.

I try to think of a time when I had everything. It used to make me feel better, to think of her and what we had together; to think of the feelings that rushed through me when I was falling madly in love with Stacey Rhodes.

It doesn’t have the same effect it used to. It doesn’t give me a sense of comfort. If anything, thinking about her now makes all of this worse. It makes me angry. Frustrated. Lost. And worst of all, it makes me want to kill more people.

They were sold. Gone.

Bernadette set up and sold two of the three most important women in my life. I practically begged her to get them back, but it was too late. They were already gone – their buyers decided to escape and burn her manor to the ground three days ago.

Sadly, Bernadette and her husband and daughter got out. Not so sadly, a lot of her guards died. When she showed up here the following day, her face was messed up. Stacey got her – hit her.

My girl.Even when faced with the worst kind of horror, she fucking fought. I didn’t think it was possible to love her more than I already do, but I do.

Archie had ordered that I be tied to a chair, then his fucking asshole guards made me watch the recording of Stacey being raped. Every second of it was replayed and replayed. Me and four of their guys watched her be abused over and over while Archie made comments that resulted in me biting his ear off.

One-eared Archie, the prick.

Which is why I’m here and suffering from hunger and withdrawal pains. A cell. A cold prison. A small room with no windows and stone walls, one lined with bars so I can see into Base’s cell. Underground. In the dark. And it’s the most peace I’ve had in months.

Apparently, our buyers have agreed to wait until next month to take our services.

Hopefully someone cuts my cock off before then, or I’ll have yet another death on my hands for Stacey to be even more disgusted by.

I should be punching against the door and hunting for Stacey. But I’m not – I don’t think I’d even manage ten steps without passing out. My energy is depleted entirely, and I keep falling in and out of consciousness.

Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to go look for her. I’m livid. I want to rip these walls down and blow the entire world up for her, to snap the neck of the guy who has her.

I’d burn him first but keep him alive enough to feel every agonising second. I’d carve the name of every victim who’s fallen by my hands into his skin – the ones I remember anyway. I’d cut his eyeballs out, snap each finger then pull up each nail. I’d drill into each thigh and nail him to a chair.

So many scenarios have played out in my head. It’s a little concerning how detailed each one is.

They’re nothing compared to what I’ll do to Christopher Fields when I get my fucking hands on him though.

Base listened to one of my descriptions before he passed out this morning, and he asked if I needed a hug.

I definitely do not.

I pick up one of the pieces of brick that’s broken off the old wall and chuck it through the bars, hitting Base on the head. I do that a lot to pass time while we’re down here. He’s grown used to it and ignores me.

I look over at my friend. “You awake?”

“Nope,” he says.

I can just make out his arm over his eyes, a bloody bandage over his naked chest. The wound’s probably infected since it’s not had any of the dressings changed in forty-eight hours.

“I think I’m dying again. I can’t see.”

“That’s because there’s hardly any light in here,” I say, snorting. “Does it still hurt?”

“You mean the hole in my chest that I got three days ago? Nah, I’m sound,” he replies sarcastically, his voice echoing over to me. “It is a little throbby and feels swollen, which can’t be good signs.” He’s silent for a beat. “Does your scar still get itchy?”

I trace the raised skin lightly with my fingertips. “Yeah, a little.”

“I was always the handsome one of our group, but I think people will be more attracted to you because of the belting scar. They’ll feel sorry for you. Just remember, baby Tobias, when you’re getting all the attention, I’m the naturally handsome one.”

I roll my eyes. “Sometimes I wonder why the fuck we’re friends.”

“Because I’m funny.” He snorts at himself. “Hey, do you have any smokes left?”

I sit up and check the packet under my bed, the lighter stuffed inside it. “Yeah.”

They were thrown at us yesterday. A gift from Bernadette to keep us sweet – not food or water or something healthy. I move to lean against the bars separating us, and Base groans as he sits up, holding his chest with a wince, then comes down to lean against the bars with me.

“Do you think they’re okay?” he asks, taking a cigarette from me and lighting it up. “The girls.”

“I don’t know.”

“Please tell me we’re going to teach those fuckers a lesson.”

“We will. I promise.” I light my own smoke, blowing a cloud above us. “Do you think they’ll bring Dez into this?”

“Nah. Dez is probably married to Tylar by now, with three or more bairns chained to them. Do you think they’re travelling?”

“Last I knew, they were in Thailand.”

“Better staying there,” he says, inhaling and exhaling. “No doubt Berna-bitch will use him against us.”

We’re silent for a beat, the smell of cigarette smoke filling the cells. The only sounds are the dripping taps from our sinks and the rumble of a car driving over the gravel road above us.

“I need to find Luciella before I die.”

I lower my head, nodding. “We need to find them both before we die.”

“You die, I die.”

“You die, I die,” I say back, taking a draw to stop the uncontrollable twitching in my hands and face. I blink a few times, fighting the uncomfortable feeling, and blow out another smoke cloud. “Just try to get better and we’ll figure out a plan.”

I move back to my bed because the cell is spinning – Base stays in position, probably too weak to move, with the cigarette between his lips. “Trying to keep people safe is so exhausting,” he says. “I don’t know how to get rid of all the threats.”

“By killing. Everything I’ve been doing for the last three years has been to keep everyone safe. And I fucking miss Stacey more than I can explain. But if I show that? More ammunition for Bernadette. I simply cannot show it anymore. I trained myself not to, so you need to do the same. If you make my sister more of a target, then I’ll need to kill you too.”

He’s quiet, smoking the rest of his cigarette before flicking the butt across his cell. “Tell me about her.”

“You know who Stacey is,” I grumble. “Don’t make me talk about her.”

“We have fuck all else to do,” he replies, the mattress squeaking as he lies down again. “Come on. I’ve sucked your dick, for fuck’s sake. You can at least appease me by telling me who actually made you hard.”

I grimace. “If you ever speak of that again, or any of the other times, I’ll put a bullet in your heart.”

We were forced. It’s always forced between us. Entertainment for Bernadette. We just don’t let it break us. Base has an awful and dark sense of humour and likes to bring it up whenever he’s bored to death. It pisses me off more than anything.

“You have to admit, it’ll make for awkward dinner-table chat when I’m married to your sister. Do you think your dad will snap me in half when he finds out I’ve made both his offspring come?”

My eyes close. “Please stop saying your thoughts out loud. And talk about my sister like that again and I’ll break through those bars and hit you.”

Base halts the images of me murdering him by scoffing and saying, “Talk to me about Stacey, and I won’t mention it ever, ever again. I know you can’t see, but I’m holding up my hand, swearing to the Lord that I shan’t ever discuss those nights with your sister, nor will I ever speak about your sister’s orgasms out loud.”

I shake my head. He’s fucking insane. A ruthless killer when we’re working together, usually getting jobs done a lot faster than me, but then he’s a goofy prick that has heart eyes for my sister.

He’s like the sun shining into a ditch full of dead bodies.

Bernadette likes his work ethic and firing precision, and often tells me to be more like him. In a fistfight, I’ll kick the shit out of Base, but in a shoot-out, he’d blow my brains out before I could even pull the trigger.

Not that I ever would shoot my friend.

“The night we all played dares when we were younger. That was the first time I kissed her – the first time I kissed anyone.”

He hums. “I remember. The best night of my life. I was seriously rooting for you to at least kiss someone. Were you quick off the mark when you fucked her? You were only in there less than five minutes.”

I roll my eyes for what feels like the millionth time since we got locked in here. “I only kissed her.”

“Ah. I forgot you were a virgin for a bit longer. Was she your first?”

I make a noise of acknowledgement. “Yeah.”

“The night in London? You were strangely cheery after that.”

“Yeah.”

“I still can’t believe you were in a relationship with Rhodes and told no one.”

“Yeah.”

“Mate, if you keep giving me one-word answers, I might peel off this bandage and hit you with it.” He chuckles at himself, then it cuts off with a wince. “No, but seriously. Stop being fucking vague. Tell me about your relationship with her. You never answer me when I ask shit. Stacey was pregnant, was raped, and you left her. Her dad died a few months later, right? How can you lie there and declare war on the world when you treated her like that?”

“Base, shut up.”

Fuck. My chest caves in at the memory of me yelling that she was dead to me. I believed my girlfriend had fucked my brother, but she didn’t. They were both drugged, and therefore, it wasn’t sex. It was fabricated. It was rape.

And I disowned them both because of a lie.

I screw my eyes shut to banish the threatening pressure. “I was sent a video of her fucking Jason. It was edited to make it look like she was willingly cheating on me with my brother. We lost our daughter a few weeks before, so I thought she was doing it because she blamed me.”

“And you didn’t let her explain?” His voice is low, and I know he’s disgusted with me right now. “Or Jason?”

“I was going to,” I say, swallowing and nearly choking on the lump in my throat. “I drove to her house and… and… his car was outside her place. She tried to kill herself, and he was helping her out of it, but I didn’t know that at the time. It just looked like they were finally able to be together without sneaking around. I snapped and left.”

I sit up dizzily and lean my elbows on my thighs.

“Bernadette chained me to a chair and made me watch hours of footage of Stacey being raped by multiple guys, her stepbrother included. Chris fucking Fields. I didn’t know about him. She kept him a secret from me because he was abusive and manipulative, and she was scared.” I feel my body tense at the thought of him anywhere near her. “He’s abused her since she was young. He killed our daughter.”

“That’s brutal, man. If anyone deserves to be tortured to death, it’s him.”

“Yeah. And instead of being there for her, I shoved her out of my life.” I drop my head, blanking out the pain of my cramping stomach. “I beat up Jason, told her to stay the fuck away from me, and the day you dropped me off after we went to America? That’s when Bernadette found me. I didn’t even reach out to Stacey when her dad died. I’ve been trapped ever since.”

Base doesn’t speak for a few minutes.

My eyes are burning.

“I take it you loved her.”

Loved. Past tense. The way he says the word almost makes me flinch. We’ve been split up for three years now, and I don’t think I’ve ever stopped loving her. I don’t know how to not love her. Not a day goes by that I don’t despise myself for leaving her.

We’d probably be married with kids by now.

The idea that my life should be the total opposite of what it is, that I’d be a dad and husband and an engineer if I’d ever made it to uni, makes me want to take a line to numb it all.

“She was everything to me. I think she still is,” I say quietly, frowning to myself at how honest I’m being. Then I hate myself for saying think. “No, she is still everything to me.”

“Deep.”

Scoffing, I give him the finger through the shadows. “Fuck you.”

Base chuckles. “If it makes you feel any better, I love someone who’s never once loved me back, and I’d still die for her. Your sister, by the way.” He sighs into the darkness. “And when I find her, because I will, I’m not going to let her out of my sight. She’ll love me one day. She has to. Even if she just fucking told me she liked me, it would be enough.”

“She does like you – she used to ask me a lot about you,” I say.

“Well, she can tell me that when I save her.”

He’s being serious, and to be honest, I couldn’t think of anyone better for my sister. Even if he is a walking headache on happy pills. “Just hold on. She’ll eventually come round. She’s just scared of the way she feels.”

“She did mention once that she would break my heart because she doesn’t know how to love someone properly, but I guess we’ll see.”

I nod, even though he can’t really see me.

He then says, “The next time you see Stacey, you better apologise and promise never to be a cunt again.”

“No shit,” I retort, my voice hollow. “I’ll fall to my knees and beg for forgiveness the next time I see her.”