Chapter Thirty-Six

SHAY

Vince clutched my hand in his as we wandered through the front door of the Davenport Hotel. It was a beautiful historical building, with orange brick and decorative arches, located on a busy street with a lot of bars and restaurants deep within the city.

"You make even a peep that alerts these people that something's wrong," Vince warned, squeezing my hand a little tighter and forcing a whimper from my lips. "And I will kill every single person in this lobby."

He'd made sure I was well aware he had a gun tucked in the inside pocket of his suit jacket before we exited the car. Still, the threat against the people around us made me think Vince wasn't as stupid as I'd thought.

He knew I'd risk myself, possibly make a run for it if I were the only one who might get hurt.

But he knew the lengths I would go to keep everyone but myself safe too.

"Okay," I hissed, clenching my teeth together and sucking in a long, deep breath when he finally let go. It caused me to stumble, my body already weak and drowsy from when Jason had blessed me with the fucking butt of his gun. The stumble, paired with the old trucker's cap I had on that Vince had snatched from Jason's coat rack to hide the bleeding gash in my head, probably just made us look like some fancy businessman dragging home his drunk girlfriend from the bar.

"Mr. Vanderbilt, it's so nice to see you again," the young woman at the front desk asked, her chirpy voice sending another shock wave through my already thumping brain.

Vanderbilt?

A fake name. Why? Vince knew exactly what his name was worth in this city.

Why would he not be using it to get special treatment?

"A pleasure, as always," Vince answered, leaning in and flashing a blinding smile. "My regular room should be booked for the night."

"Yes, I see your reservation, Mr. Vanderbilt." The receptionist tapped away at her computer for a moment before finally slipping a keycard from the machine and sliding it over the desk. "Everything is already prepaid, I see, so here is your room key. Room 614."

Vince plucked the key from the desk. "Thank you very much."

I caught the woman eyeing me as he yanked me toward the elevator, her warm smile falling into a worried frown.

I knew she wouldn't do anything, though. I could imagine the things she saw there.

The men. The women they dragged in here after a late night of drinking.

She would be a professional at keeping her mouth shut and nose out of their business.

Vince tapped his foot as we took the elevator to the sixth floor, shoving me into the hallway the moment the doors dinged.

Room 614 was only a few doors down, and I slumped against the wall outside as he swiped the key, a green light appearing before he pushed open the door.

"In," he ordered, but moving my body was becoming increasingly difficult.

I was tired, achy, and nauseous.

I needed to lie down.

Seeing the bed inside the room, I gritted my teeth and forced my body through the door, letting momentum carry me to the bed.

His disgusting laughter filled the room behind me as I crawled onto the soft surface and buried my face into a pillow. "I see you're so eager to get on your back and spread your legs," he jeered. "But I'm sorry to disappoint you, as that's not how this is going to work."

A little vomit forced itself up my throat, touching the back of my tongue and making me gag.

I pressed my fingers to my mouth and swallowed back the bile, inhaling through my nose a couple of times before I was finally able to speak. "I have a concussion," I muttered, groaning as I sat up and leaned back against the headboard. "I need to go to the hospital."

Vince ignored me, grabbing the phone beside the bed and ripping it and the cords from the wall with a hard yank before tossing it into the corner. Then, he casually picked up the remote from next to the television and walked over to the small table and chairs by the window.

He hit the power button, and the news suddenly flashed on. My eyes widened at the picture on the screen.

"That's your—"

"Controlling, overbearing, thinks-he's-always-right father," he practically spat at the screen. "Idiot wouldn't listen to me. Was so focused on keeping the peace with that stupid fucking club that he wouldn't help me out."

I sat in shock, reading the words as they moved across the screen.

Frank and Clarita Martelli found dead in their home. Law enforcement considers their deaths to be suspicious and are searching for an individual, though they have yet to release a name.

Oh God.

It all came rushing back, and I gripped the bedding underneath me. "You killed them."

He grabbed the remote and sent it flying across the room, where it hit the wall and shattered into a couple of pieces. "He should have listened!" Vince roared, his chest heaving as his breathing became heavy and erratic. "For years, I'd been telling him how much money the family could be making from selling girls to overseas buyers. He said it was too risky and too many things could go wrong, but I knew if I could prove it to him, show him just how easy it could be, that he would finally see my true potential."

I got it now.

Frank Martelli was intelligent and calculating. He was a man who was very distinguished and rarely let anyone see anything other than his absolute class.

Vince was the problem child—erratic, destructive, pure chaos—and constantly fought for his parent's love and approval. He was probably the kid who was told to stay in their room while his parents had important guests around. He was probably the child who was constantly playing up and lashing out in the hope that someone would take notice of him.

He was the child who they attempted to silence.

However, as Vince got older and started to understand his father's business, he wanted to be more involved. And to do that, he had to impress.

The fake name at the front desk made sense now. He was making these plans without his father's knowledge, and Bishop had said the name Martelli was known far and wide.

He got to his feet, pacing the room.

"I found the girls. I spent months putting them out on the streets, training them—"

"Training them," I exclaimed, my head instantly pounding harder. I pressed my fingers to my temple, trying to push through the pain. "You… you got them addicted to drugs and forced them to let men abuse their bodies if they wanted more!"

He spun around, his narrowed glare like ice, chilling me to the bone. "Sarah was just meant to be a plaything for me, but when you took Alice, I suddenly had a buyer and no girl." He walked slowly toward me, and I clenched my fists. I could see where his thoughts were going and needed to do everything within my power to get the hell out of there before shit went sideways. "Then Sarah up and left me too," he said through clenched teeth, standing at the edge of the bed.

I shook my head, scooting to the opposite side of the bed and getting to my feet.

I knew things were about to get bad because I was feeling incredibly weak, and he was enraged and standing between me and the only way out of the room.

"Do you know the kind of shit you're starting?" I warned breathlessly. "Bishop and the club will go to war over this with your family. People are going to die. He is going to come for you."

I wasn't sure if baiting him was going to make things worse, but it felt like, at this point, there was already no way out. Vince was in a world of his own, and it was a long way from reality.

"Your Old Man is nowhere near as frightening as the man I sold you to," he sneered, his face seeming to light up just a little. "You're a little older than he originally wanted, but I made sure to let him know you would make up for it with your… expertise."

I was going to be sick. There was no way.

No fucking way.

I didn't escape from hell once, only to be sent back there by this psychotic bastard.

Lurching toward the small hotel room table, I grabbed the wooden chair and swung it hard, using every ounce of strength I had. Vince had nowhere to go, simply covering his head with his arms as it struck him.

"Fuck!" he cried in pain, but I was already stumbling past him and the bed toward the door. It wasn't easy. My body had already been screaming at me to let it rest, yet now I was pushing it to its limits once again, my heart racing, pumping blood and adrenaline through my body as it prepared for either battle or bail.

Fight or flight.

I hit the door with a thud, managing to grasp the handle and twist it just as a hand grabbed a fistful of hair at the back of my head and shoved my forehead forward.

I swear I saw stars like in the cartoons.

My body sank to the floor, but he didn't let me go, dragging me back into the room. I cried out in pain, kicking my feet and tearing at his hands, but it was getting harder and harder to keep the battle up. I was tired, I was in shock, and after that last blow to the head, I was lucky to still be conscious.

"Stupid bitch," Vince cursed, grunting as he hefted my body onto the bed and shoved his hand into his pocket. "I knew grabbing these things from that idiot would be helpful."

I blinked hard, staring at the ceiling and trying to keep my breathing even as the room spun.

Then he appeared, jostling the bed as he climbed over me.

"No," I mumbled, fighting for another breath as he straddled my chest. "No. Stop. Get… sto… stop."

Fight, Shay. You need to fight.

My body, though, was giving out. It was failing me.

Then I saw the pill bottle in his hand.

The one Jason had brought out.

He emptied a few into his hand and tossed the bottle over his shoulder. At that moment, I knew I was about to fall back into the depths of those hell-burning fires, and all I could do was hope that Bishop found me before they consumed me completely.