Chapter 5

FIVE

SALEM

T he warehouse was shrouded in an eerie silence, broken only by the soft shuffle of dust underfoot. As I surveyed the scene before me, my heart thrummed with a potent mix of anticipation and trepidation. The four men who had begun to worm their way through my defenses sat before me, bound to chairs with wires trailing from their restraints. My gaze lingered on each of them in turn, a steely resolve settling over me as I prepared to confront them.

Cohen, with his clenched jaw, exuded an air of defiance even in his vulnerable state. Lennox's usually pristine appearance was nowhere to be seen, his suit instead torn and rumpled. I had been careless in dragging him despite the expensive fabric purely because I knew it would piss him off.

Cole, his features twisted in a grimace, was slumped in the chair next to his twin, looking like a fallen dark angel. And Mateo, unconscious and vulnerable, seemed almost peaceful in contrast to the chaos that usually surrounded him.

With a deep breath, I continued securing Cohen to the chair, my movements quick as I fastened the restraints in place. In his signature button shirt and chino pants, Cohen exuded an air of effortless style, even when held captive.

As I stepped back to survey my handiwork, a flood of conflicting emotions threatened to overwhelm me. Doubt gnawed at the edges of my resolve, taunting me with the uncertainty of my actions. But beneath the surface, a simmering anger burned bright, fueled by the memory of my brother's death and the questions that still remained unanswered.

I knew I couldn't trust my father's word, nor his assurances that these men were responsible for Remington's death. But I couldn't ignore the damning evidence either. I had the video footage that showed them leaving that cursed motel room with a hockey bag, the last place where Remi had been seen alive. With a clenched jaw, I pushed aside my doubts, steeling myself for the confrontation that lay ahead.

As the minutes ticked by in tense silence, I watched with bated breath as the men began to stir, consciousness returning in fits and starts. With each flutter of their eyelids, my resolve hardened, driving me forward even as uncertainty threatened to engulf me.

Finally, Cohen's hazel eyes flickered open, his gaze locking with mine in a silent challenge. "What the fuck is this, Salem?" he demanded, his voice rough with confusion and anger.

I locked eyes with him, my own expression unyielding. "I want answers," I replied, my tone clipped and determined. "It's time we had a little chat."

Beside Cohen, Cole's voice rose in a crescendo of panic, his words tumbling out in a rush as he struggled against the bonds restraining him. "What's going on, Salem? Why are we tied up like this?" His eyes darted around the dimly lit warehouse, searching for any sign of explanation or escape. The intensity in his sharp, stormy eyes was a constant reminder that Cole was not one to be underestimated, even in a casual tee and jeans. It took more effort than I'd like to admit to keep my eyes off the full sleeves of tattoos that adorned his arms.

Lennox remained silent, his blue gaze fixed on me with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. There was a hardness in his eyes, a rugged tenacity that spoke of the battles he had fought and the sacrifices he had made. But beneath the facade of composure, I could sense a flicker of uncertainty, a vulnerability that he dared not show.

Mateo's voice cut through the tension like a knife, his tone laced with sarcasm as he quipped about our current predicament. ″You could've just asked to tie me up, little wolf. I wouldn't have minded.″ Despite the gravity of the situation, there was amusement in his eyes, a glimmer of mischief that belied the danger that lurked beneath the surface.

With a deep breath, I met their gazes head-on, my own resolve hardening further with each passing moment. "I want the truth," I declared, my voice steady and unwavering despite the turmoil raging within me. "And we won't be leaving here until I get it."

Cohen's brow furrowed in confusion, his eyes searching mine for answers. "Where did you get that tape?" he demanded, his voice laced with disbelief. I held his gaze, refusing to look away.

"It doesn't matter where I got the tape," I declared, my voice shattering the quiet like a baseball bat to a liquor cabinet. "What matters is you telling me what the fuck you did to my brother!″

Mateo, Cole, and Cohen exchanged wary glances, their expressions guarded as they turned their attention toward Lennox, silently seeking guidance. Lennox remained stoic, his gaze fixed on me.

With a subtle shake of his head, Lennox delivered his silent verdict, a tacit acknowledgment that they would not yield to my demands, no matter the cost. It was a betrayal that cut deeper than any blade, a silent declaration of loyalty to a cause I could not comprehend.

A torrent of frustration bubbled up within me, threatening to consume me whole as I squared my shoulders and took a step forward, closing the distance between us. "Fine," I breathed, my voice low and laden with regret. "I thought you cared enough about me to give me some answers. To put me out of the contestant misery of not knowing. But I shouldn't be surprised. You want to make me work for it? Well, alright then.″

With that, I turned toward the table behind me. I unraveled the canvas wrap holding my tools and ran my fingertips along the various implements. I hovered over a scalpel blade but couldn't bring myself to use it just yet. Instead, I picked up the dial connected to each of their chairs.

As the tension thickened in the room, Mateo studied me. With a wry grin, he joked, "Well, this isn't exactly how I pictured my evening going. Tied up like a damsel in distress. You going to torture me, sweetheart? Kinky." I ignored his attempt at humor, but it earned him a few deep chuckles from the others. Mateo's sandy blond hair framed his features in a way that captured the untamed wildness within him.

With a furrowed brow and eyes ablaze, I squared my shoulders and fixed each of them with an unwavering gaze. "Why were you at that hotel, dragging that bag out?" I demanded. "What was in the bag?"

Their expressions were a mask of defiance as they stared back at me, lips pressed into tight lines. I turned the dial. A surge of electricity flowed through the wires, causing their bodies to convulse in their chairs.

Cohen shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his jaw clenched as he avoided my gaze. "We were just… cleaning up a mess," he muttered, his words strained with unease.

I scoffed incredulously, my patience wearing thin as I pressed for the truth. "A mess? Is that what you call it?" I retorted, my tone dripping with scorn. "My brother's body? That's all he was to you? A mess?"

Lennox's lips tightened, his expression unreadable as he remained steadfast in his silence. "We don't owe you any explanations, Salem," he said finally, his voice cold and clipped. I adjusted the dial, and another surge of electricity coursed through them.

I refused to be deterred. "Why won't you tell me the truth?" I demanded, my voice rising in pitch and volume with each passing moment. "Tell me what you did to Remington!"

Cole exchanged a nervous glance with Mateo, their unease palpable as they struggled to find the right words. "We… we can't,″ he mumbled, his voice tinged with guilt.

I bristled at his evasive response, my frustration boiling over as I fought to keep my emotions in check. "Bullshit," I shot back.

But even as I pushed for answers, a part of me feared what I might uncover. Deep down, I knew that the truth had the power to shatter everything I thought I knew, to irrevocably alter the course of our lives in ways we couldn't possibly imagine.

And yet, despite the risks, I refused to back down. For my brother. For Remi. I turned up the voltage and shocked them again. But they remained steadfast in their silence, their resolve unyielding as they weathered my onslaught of electric shocks. Sweat was starting to bead on their foreheads, and each of them wore a matching grimace of pain.

As the minutes stretched on, I felt the walls closing in around us, suffocating in their oppressive embrace as we danced on the razor's edge. It was getting harder and harder to turn that dial, but I had vowed to see this through to the bitter end, no matter the cost.

Cole turned to me, his voice filled with urgency. "Butterfly, we can talk about this. There's no need to hurt us. Let's work this out together."

Before I could respond, Lennox sharply interjected, "Shut up, Cole. This isn't the time for negotiation. We are not saying anything." His tone brooked no argument, silencing Cole's protestations.

With a frustrated growl, I turned my attention back to the table and changed tactics. Bypassing the blades, I grabbed my staple gun. Cole, Cohen, and Mateo were looking to Lennox for guidance, so I turned my attention to him as well. My gaze burned with an intensity that matched the fiery rage coursing through my veins. "I want the truth, Lennox," I spat, my voice low and dangerous.

Lennox's jaw clenched as he met my gaze, his blue eyes flashing with defiance as he squared his shoulders, refusing to back down. His expressive eyes could be a source of warmth and understanding or a storm of intensity, depending on the situation. Tonight, they looked at me with stubbornness. I pressed the staple gun to his thigh and pulled the trigger. His only response was a slight twitch in his jaw muscle. I pulled the trigger again.

"You don't understand, Salem," he replied, his voice suffused with frustration. "There are things… things we can't tell you."

"Can't or won't?" I shot back, my voice shrill and frantic. "Tell me what happened that night. Tell me why Remington had to die."

I pressed the staple gun into Lennox harder and pulled the trigger consecutively, desperation clawing at the edges of my consciousness. Before Lennox could respond, Mateo's voice cut through the room, commanding attention. "Enough with the secrets, Lennox," he declared, his tone firm with resolve. "She deserves to know the truth."

I lifted the staple gun from Lennox as Mateo's words registered, each syllable heavy with insinuation. Lennox hesitated, his eyes darting between us before finally relenting. "We made a promise," he murmured, his voice heavy with regret. But Mateo's patience had worn thin, his frustration boiling over as he spat out the words I'd longed to hear.

"Fuck it," Mateo declared.″ She deserves the truth. Your brother… he's alive, Salem."

The world seemed to tilt on its axis as Mateo's words sank in, the implications swirling around me like a tempest. Alive? How could that be possible? My mind raced, grappling with the sudden influx of information as my emotions teetered on the brink of chaos.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I demanded, my voice sharp with accusation as I turned to face Cohen, Lennox, Cole, and Mateo. Anger bubbled beneath the surface, mingling with the hurt and betrayal that gnawed at my insides.

Cohen's gaze faltered, his expression pained as he spoke. "We promised him," he replied, his voice heavy with remorse. "He wanted to tell you himself when the time was right."

Cohen's words settled over me like a suffocating blanket, leaving me reeling with betrayal. How could they keep something so monumental from me? Didn't they understand the agony of not knowing whether my brother was dead or alive?

"He's right, Salem," Lennox interjected, his tone gentle yet firm. "It wasn't safe for you to know. Remington wanted to protect you."

I scoffed, frustration boiling over. "How can I trust any of you? You kept this from me, lied to me… How do I know you're telling the truth now?"

Lennox's jaw tightened, his resolve unwavering as he met my gaze head-on. "You'll just have to trust us, Salem," he replied, his tone final. "It's not safe for you to see him."

The words struck a nerve, igniting a firestorm of rage within me as I pushed past the boundaries of reason. "Not safe?" I ridiculed, incredulity lacing my voice. "And what? You expect me to sit here and do nothing while you decide what's best for me?"

The warehouse echoed with the reverberations of my anger, each word I spat spiked with a venomous intensity. My fists clenched at my sides, nails biting into my palms.

"Fuck you!" I seethed, my voice trembling with a mixture of hurt and betrayal as I glared at the men I thought I could trust. "Fuck all of you."

Their expressions faltered, a flicker of guilt dancing in their eyes as they met my gaze, but it was too little, too late. The damage had been done, the trust between us shattered beyond repair.

"I'm done with all of you," I declared, my voice ringing with finality as I turned on my heel, intent on leaving them behind in the wake of my fury. But before I could reach the door, a bitter hesitation settled over me, and I paused, my hand hovering above the handle.

"Don't worry," I spat, my voice heavy with contempt as I glanced back at them over my shoulder. "I'll send someone to let you loose in a couple of hours. From now on, if it's not about business, I want nothing to do with any of you."

Their protests fell on deaf ears as I pushed open the door and stepped out into the cool night air. They called out to me, their voices pleading and desperate, but I ignored them, each step carrying me further away from the chaos and turmoil of the warehouse.

Outside, the city buzzed with life, the distant hum of traffic and the flicker of lights greeting me. I wrapped my arms around myself, a futile attempt to ward off the chill that seeped into my bones, but it was the coldness in my heart that had me trembling the most.

I wandered the streets of Harlem, my mind a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief. The revelation that my brother, Remington, was alive had shaken me to my core, leaving me grappling with a myriad of unanswered questions and lingering doubts.

Why would he disappear without a word, leaving me to mourn his supposed death? And more importantly, why would he choose to keep his survival a secret from me, his own sister? The weight of his betrayal hung heavy on my shoulders, a bitter reminder of the fragmented trust between us.

Lost in my thoughts, I found myself drawn to a nearby bar, its neon sign flickering invitingly in the night. With a resigned sigh, I pushed open the door and stepped inside, the familiar scent of alcohol and stale cigarette smoke enveloping me like a comforting shroud.

Taking a seat at the bar, I ordered a drink. The amber liquid burned its way down my throat as I drowned my sorrows in a haze of intoxication. With each sip, the turmoil within me seemed to ebb away, replaced by a numbness that offered temporary respite from the storm still raging inside.

But even as I sought solace in the bottom of a glass, the nagging doubts continued to plague me, gnawing at the edges of my being like a relentless tide. Could I trust the words of Cohen, Lennox, Cole, and Mateo? Or were they merely spinning a web of lies to keep me under their control?

As the hours slipped away and the alcohol dulled the sharp edges of my thoughts, I found myself sinking deeper into despair, my mind clouded by a fog of uncertainty and fear. It was a cruel irony to be surrounded by strangers in a crowded bar and yet feel utterly alone in the world.

Thoughts of betrayal and distrust swirled through my head like a maelstrom, each one driving me deeper into the depths of anguish.

But amid the chaos of my thoughts, a sudden, reckless idea took root in my mind. A pet. Yes, that's what I needed. Someone to trust, someone who would never betray me. It seemed like the perfect solution to my problems.

With a newfound purpose, I stumbled out of the bar. The world spun around me in a dizzying blur, my senses dulled by the haze of alcohol that inhibited my cognition.

The cool air hit me like a slap in the face as I squinted against the harsh glare of the streetlights, but I pressed on, my mind set on my newfound mission.

And then, like a mirage in the desert, I saw him—Cohen, leaning against his car with a look of concern etched on his face. I stumbled toward him.

His dark hair was loosely styled, and his warm hazel eyes held me captive. He wore the same buttoned shirt and chino pants as earlier, though they now showed signs of the warehouse's filthy interior. Despite the ordeal I had put him through, he was nonetheless the epitome of style and charm.

"Well, would you look at that," I slurred, my words dripping with sarcasm as I gestured toward him with a drunken flourish. "You managed to get free."

A giggle bubbled up from deep within me, the sound loud and boisterous against the backdrop of the empty streets. I swayed unsteadily on my feet, my vision swimming as I struggled to focus on the man before me.

Cohen regarded me with a mixture of amusement and concern, his eyes flickering with emotion as he pushed himself off the car and stepped toward me. "No thanks to you. What are you doing here, Salem?" he asked, his voice holding a note of exasperation.

I shrugged, the movement exaggerated and uncoordinated as I struggled to find my words amid the fog of my drunken stupor. "Just taking a stroll," I replied, my tone flippant as I waved a hand dismissively. "Thought I'd see what trouble I could get into."

Cohen's expression softened as he reached out to steady me. "You're drunk. Let me take you home."

I recoiled at his touch, a burst of defiance rising within me as I pulled away from him with an inebriated stubbornness that bordered on foolishness. "I don't need your help. I can take care of myself."

Cohen sighed, his frustration evident. "You're in no state to be wandering the streets alone," he insisted, his tone softer now, almost pleading. "Let me take you home, Salem. Please."

I bristled at his words, the alcohol fueling my anger as I lashed out at him with a ferocity that surprised even me. "I said I don't need your help," I spat, my voice venomous as I glared at him through narrowed eyes. "I don't need anyone."

But he was having none of it. "You might like to think that, but you do need someone," he said, his voice gentle. "Get in the car, Salem."

I protested, my drunken indignation rising like a tide within me. "Go away you… you betrayer." My words were barely coherent as I swayed unsteadily on my feet.

But Cohen wasn't buying it. With a sigh of resignation, he moved toward me, his movements slow and deliberate as he reached out to take my arm. "Come on, Salem. There is someone you need to see."

I resisted, pulling away from him. "No, there's no one. I have no one," I growled as I stumbled backward, my vision swimming with a dizzying intensity.

But Cohen wasn't about to give up that easily. With a determined set to his jaw, he moved toward me once more, his arms encircling me in a firm embrace. And then, before I could object, he lifted me effortlessly off my feet and carried me toward his car.

I refused to go quietly. With a drunken shout, I lashed out at him, my fists flailing wildly as I fought against his hold. "Hey! Put me down!" I protested, my voice rising in defiance as I struggled against his grasp. "I want a pet! A dog, or a cat, or… something!"

But Cohen wasn't about to indulge my drunken whims. "You're a stubborn little brat, Salem," he muttered, his voice colored with amusement as he deposited me unceremoniously in the backseat.

As the car pulled away from the curb and began to navigate the winding streets of Harlem, I sank back into its plush upholstery with a drunken sigh. The seats sure were comfy. I decided to rest my head for just a minute before enacting my grand escape.