Secondhand Smoke (Dartmoor Book 4) (35 page)

              He kissed her again before she could respond, quickly, and then left.

~*~

As Erin predicted, Jesse was at the pool hall, and he was
happy
to cooperate in order to save face in front of his friends. As Aidan and Carter stood witness, he called Greg (whom he knew as G) and arranged a meeting at Hamilton House for two hours later.

              “What are you gonna do?” Jesse asked as he pocketed his phone.             

              Aidan gave him a chilly smile. “None of your damn business.”

              One hour and fifty-five minutes later, Aidan waited in the mildewed kitchen of Hamilton House, listening to rats scrabble overhead.

              “Damn,” Carter muttered. “And I thought this place was creepy during a party.”

              “Yeah.”

              The moon was nearly full, but between the boarded-over windows and the thick overgrown magnolias outside, only the rare stray moonbeams slipped through the cracks to slant across the floor. It was a dark, haunted place tonight, full of whispers that had gotten caught in the cobwebs, air laced with damp smells and menace. It made Aidan think of the night Mason Stephens had brought his sister here and beat her into unconsciousness. A shudder moved through him, and he wondered if Carter was thinking about that night too.

              The house vibrated, suddenly, shifting under the weight of a single step at the front door. “Yo, Jesse?” Greg called, voice echoing as he moved toward the ballroom.

              Carter changed his voice, affecting irritation and boredom. “Back here, in the kitchen.”

              Mumbled cursing. Sound of a trip and a struggle for balance. “Jesus, it’s dark as shit in here.” His breathing became audible as he passed through the threshold of the kitchen. “Turn on a damn light.”

              “Okay,” Carter said. But he waited. And the steps drew closer, closer.

              The light came on with a bright flare, a high-powered Energizer number that could have doubled as a weapon.

              Greg brought an arm up to shield his eyes, and Aidan jumped on him, tackling him to the ground.

              “Hey! What the–”

              Greg was a small guy, but he was wiry and quick, and Aidan knew he had to make short work of this capture if he was going to pull it off. He flipped Greg to his stomach and managed to snag his wrists. He bucked and kicked and squirmed. Shit, Aidan was going to lose his grip…

              Carter knelt beside him. “Here.” He produced a zip tie and cinched Greg’s wrists together, flashlight sitting on the floor and casting giant, spider-like shadows of Greg’s hands onto the far wall.

              “What the fuck?” Greg hissed.

              “That’s funny,” Aidan said. “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

~*~

“Have you ever watched your mate Mercy do this?” Fox asked. He peeled another strip of duct tape off the roll and the sound was obscene as it cracked through the autumn night.

              “No,” Aidan said, grimacing. “I don’t have the stomach for it.”

              Fox lifted his brows, his expression mocking in the glow of the truck headlights. “Best get over that quick.”

              Aidan took a deep breath and squared up his shoulders. “I can do the job. No matter what it takes.”

              “Good.” Fox used the strip to further secure Greg’s arm to the chair they’d taped him to and then stepped back. “Here you go.”

              “Right.”

              Greg sat immobile, bound to the plastic lawn chair, mouth covered with tape, eyes darting between them. His nostrils flared as he looked up at Aidan, the fear in him obvious.

              Aidan took another deep breath and asked himself the all important question: What Would Mercy Do?

              Well, Mercy was a talker, friendly in his fury, and something about that strategy always got him results. That, or it was just because he was fucking huge and liked to use an ice pick.

              Either way.

              Aidan took a firm stance in front of Greg and ripped the duct tape from his mouth in one fast jerk that he hoped stung like hell. If Greg’s sharp hiss was anything to do by, mission accomplished.

              “Okay, here’s how it’s gonna go,” Aidan said. “I’m not as patient as the guy who normally handles this kinda thing, and I don’t think it’s as fun as he does either. So. I ask you some questions, and you give me the answers. If you don’t, my friend here” – nod to Fox – “is gonna start driving roofing nails through your hands. Get it?”

              The headlights provided them with a pool of cold light, but beyond, the cattle property was alive with night sounds and liquid shadows. The contrast turned Greg’s face to something pale and ghoulish. “You talk a better game since I was here last.” He tilted his head, an eloquent mention to their surroundings. “But talk is real cheap. And right now, we’ve got your friend.” He smiled, grimly. “You aren’t gonna do shit, Aidan.”

              Well, wasn’t that the story of his life? He wasn’t gonna finish school, wasn’t gonna get the nod for VP, wasn’t gonna do as he was told, wasn’t gonna pull the trigger, wasn’t gonna step up, wasn’t gonna be a decent father, wasn’t gonna have an old lady, wasn’t gonna grow up.

             
Wasn’t gonna pull the trigger.

              In the last few months, he’d learned a lot of important life lessons – specifically that there were things outside of his control.

              This moment wasn’t one of them.

              “Fox,” he said, surprised his voice didn’t shake. “Hammer and nail.”

              Fox stepped up, ready to do the deed himself. “I got you, mate.”

              “No,” Aidan said, firmly. “Give them to me.”

              Fox gave him a doubtful look – as doubtful a look as a man allergic to facial expressions could deliver. Whatever he saw in Aidan’s gaze convinced him, though, and he passed the items into Aidan’s hands.

              Hands that didn’t tremble as he drove the nail clean through the center of Greg’s hand with one hard blow from the hammer.

              The scream cut a physical path through the night, primal and shrill. Aidan imagined it flaring red in the dark, to match the blood welling up around the nail head.

              Greg sagged forward against his bonds, gasping, sobbing, moaning. This went on for a long time, until the man finally subsided into shivering deep breaths that whistled through his teeth.

              “Stop underestimating me,” Aidan said. “You’re going to tell me everything I wanna know. Even if I have to pound it out of you one nail at a time.” He took a deep, steadying breath. “Ready? Let’s get started.”

~*~

Dismantling a man
, that’s what Mercy had called it once. To torture him was to pick at his seams, take away his humanity piece-by-piece, until he was broken down to his most basic components: fear and love. At the heart of mankind, those were the two driving forces behind every decision. And when it came to torture, well…that just proved how much a man loved himself.

              Aidan picked that first loose stone, pried at it, worked it loose, and at some point in the wee hours, Greg had fallen to bits. He told them everything they needed to know about Ellison, Fox taking hurried notes over at the truck. He told them things Aidan didn’t want to know, too: how crushing it had been to learn that the Dogs had used him and that he could never be a member; how his father had knocked him around as a kid; how girls scorned him.

              Aidan went to the truck where Fox was folding his notes up neatly and sliding them into his pocket. “If he’s telling the truth,” the Englishman said, “then we’ve got exactly what we need.”

              “And if he’s lying?”

              A shrug. “There’s not much more we can do to make him sing.”

              “Right.” Aidan closed his eyes a moment, felt for the first time how heavy with sleep the lids were. The ground tilted beneath his feet as if he was drunk, and he thought he might pass out.

              “You want me to finish it off?” Fox asked, something like kindness in his voice.

              Aidan shook his head – bad idea – and forced his eyes open again. “No. This is on me. I shoulda done it a long time ago.” He took his nine mil from his waistband and walked back to Greg.

              Despite all that he’d endured, the guy’s head lifted, glassy eyes seeking Aidan’s gaze.

              “I’ll give you credit,” Aidan said, quietly. “I didn’t think you’d hold out so long.”

              No answer.

              “Can I ask you one more thing?”

              “I’m tied up, ain’t I?”

              “Something personal,” Aidan amended. “Not part of the interrogation.”

              “I already pissed myself.” There was still temper behind the words. “What the hell have I got to hide now?”

              Aidan swallowed the rising lump in his throat. “Why did you come back to Knoxville? Why didn’t you just stay away?”

              “I dunno,” Greg said. “Guess I just couldn’t help myself.”

              Aidan nodded. Lifted the gun. “I’m sorry, Greg. Really I am.” He fired.

              The shot seemed to echo, again and again, traveling across the tossing grasses in waves. Aidan turned away from the slumped form in the chair and set off at a fast walk, past Carter and Fox, away from the light of the truck. His hands curled into fists and the skin was tight with dried blood. His stomach heaved, and he just managed to make it into the shadows before he doubled over and threw up.

              He retched for a long time afterward, eyes shut tight, breathing through his mouth in fitful gasps.

              A hand landed on his shoulder, the touch radiating comfort. “That was good,” Fox said in his even, calming London accent. “I’m proud of you.”

              He wasn’t proud of himself, though.

~*~

Sam knew sleep would evade her, so she didn’t even try. She sat up against her headboard in bed, laptop on her stomach, working on the novel she was writing for school. She’d begun a few weeks ago with the best of intentions: a contemporary, literary novel full of witticisms and post-modern observations. Instead, her imagination had taken hold and it was fast turning into a Gothic sob fest of a book.

              When her phone rang, she was glad of the distraction. But then she caught the time on her bedside clock and fear spiked in the pit of her belly. It was almost three in the morning, which meant this wasn’t a social call.

              The screen told her it was Aidan.

              “Hello?” she said, trying not to sound as worried as she felt. He didn’t respond at first. “Aidan?”

              He breathed across the phone, the sound like the rustling of leaves. “I wanna see you.” His voice was all wrong.

              Sam sat up and put her laptop off onto the bed. “Where are you?” In her mind, she was already in her car and headed toward him. That voice…a shudder passed through her.

              “I don’t want you on the road this late. I’ll come by.” Then: “
Can I
come by?”

              Turning him away didn’t cross her mind. “Of course.”

              She was waiting in the kitchen when she heard his bike pull up. She had the door open before he reached it, and he didn’t pause, didn’t give her any space or wait to judge her reaction. He came in from the cold night on a fast lunge, grabbed her up and clasped her tight to his chest. Her feet were lifted off the floor and he carried her back into the kitchen, heeled the door shut.

              And then he just held her for long moments, arms tight as iron bands around her back. He was shivering.

              Sam waited, hands clasped loosely to his shoulders, letting him work through it. “Do you want to tell me about it?” she asked.

              He took a deep breath and let it out against her neck, breath warm, eliciting little tingles of excitement across her skin. “No.”

              A chill moved through her – the good kind. She knew without question that she was at one of those on-the-brink moments. If she wanted to, she could step back, turn him gently away, and offer friendship. She could coax him to talk out his problems like a rational adult, provide suggestions. And then she could go back to bed, alone, stare at her computer screen until her eyes glazed over with tears.

              But she knew this moment had the potential to go a very different way. And he’d told her he loved her. And his life was upside down. And there was a bloody gaping hole in her heart, one she’d ripped herself when she pushed him away.

              Sam pulled back, just far enough to see his face, the total devastation in his dark eyes. A lump formed in her throat. “No more secrets,” she whispered. “That’s the only way we can do this. It has to be all or nothing, Aidan. Full bore, no matter how bad things get. I can’t live without you,” she admitted. “But I can’t live a lie, either.”