A woman in a cage near the back of the room screamed through her gag, the sound muted, her weak plea only met with laughter from the men below.
A nobody to them. Less than that. They chose people who could be easily dismissed. No one would miss them should they disappear. No one would listen to them if they told their story. And these men made sure nothing checked out. Few lived, anyway, so who cared if there were a handful of scattered crazies with a similar story too outrageous to believe? Certainly not the police. They’d made sure of that.
“I don’t think tonight’s your night, Vitucci,” the man said softly, leaning toward him, his rotund belly preceding him and bumping Caspar’s. “One of them has lost a hand.”
“Hmm,” Caspar hummed disinterestedly, taking a long sip of his champagne. He wondered if this was the old man who’d taken Noelle’s virginity so many years ago. That man had had this same physique. The man tipped his own flute back, guzzling it in one gulp. There you go, you disgusting hog. Bottoms up.
The server passed by, presenting another full tray of champagne. Caspar drained his glass and took another, as did the old man. “It’s almost a shame that things look so bleak for them,” the man said.
Caspar smiled. “Almost,” he said. The man ambled away. Caspar looked around. Everywhere here there were bankers and politicians, members of various agencies, and high-powered attorneys. The amount of money they represented was in the billions. They could buy their way out of anything.
Or so they believed.
But they had missed something. Eventually they always did, because they thought themselves invincible.
The man who now called himself Leonard Sinclair was standing at Dedryck’s side, watching him from across the room. Caspar raised his glass to Leonard—Fontane, the spoiled son of a judge and the man he’d once watched rape his sister and tear the necklace from her throat as Caspar had been bound and helpless. He’d taken to the debauchery quite easily, as Caspar remembered. Fontane still didn’t recognize him, not only because they believed him dead, but because Caspar had been a nobody when he’d known him before, invisible to men such as him. Caspar had guessed correctly that Fontane had kept his sister’s diamond, the one Caspar assumed the bastard took out now and again to remind himself how untouchable he was.
Fontane raised his glass in return. Caspar knew very well what the man was cheering to. He hoped Vitucci would be dead by the end of the night. And perhaps his hope was well founded. But there was much Fontane did not yet know.
The room dimmed slightly, a hush falling over the party as the screens around the room blinked to life. The final act had arrived.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Grim hissed out a breath, pain radiating up his arm as he used his teeth to tie off the makeshift bandage he’d fashioned from the sleeve of his shirt.
His head swam at the sight of the blunt end of his arm. His fucking hand was gone. You made it out of that room alive, though. It’s only a hand. And your right one at that. His father had beat him each time he used his left hand to write, convinced that it meant Grim was stupid. He’d minded him at home but defied him at school and once he had moved out of his house. Take that, you mean ole fucker. Noncompliance pays off in the end, he thought, barely suppressing a manic laugh.
He hadn’t left Cedro. That was the point. Tears tracked down the kid’s face, and he swiped at them, trying to hide the fact that he was crying. He wasn’t so hardened that he didn’t still have the ability to cry. And Grim was glad for that. Grim knew what it was like not to feel. It was no way to live. Hence the fact that he’d been on a suicide mission prior to being abducted.
He supposed some would consider it an irony that he was currently fighting so hard to live.
“Cedro,” he said, and Cedro turned his head, his eyes held to his, obviously trying hard not to look at Grim’s wrapped stump, blood seeping through the gray fabric. He’d lost a lot of blood in the last few hours. It was now or never. They’d been given all the tools. He’d received the messages sent by the unknown person. He didn’t know if they were tricks or lies, but they had to try. He raised his left hand and did the sign of the cross. Cedro let out a slow breath but then tipped his chin. He’d understood the sign.
Grim lay down, attempting to sleep. They would need rest for what was to come. His phantom hand throbbed with agony, and a bead of sweat rolled down his cheek. He felt hot and clammy. His eyes found the poppy twisted around a bar of his cage, and he pictured his daughter, the vision of her face becoming clearer the longer he focused. He hadn’t allowed himself to picture her for so long, and now he saw her in every corner of his small cell, in the room where they tortured him, and in Cedro’s eyes as he looked at him from across their divide.
Poppy.
If we get out of here, I’m going to try to adopt you, Cedro. And your brother. Why not? They needed someone. Why not him? Why the hell not? Do something good with what you might have left of your miserable life, Grim. Something that makes up for your failures. The thought gave him hope, something tangible to shoot for. A goal and a dream. Two things he barely remembered.
He slept, he supposed. He wasn’t sure. But he became aware of the door opening and the same man entering their room. Grim pulled himself up, meeting Cedro’s eyes as the man came to stand before Cedro’s cage. “You’ve been rented.”
Here we go. He didn’t look at Cedro for risk of throwing him off in any way. The kid started to cry, but this time his cries were manufactured. Big gulping sobs as he sputtered and begged. “Exit or I tase you,” the man told him.
Cedro hung his head, his shoulders shaking as he cried for another moment. “Wait,” he said, reaching back and grabbing his last peppermint. “Please.”
The man looked slightly confused but then smiled slowly. “Sure,” he said. “A last supper. Enjoy.”
Cedro curled his shoulders forward and crawled on his knees slowly to the front of the cage while the man stepped back. Cedro stood and unwrapped the candy slowly, placing it in his mouth and sighing. The man jerked his head, and Cedro began to walk but then suddenly stopped short, bringing his hands to his throat.
Grim moved to the front of his cage. “Cedro!”
The man with the Taser had taken another step back as Cedro began flailing, his face turning beet red now as he brought his hands to his throat once more.
“Jesus, he’s choking. Help him!” Grim called. “Beat him on the back!”
The guard hesitated but then stepped forward, using his fist to beat Cedro’s back over and over.
Grim didn’t even notice when Cedro picked the key from his pocket. For a moment, he doubted if he had. But then Cedro drew in a big gasping breath, lowering his hands and drawing his shoulders back. There were tears streaking down his red-tinged skin. He drew in another breath, and then another, turning his foot slightly in the sign they’d agreed on through their prayer language.
Grim wanted to weep. He almost did, a sob of pride filling his throat so full he had to work to swallow it down. That’s it. That’s my brave boy. Good job, Cedro.
He took another breath, straightening and steeling his spine. One step down, many more to go.
The man gave one final knock on Cedro’s back and began to step away when Cedro spun and raised his hand high above his head, rage blooming in his young face as he swept his hand downward toward the guard’s artery.
One chance, you only have one chance, Cedro.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Even with his muscles tensed, pride shimmered in Caspar’s chest as he watched the dance he’d choreographed over so many weeks. He hadn’t anticipated one of his dancers being without a hand, and yet even so, they performed beautifully. The room had stilled, the sounds of old Dedryck’s wheezes easily heard in the piqued silence.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he heard a man utter.