Broken Dreams(145)

“You whore!” Kellan yelled. Rage filled me, and I raised the hammer again, aiming for his head. Henry stopped me before I brought the hammer back down again.

“Step back a moment, love.” I took a step back, and Henry placed himself an inch from Kellan’s face. “What did you call her? I don’t believe I heard you properly.” I couldn’t believe how smooth and in control Henry was. I would have thought he would’ve snapped by now.

“A whore!” he spat at me.

Henry stepped back and casually said, “Hit the other foot.”

I wasn’t going to disobey. I smiled and brought the hammer down on Kellan’s other foot. He cried out again.

As sick and twisted as that moment was, it felt so damn good. He tortured Henry, my mother, and who knows how many others. I imagine Sophie was on that long list, too. It was his turn to pay for what he did. Karma. Eye for a motherfucking eye, my friend.

“That was for my mother!” I growled. “And that is what you call vigilante justice.” I smirked.

I raised the hammer and hit the tracking device with such force, it broke into a couple pieces. The blow dented the floor pretty badly, as well. I looked up. “Sorry, Mom. I hope you can forgive me.” I looked back down on Kellan. I felt alive again. My adrenaline was pumping furiously through my veins. I could feel my blood pressure peaking. My face was tingling, and my heart was pounding in my chest. I was ready for war.

“Fuck you,” he growled at me. Then he tried to spit in my face again. I raised the hammer above his head. Just as I started swinging down, something stopped me. Henry. Damn that man. He was ruining my moment, and I was less than pleased.

“Hold on, love. I’m not done with him yet, but when I am, he’s all yours. Alright?” I nodded, and let the head of the hammer rest on the floor. My breathing was rapid, and my body was still feeding on the adrenaline.

Kellan was working hard to get out of the restraints. He was still eyeing Claire and the bag she was happily filling. Henry grabbed him by the throat. “I have one more question in mind. Give me the information on Sophie’s children.” I dropped the sledge hammer on the floor, startling Kellan. Everyone, but Nick, turned and looked at one another with a dropped jaw.

That whole time, she never said anything about having kids. I found it rather bizarre. I spun around, and she stood there with her hands covering her face. Kellan quieted down and stopped trying to free himself. He seemed to have conceded, knowing his true death was near.

“They’re safe.” His dying eyes kept flickering to Sophie, like he was trying to tell her something.

“You know that’s not what I’m asking.” Henry was stern. Not once did he break his stare.

“They’re not like us. The youngest is mine.” I was surprised about what was pouring out of his mouth. I could only imagine the child came from a rape. That would explain why Sophie was so terrified of him. And to hear him speak sorrowfully about his child was rather odd. Kellan and compassion were like oil and water. He kept glaring at Sophie.

“Now, tell me where they are.” Silence filled the room. We all waited with an intensity that I had never felt before.

“Shortly after Sophie left to retrieve you, he put them in the custody of Anne Richards.” Henry stumbled back. “Roger was sure that she wasn’t coming back. He gave it a while, and then sent me over to collect both of your sorry arses.” Kellan rolled his neck a few times. He tried arching his back, but he was bound too tight.

“Did you say Anne Richards?” Kellan didn’t answer him. He stepped right up to him. “Answer me, motherfucker!” he shouted with rage.

“Yes,” he mumbled. Kellan acted as if he gave something away that he shouldn’t have. Henry ignored his pain, and grabbed Kellan by the throat again. He was squeezing his throat so hard, he choked. I had no idea what was setting him off.

“Where is she?”

Kellan could barely breathe, let alone talk. He struggled to speak. “Safe…house.” He let go of Kellan’s throat, shoving him backward, leaving him coughing. Henry began pacing the floor, mumbling to himself.

“Henry…who is Anne Richards?” I tried to ask him with a gentle voice because I could see his emotions building. I was hoping not to set him off again. He always had a hair-trigger when he was angry. It was like he didn’t hear me. I reached out and touched his arm. “Henry…?”

“What!” he snapped, and I jumped back. I really didn’t like “Angry Henry” because he scared me. “Love, I’m sorry.” His graying eyes were wet with tears.