When Garrett Thorne rose behind Barker with his hand on the man’s collar, he found himself hoping that he would kill the man, strangle him right there in front of the whole world on national television, make the man pay for touching Tess. And then … And then … He would find Garrett Thorne and make him pay … And then, he would take Tess, take her away, and make her pay … For a very long time, he would make her pay. And then, once she was purified, once she understood, once her mind was clear again, they could truly be together.
‘What the fuck?’ he growled, as Tess dumped her dessert in Blessing’s lap, close up and personal, covering the man’s bulge in chocolate mousse. That’s not what was supposed to happen. He wanted the man covered in blood; he wanted the man choking out his last breath while everyone watched in delicious horror.
‘No, no, no!’ he roared at the monitor, up on his knees, close enough that his breath misted the screen as Garrett Thorne took Tess by the elbow and led her from the hall to the loud applause of all present. ‘No! That’s not right! That’s not the way it’s supposed to happen! That’s not the way I want it,’ he raged, shattering what was left of the broken remote against the monitor over and over again, streaking it with more of his blood before rising to his feet, yanking the monitor from its stand and smashing it over and over against the wall, the sound of crumbling sheetrock, splintering plastic and metal, drowning out the electronic crackle of shredding wires.
‘She’s not yours! You can’t have her,’ he shouted as the image of Thorne and Tess Delaney disintegrated and crumbled in a shower plaster dust. ‘She belongs to me. To me!’
When there was nothing left of the television monitor or the remote, he sat back on his heels and sobbed, holding his bloodied hand against the spastic jumping of his heart. It was ages before he finally stood. He wrapped his hand in half a roll of toilet paper, shoved on his trainers, and went for a run. He would not let Garrett Thorne have his Tess. In the end she would still be his, but they would both pay for their betrayal. He’d be sure of that. He ran and ran, he didn’t know for how long. He didn’t remember anything about it, except that the night vision of the Portland streets was filtered through the red rage that surrounded him like a fog. He wasn’t even sure how he wound up back at the door of his apartment, struggling to get the key into the lock, struggling with all his might not to think about what Garrett Thorne might be doing to his Tess right now. It was unbearable. It was agony. He’d waited so long. And then this!
In the bathroom, he peeled away the bloodied toilet paper from his hand. The gash had clotted clean, but reopened with the removal of the tissue. He washed it for ages under cold water, then, when he was sure it wouldn’t bleed any more, he stripped off his clothes and shuffled back into the living room. Ignoring the rubble that was once the television, he went to the makeshift desk and booted up his laptop. Sitting naked, as dawn began to break grey over the city, he surfed through everything he could find in the press about last night’s Golden Kiss Awards.
At last, he went to Carla Flannery’s article. She was a young nobody of a journalist, who always seemed to find out what no one else could. As he read her report about the strange goings on at the Golden Kiss Awards, an idea began to form in his head. It wasn’t that hard to get the attention of the media these days, and it was Carla Flannery’s attention he wanted. All the reporters were watching her out of the corner of their eyes after she broke a story about an illegal landfill near John Day. She was only just an email away. He rubbed his hands together and began to type.
Once the limo pulled away from the curb, Garrett pried the award gently from her fingers, then hefted its weight. ‘I’d say the bastard was damn lucky he got the mousse in the crotch instead of the Rodin upside of the head.’
Kendra forced a pained laugh, in spite of herself, and he could tell her control was near the breaking point, but he didn’t care. He didn’t!
As the anger dissipated slightly from her face, she took a careful breath and said, ‘Garrett, you should have let me handle it. I’ve had to deal with gropers and droolers and all sorts, and I know what an asshole Blessing is. I was ready for him. Really I was. But you forced my hand. Damn it, you forced my hand.’ Her grip on the leather arm rest was white-knuckled, and Garrett was pretty sure it was in attempt to keep from punching him good. ‘You should have let me handle it. That’s my job, Garrett, that’s what you’re paying me for, and frankly I –’