“Eventually.” He pushed himself away from the vanity, the ground moving unsteadily under his feet. Gritting his teeth, he took a moment to will it still again then said, “Stay here.”
She said nothing as he left the bathroom, going down the hallway and into the bedroom.
There was a chest of drawers in one corner and he pulled one of the top drawers open, finding what he was looking for. Heading back into the bathroom, he was mildly surprised to find her exactly where he’d left her, with her arms wrapped around her middle, a mutinous expression on her face.
“Hands out, princess.”
Slowly, she did so and he pushed her bracelets back then snapped the handcuffs he’d found around her wrists.
“Wow, kinky,” she said sarcastically. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”
He didn’t bother to respond, gripping her arm, steering her out of the bathroom and back into the main living area of the apartment.
Over by the massive paneled windows was a black leather couch, and he pushed her down onto it. “Wait here.”
She muttered something that was probably rude under her breath.
He ignored it, picked up the purse she’d dropped on the ground and rummaged around inside it, finding her phone among a pile of receipts and all sorts of feminine shit. Taking it out, he quickly extracted the SIM card, dropped the phone onto the floor, and stepped on it. Hard.
Glass cracked, electronics scattering everywhere.
“You asshole!” Violet had risen to her feet, staring at the broken piece of technology, fury stamped all over her pale, delicate features. “That was my phone!”
Interesting. Her response was anger rather than fear. Another little fact to file away for future reference.
“Not any more.” He pocketed the SIM card for flushing down the toilet later. “I’m going to have a shower and get cleaned up. So sit down, shut up, and if you’re very lucky, I might tell you what you’re doing here.”
She did as she was told, but there were wild, blue sparks in her eyes.
Again, interesting.
He’d witnessed a few altercations that Violet had had with her parents, and her responses had always been of the ‘whatever, man’ variety. She’d never been as openly furious as she was now.
As if, for a moment, he was seeing a different Violet.
Or maybe what you’re seeing is the real Violet?
“Asshole,” Violet repeated, her expression still furious.
Christ, what did it matter what he was seeing? She was merely his hostage, and he didn’t give a shit what kind of person she was as long as she sat down, shut up, and did what she was told.
Elijah ignored her, turning and heading back toward the bathroom.
After he’d gotten rid of the SIM card, it took him a while to get clean, the pain making the shower a lesson in agony as he washed off the blood. Then he had to bind up the wound and get rid of his dirty, bloodstained clothes. It wasn’t until he pulled on a clean T-shirt, jeans, and a thick, black hoodie, that the pain began to subside from a shriek to a dull roar and he began to feel moderately human again.
It helped that the plan on how he could use Violet was coming together in his head.
He was still turning the details over, but he thought it might work. In fact, it fucking better since he really had no other options, thanks to Eva goddamn King, a really piss-poor decision, and lack of planning on his part.
He’d never expected Rutherford to not protect her. He’d never expected her to pick up the gun and shoot Fitzgerald herself.
Bitch.
Let it go. You can’t change it now and anyway, you have bigger fish to fry.
His anger coiled like a snake, shifting and turning.
Since losing Marie, he’d managed to divest himself of every single emotion. Anything that could hurt, anything that could undermine, he’d gotten rid of. Everything except anger. And that he’d kept sharp and bright, and most of all cold. He’d had to. After all, revenge took its time and hot rage burned itself out soon enough. Cold rage though, that kept going, kept sustaining.
And he was going to need all of it if he wanted to go through with the plan he was forming in his head right now. A plan that was bigger than merely crushing Fitzgerald.
A plan that took it right back to the source.
To Jericho.
Back out in the lounge, he found Violet frantically going through her purse, bits of crap strewn all over the couch. As he approached her, she had her hands in her lap and was bent over them, one hand twisted over, something clutched in her fingers.
It took him a moment to realize she was trying to get the handcuffs open with a hairpin.
He stopped not far from the couch and folded his arms, watching her. There was no way she was going to succeed, but a tiny part of him was vaguely impressed with her tenacity. Especially since it was clear by her movements that she’d never picked a lock in her entire life.