Chills & Thrills: Three Novel Box Set (65 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Jeanine couldn’t stand it any longer. She and the kids were holed up in some podunk, crappy motel off the interstate. The girls were whining. She’d just cut off a good chunk of their hair after she’d cut and dyed her own. She’d bought cheap clothes at Wal-Mart and dressed them like boys, telling them they were playing a game.

“This game is stupid, Mommy,” Taylor whined.

“Yeah, stupid,” Chloe agreed. “I wanna go back home. I wanna see Daddy.”

“Soon.” She knew she needed to call this Gem Michaels person. How Ryan knew her, Jeanine didn’t know. And on top of that, would the journalist think she was a total nut? Probably. Her instructions were to tell Gem her husband was Chemmadderhorn. Then she was supposed to tell her to look into Redding and Frauen Pharma. It was already past six in California. Jeanine had made a couple of attempts to call the woman when they checked in. The bad news was the motel manager required a credit card to make phone calls. Jeanine thought it safer to use her cell phone.

“Mommy! I hate it here. It stinks.”

“It does stink,” Jeanine said and lifted Chloe up off the bed. “You know what, let’s get out of here.”

“Yay!” The twins clapped their hands.

She shoved the few belongings they had into her backpack and left the motel. She knew where she was going. It was only a couple of hours away. Ryan would not be happy about it, but the further she was from Ryan, the more she began to doubt his sanity, and her own. She needed a sounding board—a reality check. She gave Melanie a call.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Peter sipped his just-poured scotch. He loved having money. He’d married an extremely wealthy—albeit fairly neurotic—bitch. He gave a quick thought at how insane she’d become. Had he made her that way? Not that it mattered much now—she was no longer his problem. She currently resided in a private psychiatric hospital in Vermont. Beautiful place, really.

The day Peter had her committed was rough but he’d had no choice. She’d been screaming and carrying on to the medical staff that he’d made her lose their child—that he had deliberately killed their unborn baby. Okay, so maybe he had, but Jesus, bringing up some sniveling brat with a sense of entitlement didn’t appeal to him in the least. He hadn’t been about to allow a fortune to slip away through his fingers—which is exactly what would have happened if she’d given birth to the heir she’d so desired. Ah, poor Evelyn. Such is life.

Peter had never liked children. He hadn’t even liked himself as a child. He’d been born into a family where children were everywhere. Nine of them, to be exact. He never liked his siblings. With nine kids around, toys were scarce—clothes, food—all of it scarce. His father left the family when Peter was about four-years-old, and he couldn’t blame him. His stupid mother became a drunk and a whore and the kids were eventually spread out amongst foster homes.

Peter was so happy when he wound up with the Reddings, who had the right social connections and were good people. Mr. George Redding taught Peter everything he possibly could about purifying the human race.

He remembered his nightly talks with George, very clearly.

“Son, who is it we don’t like?” he’d ask little Peter every day while drinking his highball and scanning his newspaper.

“Niggers, spics, dagos, Jews, Indians, towel heads, chinks, and beaners.”

George laughed. “There’s a few more, but you forgot a very important group.”

“Oh yeah, faggots.”

“Good boy. No, we do not like homosexuals at all.”

“Who do we like, Dad?”

“Good, God-fearing, white people, of course—the people who built America. Now what do we need to do in order to make this country a great place again, in order to rule the world?”

“Purify.”

George smiled and nodded. “That is right, my boy. You are learning everything correctly. One day, you will be running this great country of ours, and we will take it back again. This will be the place it was meant to be.”

“We’re not so far off,” Peter whispered aloud. “It might look like it to some, but I promise you, Dad, we are not far off.” The doorbell rang and his on-and-off-again companion, Susan, quickly appeared showing Chad into his office. The kid stood between the mahogany double doors of the library. “Hey. Come on in!”

Chad stepped into the dimly lit, elegantly furnished room. “Sit down.” Peter motioned to one of the chairs opposite his desk. ”Would you like a drink?”

“No thank you, sir.”

Peter got up and poured himself another drink, then came around and sat next to Chad.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Yes. There is a little matter that needs your attention, and it’s delicate. That’s why I asked you to come here. I know my home is a safe place to discuss matters at hand. Not that the compound isn’t, mind you, but this is the kind of matter that must be handled in a certain way because it concerns a brother.” He clucked his tongue. “I am afraid Mr. Johnson is causing us some difficulty and I’m troubled. I don’t like to be troubled. I think we to need to be certain Mr. Johnson doesn’t concern us any longer. Understood?”

Chad nodded. “I do.” He hesitated. “Here’s the thing, sir. I’m in a very tough position.”

“Why is that?” Peter could see Chad begin to perspire.

“It’s my uncle, sir.”

“What about the senator?”

“Um, you see, he gave me some clear orders and one of them was I was not to get involved with…” he lowered his voice “…any dirty business.” He sat back in the chair and crossed his leg.

Peter clasped his hands together. The kid thought he could pull out his uncle’s name and get out of a job? This was truly amusing. Where did Senator Wentworth think his continual cash flow was going to come from? Peter chuckled. “I’m confused, Chad. Isn’t everything we’re involved in “dirty business?” Wouldn’t taking care of Dr. Hamilton be considered “dirty business?”

Chad uncrossed his legs and shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “Yes. That’s true. My uncle does not know I did that. I…he just had this conversation with me. I get you. Trust me, I do. I want to do everything I can to further The Brotherhood and the Covert Reich project. But I’m in a difficult position. I want to avoid upsetting my family further…especially if they found out the extent of what I’m doing for you…”

“For me? This isn’t simply for me, Chad. This is for you, for the country, for your uncle who is positioning himself to be the ruler of the free world. There is a higher purpose here.”

Chad hung his head.

“Tell you what, I will find someone else to take care of this, and from now on as your uncle wishes, I will make sure your position within The Brotherhood is maintained at a level the senator is comfortable with.”

“Thank you, sir,” he muttered.

“You’re welcome. You may go.” Peter watched as Chad left the room. He heard him shut the massive front doors as he let himself out. Peter stood, sighed, and poured himself another drink. He’d liked Chad. He really had. But it was time to send Senator Wentworth a very strong message.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Mark felt a sharp kick in his ribs. His eyes opened wide as he looked up at two burly dudes—guys he recognized from The Brotherhood. Mark immediately pulled his knees up to his naked chest, blubbering, “Hey, man, what the fuck?”

“Get up, asshole. It’s your lucky day,” one of them said, a German accent clipping the end of his words. He was bald, big, and ugly. Mark recognized him. He’d led a few of the local Brotherhood meetings.

“What do you mean?” Mark eyed him, full of suspicion.

“What he means, shit for brains, is you just received a promotion and now you have to earn it,” The other guy was taller, skinnier, with plenty of hair—all slicked back with light blue eyes that bore into Mark. He wasn’t as big as the other dude, but he looked meaner. “Get dressed. We have a job to do. Orders came all the way down from the head brass, so you can’t fuck this up.”

“Whose orders?” Mark asked, not entirely convinced what these guys were telling him was true.

“I don’t really think that matters. What does matter is you get your ass up, dressed, and ready in two minutes. Something tells me if this job is done right, you’ll be a very happy man.” Baldy gave Mark one of those, I fucking mean it stares, and Mark decided it was probably in his best interest to do as they suggested.

Twenty minutes later they were parked in front of Chad Wentworth’s townhome. Mark had been there once before. His boss. His brother. Chad seemed like a decent guy. He wasn’t an asshole like these dudes. He’d treated Mark with respect. They’d even had beers together and shot the shit. Of course, it was all very hush-hush because everyone knew Wentworth had major family connections. That’s why Mark was surprised Chad would be going with him and these goons to do any kind of job. Chad didn’t do jobs. He gave orders. Except Mark suspected Chad had been the one to do Dr. Hamilton. So, maybe he was going with them. Maybe this was kind of like a final acceptance thing. Maybe he was graduating into the big league.

“Hey, I thought you guys said I wouldn’t be meeting with the boss until all was said and done.” Mark chuckled nervously.

Baldy, whose real name was Thomas, turned around and faced him in the backseat of the Mercedes sedan. “You will.”

“Then, why are we at Chad’s place?”

Now the scarier and skinner guy, whose name was Connor, turned and shook his head. “Chad has apparently been a very bad boy, and we’re here to punish him.”

Mark squirmed in the plush leather seat. “What? No! He’s a good guy. He’s one of us!”

“Shut the fuck up!” Thomas said. “Look here, Chad may have been your boss, but my boss is the boss, and what he says goes.”

Mark didn’t respond.

Connor clapped a hand on his shoulder, “The first rule to getting ahead, brother: Do not ask questions. Ever. Do you understand?”

Mark nodded slowly.

“It’s easy really…” Thomas sat up front loading a gun. Mark swallowed hard. “We just follow the orders and we get paid a lot of money for moving our cause forward.” Thomas placed a silencer on the gun.

“We’re going to shoot him?” Mark heard the quiver in his voice.

“No,” Thomas said and grabbed the handle of the door. “He’s going to shoot himself.” Thomas held the gun up to his temple. “Pow,” he whispered, a scary little smile spreading across his face.

Mark swallowed heavily. “Nah. Come on. No way.”

“Here, take some of this,” Connor handed Mark a silver flask. “You’ll see how it works. We like to make it clean. Murder is so nasty. Give the guy an easy way out.”

Mark brought the flask up to his lips and took a long, hard swallow. The taste of whiskey hit his tongue. It was good stuff. It burned going down, and then quickly warmed him. Sweat dripped down his back. He took another swig from the flask. The guys…his brothers…laughed.

“I don’t get it. Chad shooting himself, I mean. How’s that gonna go down? No way in hell Chad…is going to shoot himself.”

Thomas opened his door and Connor followed suit. “That’s where you come in, brother.” Thomas winked at him and Mark wished he’d taken a third hit off the flask.

The three men entered Chad’s place through the French patio doors.

Chad was asleep on the couch. A near-empty scotch glass sat next to him on the floor, and the credits of a late-night movie rolled by on the TV. Thomas bent over and gently shook Chad awake. He sat up quickly, rubbing his eyes. Mark recognized fear immediately. Hell, hadn’t he felt the same way less than an hour earlier? “What are you guys doing?” Chad asked, his voice shaking.

Thomas and Connor sat down on either side of him. They wore thick black gloves and scowls on their faces. Mark stood over them, the gun Thomas handed him pointed at Chad.

“What the hell is this all about? I don’t get it,” Chad said. “Come on guys, I don’t like jokes, especially not in the middle of the night.”

“No joke, brother,” Thomas said. “Seems you upset the boss a bit.”

“What? Redding? No. No way.” He shook his head emphatically. “I just met with him and we were good. All good.”

“You know this is nothing personal, right? We’re simply the messengers,” Connor said.

“Doing a job,” Thomas added. “Right, Mark?”

Mark nodded and tried to keep his cool. “Right.”

Chad looked at Mark pleadingly. “You’re really with these clowns?” Chad’s voice was rising. “Do you fucks know who my uncle is?”

“Yeah man, we know, but that won’t help you. In fact, here’s the thing…okay, first get the fuck off the couch and move your ass up the stairs into your room.”

“No.” Tears welled in Chad’s eyes. “No man. Fuck you!” He struggled as Connor took one side of him and Thomas the other.

“Alright, if you don’t do what we need you to do, a few things will happen. None of them pretty. We will torture you. Or we can make this painless and easy. You’re going to die, no matter what.” Connor said. The blood drained from Chad’s face. “As I was saying, we can do it your way, which will be painful and ugly and there will be repercussions. For instance, the entire world will soon learn Chad Wentworth, nephew of the senator, was a criminal and a racist. How do you think that will go over? I think it would certainly break your mother’s heart at the very least.” Connor looked at Thomas who nodded in agreement. Mark didn’t move.

“That’s bullshit. Redding and all of you need my uncle to move forward. You know that. You do. Don’t do this!”

“I don’t know anything other than what I have been told to do. I also know no matter what, I would want to take the easy way out. Oh and I might add we know your parents’ address, your sister’s address, and the address of that girl you been banging up on Mullholland. Nice piece of ass. I would hate to see something so pretty and sweet wind up ugly and dead. In fact, I got a guy waiting there right now for, uh, what’s her name? Melissa, Maryanne?”

“Marissa,” Thomas chimed in. “Be a shame if you didn’t do your part and she had to suffer for it.”

“Real shame,” Connor added.

“You’re sick,” Chad sucked back a sob.

“I’ve been told that,” Thomas said, laughing. Then he grew serious. “But apparently, I understand what needs to be done to make this work—make this country—a better place. Make this world a better place. But you must have made a bad decision. I don’t know what happened and I don’t really care. As I said, this is not personal. Up the stairs. Oh, and where’s your cell phone?”

Chad pointed to the kitchen. Connor walked over and picked it up off the counter. He stepped in front of Chad. Mark put the gun into Chad’s back as he had been ordered to. Thomas came up behind them as Chad staggered up the stairs. They reached his bedroom and went in.

Thomas looked around and whistled, “Nice digs, Chad.” Then he glanced back to Connor. “Hand the man his phone.” Connor did. “Now send your soon-to-be-president uncle— who will be oh so sad and earn sympathy points—a text message telling him you love him and know he will be a great president.”

Chad did, his fingers shaking. Thomas leaned over him as he typed. “Good. Press send. Okay. Clock’s ticking. Mark…first wait.” Thomas and Connor pulled out their own guns and pointed them toward Chad. “You’re screwed no matter what, buddy. If you try and shoot any of us, you’re still dead and, like I said, anyone you love or have ever loved, will be too. Mark…”

Mark held the gun to Chad’s head. It was all he could do not to puke on himself. He took Chad’s hand and fingers and wrapped them around the gun.

“Any last words?” Connor asked.

Tears streamed down Chad’s face. “Yes. Tell Redding he will never get away with this. Tell him I will see him in hell.”

Thomas and Connor laughed and nodded at Mark who pulled back Chad’s finger on the trigger. There was a soft thwump from the gun. Chad’s body jerked back and then fell forward. Mark looked away.

Thomas said, “Boys let’s pack up. We got one more tonight.”

Mark stared at the floor in front of him, not wanting to see the blood and brains splattered across Chad’s bed and wall. He did as he was told. He knew one thing for sure, he’d do whatever they wanted if it meant he never had to end up like Chad.