His Passion (4 page)

“How about we take my sister and if you're lucky, I'll kill you quickly,” Cole ended the bargaining.

Suddenly, Lars was at a loss for words.

I was picking up the slack as we pulled down the cobblestone driveway, all manners of luxury cars wrapping around the circular driveway from Hummers to Lamborghinis. I fought the urge to plow into the men that climbed from the car, hiding their true nature behind suits and ties.

“Just follow the driveway past the valets to the VIP entrance.” Cole must have pressed the barrel of his gun deeper because Lars spat out a curse. “Is the gun still necessary? I brought you to the house.”

“I'm not done with you,” Cole answered coldly.

Past the tailored green and floral landscapes was another security guard that held up his mitt, signaling for me to stop.

I complied, glancing at Cole in the mirror. Cole drew the gun from Lars' temple, back to the discreet but deadly position at the criminal's side.

I rolled down the window and the man leaned in, his dark sunglasses no cover for the fact that he was trying to figure out who I was and why I was there.

I kept my cool. “I have Mr. Eichmann. He needs to see one of the girls.” I forced a knowing chuckle from my lips. “A one on one meeting.”

The humor wasn't returned, but the man stepped aside, letting me squeeze through the entrance, just barely clearing the side mirrors. I didn’t miss the thud as we went over the spikes that could prevent a quick escape. The perfect, respectable front, security staff and gates to prevent sabotage and escape—it hit me that this wasn't just a handful of people selling women on a street corner. This was a network of people.

And the odds of us getting in and out without incident were decreasing by the second.

I parked beside an Aston Martin and slid out of the car, intercepting a petite woman that dashed over to meet us. She turned her blinding smile on me, tossing a curtain of white blonde hair over her shoulder.

“Hi, I'm Elsa. Welcome to the Estate. Do you have your key?”

I bought Cole a few more seconds to put the fear of God into Lars. “This is a lovely property. Much nicer than the estate I visited in Venice.” I had no idea why that city popped out of my mouth. I could have very well revealed that I was an impostor, but she just leaned in and gave me a conspiratorial wink.

“The women are just lovely down there but we have all different sizes, flavors, and kinks, tailored to fit any man's discerning tastes.”

I fought to keep my snarl at bay. To ask her how she could be a part of this organization. When she reached out to touch my arm I instinctively recoiled, but the sound of the car door opening distracted from slip. “I wasn't aware you were bringing-” Her pale eyes widened. “Mr. Eichmann! If I knew you were coming by-”

Cole was Lars’ shadow as they moved toward us, but the woman was so busy kissing Lars' ass that she didn't notice.

Lars gave her a tiny peck on the cheek and a smile brutal enough to bruise. “Surprise visits are the only way to keep you on your toes, Elsa.” He said it in a lighthearted manner but her face fell like she knew that she was in some sort of terrible trouble. He had no patience for her fear, his voice a whip as he waited for her to lead us inside. “Well, let’s get on with it. We have a tight schedule and these two men have their eye on a particular girl.”

“O-of course!” She rushed to the door, holding it open wide as Lars entered first with Cole closely behind. I shut the door behind me. The thud echoed around us. The home was massive, four pillars stretching from the marble floor to the stained glass ceiling. Art work and marble statues gave the space a sophisticated feel and the fountain that trickled and flowed intensified the classical music that hummed all around us. I was taken back to the restaurant; the mask of elegance and sophistication that hid the rot beneath.

Women dressed in skin tight black dresses and sky high heels strutted over to meet us. One carried a pitcher of water with lemons floating among chunks of ice; the other had three glasses ready.

Elsa rushed toward them, her voice a hushed scold in their native tongue as she turned them around and sent them off, probably to get the top shelf water with the elite pieces of lemon and gold trimmed glasses.

She turned back to us, her voice as shaky as her stride. “Again, Mr. Eichmann, I just want to-”

“No apology is necessary.” His words sent a chill through the room and she snapped her mouth shut, getting the picture. “Could you please tell me which room we would find the new girl in?”

“The mouthy blonde?” She looked taken aback, surprised that any of us would want such a woman. “We have many more beautiful options here. Let me grab the roster-”

“What room is she in?” Cole snapped.

Her eyes switched to Cole's and she took a small step backward, gulping before she started fidgeting with the oversized diamonds in her ears. “Second floor. T-the room at the end of the hall on the right. But she's-”

“That will be all, Elsa.”

The woman seemed eager to duck behind one of the statues, disappearing as quickly as she appeared.

Lars didn't budge, his face ugly with disdain as he batted his gaze between us. “Well, you heard. The girl is upstairs.”

“And you're coming with us,” Cole hissed. “To the bitter end.”

The man slunk up the stairs in angry silence. I didn't delight in the irony of his control being taken away; I was too stunned by how quiet it was. I expected loud, heavy metal music that masked screams. Broken bottles, clothes, used condoms strewn all over. Bleary eyed women with needles stuck in their arms and men with their tongues out and their pants down.

Instead, it was quiet.

Disturbingly so.

Like everyone was already dead.

We moved down the hallway, stopping a few feet from the door when someone exited a room a few doors down. The man was overweight, fixing himself, his face red with exertion, his hair wild and disheveled.

I thought about the women he'd left in the room and started toward him angrily.

“We're here for Brittany, Jacob,” Cole reminded me.

I turned to my brother, the guilt and helplessness of our situation, of every situation in the rooms that surrounded us, so heavy on my heart that I could barely stand.

I wanted to give the man one last glare. That I saw through him. Knew the kind of man he was...but he was gone.

“Can't save them all,” Lars feigned sadness and I nearly lost it.

“When this is all done, if my brother doesn't kill you, I will,” I promised.

We continued down the hall, stopping at the door Elsa had described. I never thought I'd feel any semblance of compassion for the person that hurt my wife, but I found myself wishing, hoping that Brittany had somehow been spared the horrors of this place. That she was just asleep, waiting for us to rescue her.

I opened the door...and knew that wasn't the case.

The Brittany I remembered had the cocky arrogance of youth. She held her head high, throwing in digs while she took my money and handed me my wife like she was some almighty power.

The Brittany before me was a ghost of the girl I'd met on that road a month ago. Her electric locks had been shaved off. Her face was so swollen and bruised she was barely recognizable. She was dressed in some torn pink chemise, the front streaked with blood. The visible skin of her arms and legs were covered with painful cuts and marks. A man stood near the window, the doors to a Juliet balcony thrown open as he smoked his cigarette.

He staggered, the smell of the alcohol pungent even from several feet away. The broken glass from the bottle crunched as he swayed toward us. His lip was busted, his teeth bloodied as he smiled at us.

Maybe the blood was his...
It brought me a small measure of comfort.

“You guys are a little late for the party,” he slurred, glass crunching beneath his shoes as he leered at us. “This little bitch has fight in her.”

Brittany seemed out of it, clutching the sides of her head like she was on a roller coaster and just wanted to be still.

I looked to Lars, who just stood there like he was watching it all from the audience with a bucket of popcorn.

Cole was devastated.

His mouth hung open in horror, the hand that held the gun shaking uncontrollably.

Brittany’s eye that wasn't swollen shut fixed on him and she said his name. “C-Cole?”

He snapped.

I heard it, the literal break as he slammed the butt of the gun into the back of Lars' head and the stocky man slumped to the floor like he weighed nothing at all.

The other man was too drunk or stupid to realize that jumping from the balcony would have been a mercy.

In a blur of movement Cole grabbed him, the cigarette sizzling as it connected with his forehead. He slammed the man into the wall and his fists met flesh, each sound more absolute than the last.

The man had no face. It was just a mass of flesh and bone. And Cole would beat him until there was nothing left.

The rage I felt when I thought he'd hurt my wife...the same bloodlust that swept me up and almost made me commit murder had possessed him.

“B
reathe...just breathe.”

Rubber squealed, the SUV flopping like a fish out of water as I took the curb, flying out the gate with a swarm of unhappy guards in the rear view.

When I glanced back, I barely saw the men at all, likely on orders to follow us, reclaim Lars' property, then wipe me and my brother from the face of the earth. I saw Cole, cradling his sister like she was something precious. Fragile. Breakable.

Not just breakable. Broken.

And my heart cracked for what she’d gone through.

I knew what they'd done. Brittany had plotted, drugged, and terrorized Leila. While Cole's role in the whole affair wasn't what it seemed, he'd still played a role. They were guilty as sin.

But it was I who felt guilty as I looked at them now. Brittany couldn't stop shivering, her sobs rocking through her petite frame and filling the air with her pain. Cole had her wrapped in his coat, holding her close as he cried silently too, swearing she was okay now. She was safe. The parallels between his words, his need to comfort someone he loved and my trying to comfort Leila wasn't lost on me. And just like my words and love couldn't fix Leila, I knew that no matter how much he loved his sister, he couldn't fix what had been broken.

She curled herself into a ball, her words wrapped in tears and ache. “I told you not to come here.”

I arched an eyebrow, a flash of indignation dimming my moment of empathy. Generally, when one is saved from an awful situation, one says thank you or shows some semblance of gratitude. But she was collecting herself, her sobs reduced to sniffles. Her body still shuddered but she fixed her eye on her brother. I turned my attention back to the road, bobbing and weaving to get us back to our hotel, but I felt her anger from where I sat.

“Don't you know who Lars Eichmann is, Cole? What he'll do to you for taking me?”

“Taking you?” he snarled. “Do you mean saving you?”

“I can take care of myself!” she shrilled. “Now I've got to worry about my brother being in some psycho's crosshairs!”

Her voice was nearing the octaves necessary to shatter glass and I gripped the steering wheel and my tongue. I glanced back as she jerked from his hold, sliding into the seat beside him with her arms crossed and her lip jutted out, glaring out the window. Despite the lingerie and the haircut and the makeup that was smeared onto her face, she looked far younger than her age. Like a petulant child giving her parent the silent treatment because they refused to get her a pony.

“You've gotta be kidding me,” I muttered.

“Do you have something to say to me?” she said darkly.

I almost didn't glance back at her, certain that she wasn't speaking to me in that tone. When I cast a look in her direction, she was scowling at me.
Scowling
.

“I don't know what kind of rapport you have with your brother, but you're not going to speak to me that way.”

“Why? Because you swooped in to save the day and I'm supposed to not call you on how ridiculous the both of you are?” She scoffed, pulling the coat tighter. The way she held her chin you'd think that she was wearing some royal cape that draped behind her and there was a bejeweled crown on her head. She was the benevolent, wise queen and we were a band of idiots that were completely lost without her guidance and admonishment.

Not today.

Not from her.

“When your brother asked for help, I could have said no. It was quite tempting actually...because you are a terrible person. But when I looked at my wife's face, and Cole's face, I couldn't say no. So I'm here, saving the girl that would have killed my wife without a second thought. And instead of gratitude, you're complaining.”

Once I got it out I'd expected an eye roll or an agitated sigh—just about anything to dismiss everything I'd said. Instead, she went quiet.

I had to keep my eye on the road. If she was to be believed, some armored car would swerve into our path at any moment, unloading their machine guns and riddling us all with holes. But I was distracted, torn between getting us to relative safety and needing to make Brittany understand that pouting when Cole had murdered several people at point blank range was not only insulting, but made me want to pull to the curb and let (or hurl) her out.

My heart dropped when I realized that I was stealing looks at my brother. That my heart ached when I saw him trying to reach for Brittany, to comfort her and she swatted him away. I'd spent my life pretending that I was unaffected. That pain and hurt didn't even register on my radar. I knew the stony, blank slate that he forced over the truth. I knew that beneath it all, his sister was sinking a knife right into his chest.

And I felt sorry for him.

“Where's Frederic?” Brittany whined. “He promised me he wouldn't involve you-”

“I'm assuming you screamed this order while you were being pulled from the room by your hair. While
Frederic
-” He said his name with unabashed disgust. “Let them take you. So Frederic's presence is kind of irrelevant, don't you think?”