A Necessary Evil(22)
Mollie was different.
Mollie served a higher purpose. Though he could take his pleasures with her if he wanted, he didn’t see her the same way he saw the first six girls. She was almost like…family, in a twisted sort of way. Even though they’d never met, they shared a common history, which made her seem like a cousin, or even a sister. Collin may have been a lot of things, but he was not incestuous. Instead, he would keep her chained to the wall of The Vault for as long as it took for her grandfather to see the error of his ways and show some honest to goodness contrition. It wouldn’t be enough to say he was sorry. Collin wanted to bring Franklin Cartwright to his knees and make him beg for Mollie’s life. To truly repent of his sins the way Raskolnikov had in Crime and Punishment.
Not that Collin planned on forgiving the old man, or returning his granddaughter to him. There was no way he could let her live, not if he wanted to survive himself. No amount of begging and pleading and atonement from Franklin was going to save his granddaughter. But Collin wanted his father’s killer to be there and watch as the life drained from Mollie’s face, the way Franklin had watched Julian die, slowly and painfully.
Collin had to put up with Mollie’s sniveling, crying, begging, and pleading as he waited for Franklin to realize the error of his ways and repent on bended knee. What he would do with her in the meantime, Collin wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to have his way with her; that would be wrong on so many levels. But he had to do something to motivate the old man and show him how serious he was. It was as he sat there thinking that it occurred to him he needed to up the ante. Light a fire under the man’s ass, so to speak. So, what could he do? He’d already called Franklin and told him what was required of him. But the stubborn old sonofabitch didn’t sound like he fully understood what he needed to do.
“Please,” Mollie whimpered, breaking his concentration. “Please, let me go. Whatever my grandfather did to you, I’m sure he’s very sorry. And he has money. Lots of money. He’d pay anything to get me home unharmed. I know he would. Just call him again. I know he’ll—”
“Shut up,” Collin said in a quiet, monotonous voice.
Mollie’s mouth snapped shut, and tears poured down her cheeks.
“No amount of money is going to get you out of this. Your pops needs to know exactly why I took you. I dropped him a little hint, but I’m not sure he’s figured it out. I think it’s time we sent him another message, don’t you?”
The girl shook her head slowly. “Please. Don’t hurt me. I’m begging you. I’ll do whatever you want. Anything. Just don’t hurt me.”
Collin could see the fear in her pretty sapphire eyes. Eyes just like her grandfather. He didn’t want to hurt her, but Franklin had forced his hand. And if hurting Mollie meant getting the old bastard to fully understand the situation, then that was what had to happen. He could cut off one of her fingers and send it to Franklin, but Collin didn’t want to ruin her beauty in any way. No, it had to be something that would keep her beauty intact but also sufficiently motivate his rival and make him truly regret what he’d done.
It came to him like an unexpected electric shock. He stood from the edge of the bed and walked over to the little kitchenette his own grandfather had installed during the Second World War. He grabbed the large knife lying on the countertop, the one he’d used to threaten her into submission when she’d tried to escape earlier, and turned to face her.
She must have seen what was in his hand, because she shook her head again, vehemently now. Her bottom lip was quivering, and more tears spilled down her face. “No, please, n-n-no. I’ll d-do anything you want. P-please, no.”
Collin regretted that he had to do this, but he reminded himself it wasn’t his fault. Franklin Cartwright had brought this upon himself and upon his favorite grandchild when he killed Collin’s father. He’d been the one to pull the first thread and unraveled the tapestry of Collin’s life. The man had forced his hand.
He walked deliberately across the floor of The Vault to where Mollie was cowering in the corner, trying to get as far away from him as she could. The knife felt heavy in his hand, but he gripped it tightly and crouched before the frightened girl, who was now squeezing her eyes shut and mumbling something under her breath. A prayer, perhaps?
It was pointless, he told her. This had to be done. He had to send a message.
He raised the knife and held the blade to Mollie’s neck.
Chapter 12
Kurt
He was still fuming when he pulled his vintage red Camaro into the driveway of his little modern ranch house at the end of the cul-de-sac. It was nearly eight o’clock and well past dark this time of year. Kurt needed a shower and a change of clothes if he was going to be up all night working this case. And it was becoming more and more apparent he would be doing just that.
He ambled through the garage door, threw his keys on the kitchen counter, and leaned with both hands against the sink. He was tired, and his back hurt like a bitch. Standing there with his head hung low, Kurt thought about the events of the past several hours, and he had to fight the urge to punch the wall. He might have done it twenty years ago, but at the age of fifty-six, he’d probably break every bone in his hand, and then some.
Frankie was driving him bat shit crazy. How could he not see that he was making things much worse for himself and for Mollie by insisting on finding her on his own and punishing her kidnapper the same way he had punished the man who’d killed Addie?