Legacy (Sociopath Series Book 2)(66)

“I was, wasn’t I? Oh yes.” He scoops a dish up off the floor with a dull scrape, though it’s too dark to see what he’s holding. The candle light claws at his face; he’s sweating lightly, his eyes bloodshot and strained. Not as calm as he pretends to be. “There are a few meanings for the name. Some crap about a river, we ignored that, and something about being a tower of strength, which was way too nice. Then we found the myth where Aeron was the God of slaughter. That, I could f*ck with.”

That is the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard.

“So you see,” he says, catching my eye, “we had high hopes. Maybe too high.”

I nod. Sigh. “Give me time.”

“Ha!” He wiggles his eyebrows; it’s hard to tell if he feigns the amusement. “In it for the long game, huh? You’re just not trying hard enough. I’ve noticed this about you—you’re a little too afraid to get your hands dirty. I’m surprised you haven’t had Harvey here take care of a little more business.”

I hold Harvey’s gaze best as I can, given that I can see three of him. “That’s not what I hired him for.”

He baulks at that, tries to look away, and then from nowhere, a gust of ocean wind comes singing through the windows, around the billowing garbage bags and across our bound-up selves. A chill rushes into my soaked t-shirt; the candle wavers, fragile and unsure.

“Isn’t it? That’s where you go wrong. That’s why you’re in the chair, and he’s in the chair, and I’m…well I’m just sitting here with full use of my hands.” Blood Honey, unabashed by the wind, holds up the dish and its contents glint silver, like iron filings. “I’ve learned a lot of things in my time, a couple tricks here and there. I thought we could play a little game. It’s called Pringles. You boys hungry?”

I don’t remember the last time I ate, and I don’t know what time it is, though it’s dark outside. Must be at least twenty-four hours since that dinner, but the last thing I could stomach right now is food.

Blood Honey clears his throat loudly. “So here’s how the game goes. You’ve probably noticed, Aeron, that I have a lot to tell you. Understandable. But it’d be cliché for me to spew it all at you, and it’s so much more fun if you earn it. Don’t you think?”

He keeps pretending to ask for approval. Mocking motherf*cker—he doesn’t give a shit. It’s a technique cops use sometimes in interviews; they sound more approachable, but you both know where the power is. And it’s a technique I’ve used with people like Gwen, only I use enough wit to soften the blow. There’s no real humor here. Never is, when there’s about to be blood.

“When I was inside, we called this Pringles because once you pop…you can’t stop.” He tuts to himself, shaking the bowl so the metal things rattle. “These here are razor blades. I’ve had some time. Used it to cut them down a little, made sure they were fit for purpose. Heh.”

Harvey and I exchange strained glances. Acid roils loudly in my belly—f*cking typical—and Blood Honey chuckles to himself, shaking his head.

“Sorry, Aeron. These aren’t for you—your mouth’s already cut up pretty good, mmm? What I thought would be real fun is if for every blade Harvey swallows, you get to ask me a question. I’ll answer. And you get to watch. What do you say?”

Harvey begins to pant, breath spewing, nostrils flaring. “I worked hard for you,” he says in a cracked voice. “I did my job, sir, and I never—”

“Harvey. We’re really not interested.” Blood Honey balances the dish on one knee while he reaches down to swipe up a pair of thick, dirty gloves. He pulls them on with splayed fingers, turning his hands in the candle light so the creeping shadows fall over Harvey’s distraught face. “I’m going to give you a little help. We used to let the boys wash them down with water, but I get the feeling you won’t be so cooperative.”

An assumption hangs around us, this idea that on some level, I’ll enjoy this. That I want to see Harvey suffer and bleed. I don’t know if I agree with it. The atmosphere’s wrong, the fear so chemical it’s like salt rubbed into a fresh-cut slit. There’s not a shred of desire in me for this. No beast drooling for gratification.

But I have to get around this *. He says he’s my father; perhaps he really believes it, or as much as the idea makes my skin crawl, perhaps he really is. I’d be stupid to ignore this when he’s obviously trying to make an emotional connection. That might be the only way to get out of this alive.

The more my body thrums awake with adrenaline, the more questions pile up against my temples; where’s my Leo? Where’s Ash and Ethan, were they taken like me? And wasn’t Leo on to something about Gwen…?

“So.” Blood Honey turns to me, proffering the dish. “Shall we get started?”

“I’ve been there since the start.” Harvey shoves his words out, one almost running into the other. “I sacrificed almost everything. I did my job, I—”

“Harvey!” Blood Honey shouts. His voice cuts through the room like a stone lobbed through the window. “Enough! Did we ask your opinion? No. We did not.”

“Fuck you,” he spits back.

“Oh dear, dear. Somebody has an attitude problem.” He gives me a shrug. “You just can’t get the staff these days.”