Page 47

JAMES

“ D ad! Dad!” I hear Topher’s wailings echoing through the underground floor. “Motherfucker.” A whisper, then, “Dad! I can hear you down here. What the hell. What the fuck. Get me the fuck out of here.”

His angry cries only serve to increase my disdain. I take my time walking over to the cell. On my way there, I tune out his miserable screams with memories of Ophelia from this morning. When I helped her off my dick.

When I placed her head on the pillow, then waited for her eyes to flutter open so I could remind her to stay there.

“Dad!” His scream is vulgar, and his fingers are curled on the bars. Knuckles white. Red-rimmed eyes staring at me. “Took you long enough.”

“Step back.”

He obeys, and I slip the key into the lock, leaving it there for a moment.

Topher’s suit is wrinkled. His hair is a mess. He has a swelling, blue bruise on his jaw.

At least he had the sense to wash his face.

I, on the other hand, am ready for the day. My gray suit is pressed, hiding my newly bandaged arm. My jaw is shaved. Hair styled neatly.

“Well?” He raises an eyebrow. “You’re here, so it’s obviously time. Let me go.”

It isn’t fucking time.

I have to know if he remembers the loud thunk from last night. If he suspects I have someone here. “Why did I throw you in here?”

Topher is in such a volatile state.

The violent side of him rises to the surface, and pissed-off people don’t make for good liars.

I should know. I’m one of the best human lie detectors out there.

Witness after witness thought they could omit facts or trick me while they took the stand. I saw through each and every one of them.

Me and Oliver, my greatest concern at the moment.

I’ll have to keep an eye on him in the coming week.

The last seven days of his life.

For now, Topher is here.

He’s the one on the stand.

If he tries to hide something—anything—I’ll catch it.

“I drove drunk, and you got angry. You locked me down here as a punishment, and I promise you that I learned my lesson, Father.”

“Which is?” What more aren’t you telling me?

“Never drive under the influence or drink in public.” He rolls his eyes.

My line of questioning bores him, meaning he doesn’t think Ophelia is here, in my house.

I don’t show him that I breathe easier at that.

“Listen to everything you say. Forget about finding Ophelia, torturing her, and turning her into my broken doll.”

My teeth gnash as I consider dousing him in gasoline and setting the cell on fire.

His poor mother. Her love for him had gotten her killed. It would be wrong to end him on a whim.

Then again, there’s no telling if she’d approve of what he’s become.

His grandfather’s grandson.

Last chance, Topher. Last fucking chance.

“Good.”

I let him out of the cell, walking alongside him as we make our way up.

It’s when we climb the stairs that I let him go first.

He steals a glance of distrust at me, for a good reason. I don’t tell him that, though.

What I do is shoot him a scowl.

“What happened to my face anyway?” he asks at the doorway, apparently clueless.

“You tripped and fell on one of the tables in the living room while drunk.” My voice is sardonic, almost bored. “Don’t you dare show up to the office like this. Stay home until there’s no sign of the bruise.”

“I already took the week off after the initiation.” Lines crease his forehead. The dark circles under his eyes pop out in the early morning light. “People will talk.”

“People will talk, that’s for sure. If you step foot in the office, they’ll talk about you showing up to work like some kind of a lowlife.

A nobody who gets into bar fights.” Cold breeze filters into my home.

I shove Topher’s keys, coat, and the phone he had there into his hands.

“Get the fuck out of here. And for God’s sake, quit fucking drinking. It’s obvious you can’t handle it.”

“What about drinking at home?”

“I wouldn’t have a sip if I were you. Ever again.” A cloud of annoyance settles over me. From having him defy me. From having Ophelia upstairs, naked and unchained and alone. I swallow the urge to punch a hole in the wall. “And for the love of Christ, stop thinking about hurting women.”

“The initiation, though.” Topher won’t let it go. Won’t stop testing me. “The virgins. They’re probably being tortured as we speak. Why aren’t we allowed to do it?”

If his question was, could we set them free? I might’ve had some hope for him.

However.

The more he talks, the less I trust him.

“Because you’re my son. Because we’re above the rest. Tell me you understand. That I can trust you.”

His mouth tells me, “Yes.”

His eyes say, No .

Unfortunate, really.