Page 32 of Felix (4 Seats #2)
Chapter Thirty-Two
Aurora Henry
M y head throbs and I’m drowning in darkness. My eyelids flutter open, but all I see is a haze. I try to focus on the room’s details around me, but it’s like trying to catch smoke with my fingers.
“Here, eat,” Felix’s voice cuts through the fog. He’s holding a spoonful of soup, urging me to take it. I part my lips, and he shoves the spoon into my mouth. The taste is bland, but I swallow it, not caring about anything anymore. My throat burns from days of disuse, but I don’t complain.
“Good girl,” he says, his dark eyes watching me like a hawk. As he moves, his tattoos seem to writhe and slither like they’re alive.
The days since my book signing have been a blur. I’ve been curled up in bed, drifting in and out of sleep, barely registering anything around me. And Felix has been there the whole time, feeding and caring for me. It’s weirdly tender, considering who he is.
“Come on, one more bite,” he urges, holding out another spoonful of soup. I sigh, opening my mouth again. At least he hasn’t tried to do anything else to me while I’ve been like this, so small mercies, I guess.
“Enough,” I croak, pushing his hand away when he tries to bring the spoon to my lips again. “I’m not hungry.”
“Darling, you need to keep your strength up,” he murmurs, setting the bowl aside. “I’m here for you, no matter what. But you need to fight too.”
“Fight?” I chuckle darkly, the sound catching in my throat. “What’s the point?”
“Because I love you,” he says, his voice raw and vulnerable. But it only makes me angrier. He’s everywhere, consuming me like a fire until there’s nothing left but ashes.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, forcing myself out of bed on the fourth day.
My body aches, and my head is pounding, but I can’t stand another second of lying in this goddamn room.
Felix watches me closely as I pee, his dark eyes never leaving me.
I hate how he hovers over me like I’m some fragile porcelain doll that’ll shatter if he looks away.
“Going for a swim,” I announce, pulling on my swimsuit with shaky hands. He follows me to the pool, silent as a shadow. It’s suffocating, but at least it’s something different from the oppressive bedroom.
Water welcomes me like an old friend, and for a moment, I feel free. I push off the wall and start swimming laps, trying to drown my thoughts in the rhythmic movement. Felix is there, watching my every stroke from the edge of the pool .
His phone rings, shattering whatever peace I’ve found. His voice is low and dangerous when speaking with Matteo. I hear enough to know they’re talking about work. And by ‘work,’ I mean their shady fucking business.
“Go,” I snap when he hangs up, water streaming down my face. “You need to work, and I need to get out of my head.”
“Darling, I can’t leave you—” he starts, but I cut him off.
“Take me with you, then.” The words surprise both of us, but I refuse to back down. Anything has to be better than being trapped here. Felix hesitates but finally nods, agreeing to my demand.
After breakfast, I drag my ass into Felix’s car, the leather seat sticking to my damp skin.
We drive around the city, stopping at familiar spots where he picks up bags filled with cash.
He’s efficient, never lingering for too long, and I can’t help but notice how the exchanges are bigger this time, probably due to Felix not working for three days, instead hovering over me like an eagle waiting for an animal to die so it can pick at the bones.
I watch him from the car, a knot of anxiety twisting in my stomach as I keep expecting something to go wrong. But it never does. Instead, we make our last stop at Fratelli’s restaurant, unloading the money without any issues.
“Did that go too smoothly, or is it just me?” I ask, hating how my voice trembles.
“Relax, darling,” Felix replies, his eyes never leaving the road as we return home. “It’s just business as usual.”
“Right. Business,” I scoff, trying to push down the flood of questions swirling in my head. Finally, unable to resist any longer, I blurt out, “Does Matteo know who kidnapped me?”
Felix’s grip on the wheel tightens, but he doesn’t slow down. “No. But he knew Enzo. The bastard’s dead now, though. He might’ve been one of the three or had them working for him.”
“Enzo… how did he know Enzo?”
“Enzo Morelli,” Felix says, jaw clenched.
“He used to be one of the Four Seats in Sydney. His son manipulated Matteo’s wife into running away.
No one knows why, but she was gone for ten fucking years.
Turns out, Enzo was involved. Matteo got Eleanor back, but Enzo and his son…
well, let’s just say they are not a problem anymore. ”
“Jesus,” I mutter, trying to process the twisted web of relationships. “So, what? Now there are only three Seats left?”
“Pretty much,” Felix confirms. “Enzo’s business got dismantled, and his followers were split among the remaining Seats. Spike’s been looking through Matteo’s new people to see if any of them know who did this to you.”
“And who exactly is Spike?”
“Matteo and Eleanor have two right-hand men… Angel and Spike,” Felix says with a small smile. “You have spoken to Angel. They’re named after characters from a show.”
“Seriously?” I can’t help but laugh, the tension inside me easing a little.
“Exactly.” He chuckles. “When you meet them, you’ll understand why.”
As we continue our drive home, my thoughts drift back to Enzo and those who had kidnapped me. Despite the twisted humour in Felix’s revelation about the Buffy Clan, I can’t shake the feeling of unease that’s settled over me, like more is coming.
When we pull up to the house, I spot a cardboard box on the porch. The bottom is soaked, and it looks like fucking blood is pooling on the tiles. My gut twists, a sick feeling spreading through me.
“Shit,” Felix mutters, his eyes darkening as he stares at the box. He parks the car, and we both get out, cautiously approaching the package.
“Is that…?” I trail off, unable to finish the question.
“Stay back,” Felix orders, reaching for his knife. He moves in front of me, shielding my body with his own. His voice vibrates with tension. “Let me check the cameras.”
My heart hammers as he pulls up the footage on his phone. The screen shows a young kid, maybe fifteen or sixteen, riding up to the house on a push bike. He walks up to the porch, sets down the box, and rings the doorbell. When no one answers, he leaves.
“Fuck,” Felix swears again. “He must’ve been used. Didn’t even know what he was delivering.”
“Who the hell would do this?” I demand, anger flaring inside me. “And why?”
“Stay here,” Felix murmurs, his face set in a hard line. “I’ll deal with it.”
“Like hell I will,” I snap back, crossing my arms over my chest. “This is my life, too, Felix. I’m not some fucking damsel you have to protect all the time.”
“Fine,” he grumbles, clearly not happy about it but knowing better than to argue with me right now .
We approach the bloody box, my pulse racing with fear and fury. We’re ready for whatever fucked-up message lies within. Whatever they want, we’ll face it head-on together.
The moment Felix lifts the box’s flaps, my stomach churns. Two severed hands rest inside, one male and one female, both wearing wedding rings. My throat tightens, bile rising in my throat as I try not to vomit.
“Jesus-fucking-Christ,” I mutter, unable to tear my eyes away from the gruesome sight.
Felix frowns, his jaw clenched as he stares at the mangled limbs. He carefully picks them up, cradling them like fragile treasures. “I’ll take care of this,” he says, his voice low and steady. “Wait here.”
“Fuck that,” I spit, anger burning through me like wildfire. “I’m not letting you handle this shit alone.” Our lives are twisted together now, entwined by violence and secrecy. If someone wants to send us a message, then we’ll fucking read it together.
“Fine,” he concedes, not bothering to argue. He carries the hands inside, and I follow, my heart still pounding hard.
“Here,” he says gruffly, handing me a bucket and bleach. “Pour this on the blood outside. Then fill the bucket with boiling water and pour it over the bleach after a few minutes.”
“Fuck off,” I snap, glaring at him. But he just smiles that infuriating smirk that somehow makes me want to kiss and slap him all at once.
“Please, darling,” he murmurs, his dark eyes locked on mine.
“Fine,” I mutter, snatching the bleach from his hand. I head outside, the harsh chemical scent stinging my nostrils as I pour it over the bloody tiles. My hands shake as I take deep breaths, trying to calm myself. Who would do this? Why?
Boiling water hisses as it meets the bleach, steam curling into the air as I scrub the blood away. My arms ache from the effort, but I don’t stop, driven by a desperate need to erase any trace of this nightmare.
Inside, Felix deals with the hands, probably googling how to pickle them in a jar.