Page 24 of A Ruthless Arrangement
My grandfather holds out his hand to the man. “Gun.” The bearded man obliges him, handing him a gun from the counter behind him. My grandfather looks back towards me. “Follow me. I don’t want to hear a peep from you.”
I nod and follow him, trying to make myself small as I pass all of the men leering at me. I hear them talking quietly behind us, asking the driver who I am. When he explains that I’m Astero’s granddaughter, they let out a low whistle. “Looks like she’s pissing herself.”
I don’t hear much more as I follow my grandfather into a walk-in freezer. A group of men are tied up. They’re hanging from the ceiling from bloodied hooks, the rusty metal going through their shoulders. I can’t help the gasp that rips from my chest. My grandfather glares at me, but I can’t tear my eyes away as they groan in pain, some of them begging for mercy.
I realize for the first time that what I’m witnessing is no longer theoretical, like when I figured out my family dealt with such violent things. This doesn’t feel like some movie, and it’s most definitely not a joke. It’sreal.
My grandfather is a terrible man who’s done horrible things and doesn’t plan on stopping. And he’s marrying me off to a man who he says is far worse, that evenhe’sscared of.
All I want is a peaceful, quiet life. That’s literally myonlyaspiration. And the universe handed me the exact opposite.
Tears well in my eyes as that feeling in my stomach worsens. My grandfather grabs my jaw, making me look at him. “This is your world now, girlie. People that go against men like me end up like pigs at the butcher. You need to understand what you’re in for and what’s going to happen if you don’t obey Alasdair and I. You’re going to get used to this. Those little gasps and tears aren’t going to help you, so you might as well let them dry up. We don’t have time for soft, little babies around here. We aren’t going to coddle you and make sure your feelings are okay. You need to learn how to behave.”
My grandfather raises the gun and shoots the closest man in the kneecap. My ears ring and I can’t hear anything, but the man is clearly screaming, suddenly awake after appearing to drift in and out of consciousness on the hook, his face twisted with pain, his mouth open in anguish. It’s only after thirty seconds or so that the ringing dissipates and his raw screams pierce my ears, searing into my brain.
The smell of blood in the air intensifies, the metallic foulness making my stomach churn and my mind panic.
I clench my eyes closed, willing it all away. But my grandfather squeezes my jaw until it hurts, shaking my head until I open my eyes again. “Keep them open. You need to see this.”
Hour after hour of torture drags on, but I’m not sure any time has passed at all. Maybe hell is in New York in some run-down abandoned restaurant. Maybe I did something to deserve this.
My grandfather doesn’t end the men’s torment until he thinks he’s gotten all the information he deems necessary from them. I shiver in the corner, staring at the severed finger that sits near my foot. I’ve thrown up twice, but now I just heave, my body having nothing left to produce, especially since I haven’t eaten all day. It feels like I’ll never eat again. I’ve lost my appetite. I’ve lost all sense of time and place. I’ve losthope. Seeing man after man be tortured by my own blood-related grandfather, whose money has been giving me luxurious privilege. Blood money. Blood. So much unnecessary blood and violence.
I don’t snap out of it until I hear my grandfather scoff at the miserable sight of me. He drags me out of the freezer. His fingers bite painfully into my arm as we exit the restaurant. The driver is already waiting for us with the car started. My grandfather throws me in the back, and I collapse into the backseat, breathing in the leather, hoping it replaces the metallic and foul smell of blood from my mind. My head pounds with pain, my chest tight with panic, but everything feels cold and numb. I haven’t eaten or drank anything and felt nothing but horror and terror all day.
I’ve fallen into a nightmare, I’m sure of it. One where my eyes are open and I’m living it, but even when I close my eyes, all I can see is the image of those men, tortured, screaming, dead.
Dead, dead, dead.
12
Amy
Icry the whole ride back into the city. I keep silent so my grandfather doesn’t yell at me, but I can’t keep the tears at bay. Fifteen minutes into the drive, we stop at a fast food restaurant and go through the drive-through. The driver orders for my grandfather and himself, and then turns to my grandfather. “Anything for the kid?”
My grandfather scoffs. “No. She’ll just puke it up in the car.”
I try to swallow the knot that’s in my throat to no avail. He’s not wrong, but it still feels cruel. The smell of food makes my head sway as they get their food and eat on the road while we descend into the city. I’m not sure whether to feel relieved to see the lights of New York City or to dread them. The city lights are at least away from the horrors I witnessed, but it’s also where the potential horrors of my future lay in wait.
Waiting for me. Theirprey.
I walk silently with my grandfather back into the hotel. He hasn’t addressed me since we left the restaurant, and it’s both a relief and a terror. But as we approach the elevators, he speaks, his voice is low and gravelly. “You’re going to go upstairs and get cleaned up. You reek of vomit and sweat. I want you to doll up with the new clothes your grandma told you to buy,and look pretty, do you understand? Pretty girls aren’t crying messes. You’re going to smile, you’re going to calm yourself, and you’re going to come down and play the part of my graceful granddaughter, do you understand?”
I clench my hands so hard that my nails bite into my palms. The spark of pain grounds me a bit. “I understand.”
Panic slams into me with every throbbing pulse in my head. I don’t have the clothes they assumed I bought, nor am I capable of pretending that everything’s okay. What am I going to do?
We’re quiet as we step into the elevators and go up. My grandfather walks me to the door of my hotel room for the first time. “Remember, play nice. Cooperate.Obey.Your life may just depend on it, kid.”
I nod and try to unlock my door, but my hands are trembling so badly that I fumble with it, just like yesterday. But I’d rather be overstimulated and a tad frightened like I was then than the shocked and traumatized state I’m in today.
My grandfather scoffs and rips the plastic key card out of my hand. “Move. I’ll do it.” He all but pushes me out of the way, and I stumble to the side, wiping the tears from my face. “Ridiculous,” he mutters, but I still hear it.
He takes my key card and gets the door open in about three seconds.
“Here.” He forces the key card back in my hand. “You have three hours. Your grandmother is going to check in on you to make sure that you’re presentable, and then we’re going to have a nice dinner, do you understand me?”
I nod, but apparently it isn’t good enough, because he steps closer.
