Page 41 of Wallflower

My palm lands against Patrick’s shoulder, and he whirls on me, fist raised, ready to knock my shit out. I raise my hands in surrender, the gun tucked into my belt rubbing against the base of my spine. Heading into Bleakcrest without it was so unnerving, I slipped it back into its rightful place the second I was concealed in my vehicle.

“Whoah! It’s just me. Is everything okay?” I ask as the excitement coils inside me, liable to explode at any moment.

“My daughters were with thesemenlast night.” Patrick spits the word. Clearly he thinks the two standing before him don’t deserve to be called men. I’d have to agree. It takes a real sack of shit to abduct not one, but two women, and then sell them into slavery. All while dressed like twins.

“Are you sure?” I watch as he crumbles further, assuredness withering as he’s second guessed by yet another person.

“Yes, I’m fucking sure. I’m not senile.”

The bald one pipes up, “How can you be so sure when you were snoring into your fucking martini?”

Shame swallows Patrick up from the inside, and he wilts.

“And how do you know he was asleep at his table?” I question.

“It’s a barman’s job to monitor all his customers.” He’s got an inner lip tattoo, and I immediately hate him. If he works for Mr. Smythe, it’s highly probable that he drugged the man of the family in order to make the kidnapping of Patrick’s daughters that much easier.

“Were you with Chelsea and Rose last night?” I snap. “I doubt this man cares whatexactlyyou were doing with them at this point. He only wants to know they’re safe.”

The other man finally rises from the ground, brushing himself off. “Yes, they were with us. We went to the main deck area, then the staff room for a game or two of pool, then we parted ways. Chelsea went with Brad, and Rose left with me. An hour or so later, she left.Alive. Where she went after that, I don’t know.”

An hour? No way this guy could stick it to my flower for even half that time. He probably made her do all the work.

“You just let her leave? Couldn’t scrounge up the decency to walk her back to her room?” I love to break my toys, watch them fall apart because of me. But I always put them back together in the end. Otherwise playtime is over until something new catches my interest.

“I was tired.” He shrugs nonchalantly, and the pistol at my back burns, wanting to be unloaded into this man’s chest.

“What about you, Mr. Mixologist? Where did Chelsea go?” Patrick is a fuming statue next to me. I’m quite surprised he’sletting me lead the questioning, but he’s probably grateful just to have someone on his side. He’s getting no support from the other members of his family, and it’s setting off all the warning bells in my brain.

“I bent her over the safety rail, pounded that pussy until it was leaking my cum, then sent her on her way. Fell asleep in a deck chair after that, woke up at sunrise when the storm blew in.”

I risk a look in Patrick’s direction. His fist is clenched, shaking in silent anger.

His eyes flick to mine and I give a quick, slight nod, stepping out of his way as he flies at the man. Patrick’s fist connects with the tattooed man’s nose, and he drops like a rotten sack of melons, drool and blood leaking from his face.

The second man kneels beside his friend as he rolls in pain, one hand on his face and the other clutching his ribs.

That’s…peculiar.

“Fuck, man,” the one with the shaggy brown hair shouts. “Your daughters were alive and well when we last saw them. I swear it.”

Not a total lie.

“Then where are they?” Patrick hollers back.

“Shit, I don’t know. Rose said you were all sharing a room, so maybe they didn’t want to go back there all dishevelled.”

“Freshly fucked…” the tattooed one snarls around the blood seeping into his mouth.

“Will you shut the fuck up?” his friend grumbles to the writhing idiot on the ground.

I look to Patrick. He’s still pissed off, but there’s a flicker of doubt now. What if the men are right? What if the sisters waited until their parents left the room to go back? They could freshen up, and possibly grab a quick nap.

“When’s the last time you checked your room?” I ask, nearing my limit with this entire fucking situation. I’m an idiot for even coming over here. But at least I know who’s throat to slit for touching what’s fucking mine.

“We haven’t been back since the gangway was lowered.”

I huff, showing my feelings. “So your girls could have snuck back into the room after you left?”