Shadowman alabaster peni.., p.56
Shadowman (Alabaster Penitentiary Book 5), page 56
And then the familiar clack of dress shoes straightens all of our spines. The Ivory stalks into the room, making a beeline to Officer Hancock, everyone scattering to make way for him.
“Hi, Simon,” he croons, brushing Hancock’s damp hair away from his face. “It’s been a while, darling.”
Hancock tries to jerk away from his touch, but he’s still being held down, poked and prodded by the doctors as he spits, “Fuck off, Ivory.”
Manuel Blanco sucks his teeth, shaking his head with a smugly devious smirk resting on his lips. “Now, now. Is that any way to speak to someone who’s saved your life? Multiple times now, by my count.”
“Your men fucking shot me,” Hancock hisses.
“Yours shot first.” The Ivory shrugs casually.
Hancock winces when an IV needle is jabbed into his arm. “Sure, Han Solo. Keep telling yourself that.”
The Ivory’s grin widens, fingers still sifting through Hancock’s hair as the bloke’s lashes flutter, his eyelids drooping. “Relax, Simon. You’re back where you belong.” He leans over him as Hancock visibly loses consciousness. “And you will make a purely wonderful bargaining chip.”
The Ivory straightens, spinning away. “Johansson, Hassan, get him patched up. Oh, and make sure he’s collared, please. Can’t have this one getting away.”
On his way out of the room, he drops a hand onto my shoulder. “Wait for me in my office.” He tosses a brief, sinister glance at Dr. Love before whispering by my ear, “We have much to discuss.”
Once he’s gone, I find Byron peering at me, to which I shrug.
What could he want now? What do we have to discuss…?
Regardless, I have no desire to keep him waiting. I run my fingers along Byron’s lower back. “Are you coming?”
“He didn’t say he wanted to talk to me…” he mutters, forehead lined as his gaze lingers on Hancock’s unconscious form. “It’s fine. I’m gonna… stay with him.” He swallows visibly.
I truly despise his endless melancholy, but there’s nothing I can do about it right now. I’m at The Ivory’s beck and call. We all are.
Marching out of the room with my stomach in knots, I make my way to the stairs, on a mission I don’t understand. The door to his office is open, so I meander inside. He’s not here yet, which gives me a golden opportunity to snoop.
Wandering around the room, I examine things on his shelves and on his walls. There are framed pictures of him with people, degrees and plaques that indicate someone intelligent and successful in walks of life outside of the criminal. It’s quite curious…
Who is this man… Really?
Is The Ivory just a persona he puts on? Or is that the real him, hiding in plain sight beneath the impeccable disguise of Manuel Blanco?
His voice from up the hall startles me out of my snooping, and I creep closer to the door.
“They’re weak. Exhausted and running on fumes,” he says to someone. “Low on food and ammunition. Sooner or later, he’ll have no choice but to come crawling back on his hands and fucking knees—”
“So the plan is to starve them out?” someone else says—I think it’s Kent. “If so, why not pull our men out of the woods?”
“Because Felix Darcey is out there,” The Ivory barks. “That little psycho is ballsier than I ever gave him credit for.”
“It’s a fucking slaughter every time we even creep west—”
“Listen to me. I want him back. I don’t care what you have to do. I don’t care how much blood we have to spill. I want The Carver back in chains.” His voice is a low, sinister command that’s obviously not to be argued with any further.
I imagine Kent nodding like the good soldier he is. “What about Russo? Yari’s been holding him off as best he can, but he’s becoming rather… insistent. He wants answers we don’t have—”
My stomach twists painfully. Governor Russo…?
“Under no circumstances is he to set foot on this island. Do you understand me?” The Ivory seethes. “Not until I have Dascha back.”
“How much longer will that take?” Kent asks hesitantly.
“You tell me,” he bites back, tension in his tone. “You’re the one who lost eyes on him in Mexico.”
“I have my best guys on it, but he’s a slippery one. We might need to call in your contact…”
“Trust me, that’ll be a last resort.” He sounds like he’s getting closer, so I tiptoe over to a chair and take a seat, trying to act like I haven’t been eavesdropping.
“One we might need to explore.” Kent sighs.
“I have faith in you,” The Ivory grunts. “Just get it done.”
He stalks into the office, closing the door in Kent’s burdened face. I watch as The Ivory crosses the room, striding behind his large desk.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he hums as he takes a seat, settling in.
I wave my hand in lieu of a response.
Leaning in on the desk, he folds his hands, staring at me for a few seconds in silence. It takes everything in me not to squirm.
I can’t put my finger on it, but something about him seems… off. I mean, more off than his usual foreboding persona. Yes, he’s less composed than he was before the prison fell, and he’s actively rocking the aura of someone who’s living each day on the edge of whatever sanity he had left. But it’s more than that.
There’s an imperceptible difference in his demeanor that’s unsettling me. He’s almost glowing in a way—dark eyes sparkling and some flush in his pale complexion.
Is that a… bite mark? On his collarbone?
My head slants as I zero in on it.
He clears his throat, and I jump. “I’ll cut right to the chase. If you know where Felix Darcey is, tell me now. Keeping secrets at this juncture in our relationship will ensure you, and Byron, suffer far greater than you need to.”
I’m frozen for a moment before I snap out of it. “I don’t know where he is… Byron said that Velle told him he’s out in the woods somewhere?”
He narrows his gaze. “Don’t play coy, Trevel. We both know you wouldn’t have gotten Lemuel without also going for The Carver.”
I shouldn’t be surprised that he knows more than he was letting on initially. I’m just wondering why he’s only bringing it up now…
I’m sure there’s a reason. Every move is calculated.
“We did…” I mumble, guilty like I’m being scolded by Daddy. “I mean, we grabbed them both and were holding Darcey in Dr. Love’s bedroom. But he… escaped. I’m still not clear on how…”
“He’s an obsessive little monster, that’s how,” The Ivory breathes out, pursing his lips. “Only one thing to live for and a myriad of knowledge he’s putting toward that singular objective. Which brings me to our next order of business…” He sits back in his seat, pulling something out of his pocket. It looks like a knife… “I’m putting you in charge of Lemuel from here on out.”
My brows jump up to my bloody hairline. “Pardon?”
His black eyes spring from the closed weapon he’s fiddling with to mine. “It’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Your revenge?” I’m just gaping at him in silence. “Well, you’ve got it. He’s here, thanks to you. I’ve had him working for Johansson and Hassan. Boy, does he hate that.” He stops to chuckle wickedly. “But I think it’s time to up the ante. Make him understand just how far he’s fallen.”
I can feel myself gawking at him.
“He’s the prisoner now, Trevel, my boy,” he goes on. “And you’re not. Might as well get some enjoyment out of this. You’ve earned it.”
I’m rather taken aback, and I think that’s apparent in my bewildered expression. “What… what do you want me to… do with him?”
His pink lips twist even bigger. “Whatever you want. The sky’s the limit.” With a flick of his wrist, he swings the blade out of his butterfly knife, my wide eyes stuck on it. “I’ve instructed Johansson and Hassan to resume their experiments, as much as they can outside of the East Wing. And I think Lemuel will be the perfect rodent for them to play with.” He aims the blade my way. “But you’re calling the shots. You get to control his torment.” He grins, almost maniacally. “Have fun with it.”
It’s odd… After months of obsessively fantasizing about all the ways I could exact my revenge on Dr. Love for leaving me and dooming me to this pit of despair, I’m finally being presented with a ripe opportunity to make him pay. And I’m stuck.
I’m… indifferent. Devoid of all sadistic ideals.
Where’s the passion… The twisted thrill??
I could’ve sworn this was what I wanted…
Moments of quiet pass until I finally ask, “Why?”
“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Trevel,” he trills impassively, then sighs. “Maybe all we need to lure young Felix Darcey out of hiding is the right bait.”
The Ivory stares at me for a moment, slipping the blade of his knife into the handle and stuffing it back into his pocket. He stands up, casting me a glance. As if he’s waiting for something.
So I stand as well, and force out a gruff, “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” He winks, patting me on the back.
Striding to the door, he whips it open to reveal Kent and Yari.
Have they been there the whole time??
“Hold my calls,” he says to them on his way past, moving quickly, like he has somewhere to be.
Surely, he does. He seems… busy.
Yari follows after him, as does Kent, not without first giving me a look I don’t have time to decode. We all descend the stairs together, though The Ivory is racing ahead of the rest of us. At the bottom, he crosses the threshold, going for the study. Kent and Yari disperse in different directions, but I follow Manuel, assuming he’s going to check on Officer Hancock again. Byron might still be in there.
But when I get to the room, I don’t see him, and The Ivory is moving swiftly to the opposite door, heading toward the atrium. I don’t know what possesses me to do so, but I find myself overcome with the need to keep following him. So I do.
Keeping back just enough, I trail him into the enclosed garden, around a corner, and across the stone walkway, into the back… An area of the atrium I haven’t visited yet.
This garden is stunning. It might be one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen in my life. But I can’t enjoy it, not right now. I’m too busy rushing quietly after Manuel Blanco, through a hidden doorway that’s shrouded in plants and hanging vines.
I watch closely as he opens a door decorated with ornate bronze and stained glass, and steps inside. It takes only a moment to recognize this as the aviary.
I’d heard there was one, but I’ve yet to actually see it.
Wow… It’s incredible.
The room is just as captivating as the garden. Trees and flowers everywhere, color as far as the eye can see, despite it being winter. It is much warmer in here than the rest of the mansion, which may be done intentionally—a sort of greenhouse setup.
Focusing on The Ivory, lest I get distracted and lose him, I creep after him, coming to a full stop when he pulls a key from inside his pocket. It’s long, and it looks antique, like an old skeleton key. He moves up to another door that’s not a door at all, rather a cell. It has bars like the ones in the penitentiary, except that they appear to be made of bronze, or gold. And the cell itself looks… Well, there’s no other way to put it.
It looks like a birdcage. A large one—bigger than any bird, or animal, for that matter—would require.
Swallowing hard, I hug the wall, trying to get closer while staying hidden. I need to get a better look at this.
I need to see what’s in there…
The Ivory steps inside the cage, closing the gate behind him with a clank. My stomach twists when another person comes into view…
A large hand falls onto my shoulder, and I jump so hard, I practically hit the ceiling.
“Jesus bloody Christ!” I whisper, slapping my hand over my heart as I spin to find Kent glaring at me.
His eyes widen, and he places his finger up to his lips in the shhh gesture. We stare at one another for a moment, both peeking back to The Ivory in the giant birdcage.
My lips part, because I have so many questions. But I don’t get the chance to ask.
Kent grabs me by the wrist and pulls me away. Leaving Manuel Blanco alone with his little bird…
Pacing. Making circles, around and around, and around…
Yanking my hair in my fists.
“What’s the problem?”
I’m twitchy. Edgy.
Unhinged.
“Honestly… I thought this was what you’ve been wanting for bloody months.” I peer at him. “And now that you’ve got it, you’re not happy??” Leo shakes his head. “There really is no pleasing you, is there, mate?”
“That’s not the point,” I hiss at him, rubbing my eyes hard until I see spots. Until he’s blurry… Like he’s not really there, and his voice is coming from inside me.
It is. You know it is.
I’ve always been you, Trevel.
“Just shut up and let me think, goddamnit!” I bark, whipping my face in his direction.
Except that Leo is gone. And now, Byron is standing there, right where my decrepit ninja bear had been. Eyes wide, etched in confusion and concern.
“Are you… alright?” he croaks, tone careful. Cautious.
Keep back. Your crazy sort-of boyfriend’s gone completely mad.
Squeezing my eyes shut tight, I take a breath, attempting to compose myself. “No… yes. I mean, I’m fine, but I just—”
“Trevel, what’s going on?” he grunts, wearing every moment of distress from the past few weeks on his face. “You seem like there’s something you’re not telling me…” He steps closer. “Something you want to tell me… But maybe you’re afraid.”
I bite my lip, staring at him. The emotion in my own eyes is palpable. I can see it, being mirrored back at me in his.
I want to confide in him, I swear I do.
There’s so much I need to say. So much he needs me to say.
But will it be… too much? Will he stay once he knows how truly fucked the bloody hell up I am?? I just don’t see how…
We’re running on fumes as it is.
“Come with me,” I sigh, walking past him.
I’m not sure that he’s following me at first. But after a beat, I can feel him.
I bring him downstairs, all the while mulling over the events of the last week or so, since Manuel Blanco put me in charge of Dr. Love’s fate. Let’s not pretend he wouldn’t have had his doctors doing whatever they wanted to Lemuel, regardless of my involvement. I think we all know how The Ivory operates by now. But bestowing upon me this gift of revenge…
It has felt every bit as loaded as I’m sure it was intended.
“Where are we going?” Byron asks nervously when I bring him to the stairs. The ones that go down.
I don’t answer him. I just keep moving, taking the stone steps down into the depths of darkness.
The mansion’s basement—at least this part of it—is reminiscent of Alabaster Penitentiary, in that it’s cold, and it smells like concrete and musty ocean. And it’s currently housing prisoners.
Dim light guides us into the dungeon—or as Manuel Blanco refers to it, the tombs—and I spot him right away. My chest constricts, and my teeth set.
“What the…” Byron gasps, shock and horror swallowing his gruff words.
“Yea.” I stop and just stare.
Lemuel Love is slumped on the floor, his hands cuffed behind his back and his ankle shackled to a post. He’s wearing the same clothes he’s been wearing since the night I plucked him out of his fancy bedroom upstairs, where he was existing in a bubble of blissful ignorance and overconfidence with his sweet little psycho boyfriend.
“Fiancé,” Leo’s voice echoes behind me, and I cringe.
Those fancy tailored fabrics are all worn and dirty now, stained with blood. His eyes are closed, as if maybe he’s asleep, or at least attempting it. But there’s visible strain around them, marks on his exposed skin that tell the tale of what’s been happening down here.
“The doctors have been doing things to him.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “I have…”
I feel Byron gaping at me, so I allow my eyes to meet his. The look he’s giving me only confirms all of my hidden doubts, and I don’t like it.
“Trevel, this is…” His voice trails, and he shakes his head, glancing at Dr. Love. “Why…?”
“Why?” I chuckle derisively. “Why?? Are you serious?? You know why, Byron…”
“I know, but this… Trevel, this is sick.” He steps over to Dr. Love, whose eyes slowly creep open. There’s instant rage in his amber glare, masking visible exhaustion, and some fear.
“This is what you wanted,” the voice inside tells me. “Revenge. At any cost.”
“He deserves it,” I sniff, choking back every foolish morsel of remorse, because fuck it, right?
I deserve this.
This is mine.
“Does he, though??” Byron snaps, and I squint at him. “I mean, come on, Trevel. Wake up! We all know The Ivory would’ve gotten you here with or without him, so what’s the fucking point??”
“It’s the dungeon.” I shrug. “And now he’s the prisoner…”
“If you think you’re not prisoners, you’re in for a world of hurt…” Lemuel rasps, eyes closing again. He rests his head against the wall as if he’s too tired to hold it up.
Byron gestures with his hand, in a sort of See? Told you motion of agreement with Dr. Love’s statement.
“You shut the fuck up,” I growl at Lemuel. “You brought this on yourself, you know you did.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” he breathes out.
“This is insane,” Byron grumbles. And now he’s pacing. “I didn’t want any of this, you know that?? I only went along with that bullshit plan for you!”
