Twisted Little Games - Book 2 (Little Games Duet) Page 6

  “I think you’ve been reading too many mysteries, Oskar. Maybe switch to a few bodice rippers instead, hmm?” I offer with a teasing lilt, which goes unnoticed. His grave expression sends a chill running racing through my veins. ”Oskar, you know Atticus would never hurt me.” I’m trying to comfort us both since the atmosphere has taken a drastic dark turn.

  “No, I don’t know that, Tia. I do know, however, that his mother definitely would, if she ever learns you know the truth.”

  “What truth, Oskar?” His hand goes slack, and his eyes close briefly. I don’t want to push him, but I want to know what the hell he’s saying.

  “It’s you, and this…this is all yours,” he mutters, and I resign myself to accepting his words as the ramblings of a very sick man.

  “Okaaay then, that’s great, but honestly, all I want is Atticus.” I pat the back of his hand, and he opens his eyes and turns his head to face me.

  “I know…I know, and that’s why I never told you before. I didn’t really need to. The Kraus bloodline is ultimately safe with you married to Atticus.” His warm smile is easy if only for a brief flash before he is once again all seriousness.

  “And you’re telling me now because?” I’m a little exhausted by this confusing conversation, and it’s reflected in my tone. Oskar replies, his voice rising, his tone filled with desperation.

  “He has obligations, and if he deviates, she will know. She will know how important you are to him, and she will stop at nothing—” He collapses back onto his pillows, gasping for air. Raising his voice and shouting each word manically at the end, leaving me stunned and ashamed I pushed a conversation he obviously couldn’t handle.

  It’s heartbreaking to see such a wonderful man destroyed by a cancer not content with robbing him of his dignity; it’s now eroding his mind.

  “It’s all right. Shh, it’s all right, Oskar. Atticus can handle his mother, everything is going to be fine.” I shush and calm him, squeezing his hand and reaching up to stroke the thick grey hair over his head. His brow is clammy with perspiration, hair sticking to his face. He takes my hand from his face and fixes a vice-like grip around my wrist. His eyes are wild and penetrating right through me. His whispery words die on his lips and leave me cold.

  “Promise me, don’t ever mention this…”

  “Trust me, Oskar, this one’s going to my grave.” He sinks back and closes his eyes, exhales, and after a short time, I realise he has drifted into a deep sleep. I’m a wreck, but he is at least peaceful for now. The door eases open, and his nurse pokes her head around before stepping up to the bed and taking his pulse.

  “Everything all right?” She smiles kindly at me.

  “Not sure. He seemed quite upset, incoherent actually.” I shrug hoping Oskar’s pulse is better than mine, which I can still feel racing. “He wasn’t making any sense.”

  “He’s on some high dosages of morphine, which can cause hallucinations, so you shouldn’t concern yourself too much. He’s not in pain, and that’s the main thing. Keeping him comfortable is our priority now.”

  “Of course.” I actually let a huge sigh of relief escape from deep in my chest. I think I found the thought he was losing his mind more disturbing than the actual conversation. It makes much more sense that he was talking nonsense because of the drugs.

  “Don’t pay too much attention. He’s been chatting all morning to his dead son. Kind of relieved his son is dead, because he was quite cross with him. Although most of the swear words I think were in Swedish.” She chuckles.

  “Oh, well that makes more sense than the conversation I’ve just had.” I grab my bag and lean over to kiss Oskar’s forehead. “I’ll come over on Friday after my last exam, we’ll celebrate with whiskey. I’ve come to like the taste,” I whisper conspiratorially, even if it’s a blatant lie. I swear I see a twitch of a smile on his sleeping face. He’s a devil.

  “Son of a bitch.” I curse and laugh at the same time, a hollow sound, filled with bitterness and regret, which echoes off the oak panelling of the library like it’s mocking me. I look around the room my grandfather and I loved so much. My gaze settles on his favourite chair beside the fireplace. I spent hours and hours at his side, listening to his stories, my ‘father’s’ stories, and the history of the Kraus family, and for the first time, I can’t bring myself to enjoy being in here. There are so many unanswered questions and no one I trust left to give me the answers.

  The Will I signed and should’ve read at the time, my mother has secured away from the lawyers, and it’s in the safe. As a signatory, it meant I was never a beneficiary, but I didn’t know that back then, and honestly, I never gave it a second thought. Mother knew though, and that’s what set this whole damn mess in motion; I just know it. Her damn fear of losing everything, and now it’s very likely she’s done that all by herself.

  Perhaps I should just let it all go. If only it was that simple.

  If the payback stopped with the company, maybe. If it stopped with my mother’s death, I could easily sleep at night. But now I know the truth. I also know that this debt, if not paid in full, will only be satisfied with blood, Kraus blood. I laugh again at the irony, it’s not my blood after all; it’s Tia’s.

  “Fuck!” I spin the damn dial in the centre of the safe. After the third attempt with the exact same numbers I’ve only ever used once before, I resign myself to the fact someone has reset the code. Not someone, I muse. My reflection catches me off guard, the mirror on the far wall is too distant to see the colour in my eyes, but my dark frown is lightened by the wide, knowing smile. My anger and frustration are momentarily eclipsed with a sense of pride in the girl I once knew. I’m impressed at her new skillset even if that puts her in an even more precarious position.

  She’s clearly not that girl, not anymore.

  My phone vibrates in my back pocket, and I make to leave the library while I press the button and take Clarke’s call.

  “Yes.”

  “I have your leverage,” he informs me, and I feel tension I didn’t realise I was carrying lift from my shoulders.

  “Good.”

  “He’s not happy.”

  “I don’t suppose he is.” I sniff.

  “You might need some more sedation.” His tone is serious, and I can hear a dull, metallic thumping sound in the background.

  “I don’t have any more. Just knock him out again if he’s any trouble.”

  “I have done that twice already. He’s like the fucking Energizer Bunny, keeps waking up and fighting his restraints. He’s throwing himself around in the back; I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t tip us the fuck right over.” Clarke laughs with the last part, but I can hear the concern in his voice.

  “Do what you need to do; however, I do need him alive for now.”

  “Sir. I’m not—”

  “Just put him in the library when you get here. Tie him up in the corner.” I have a plan, but things change, and as much as he would probably like to hear some reassurances, I have none to give. Everything depends on Tia. Now she’s admitted to taking my money, I need her to understand how important it is that she gives it back, important for everyone. “There’s an antique oriental screen in the drawing room. Get it and put him in the corner of the room, behind the screen. Gag him and make sure the fucker can’t escape.”

  “Yes sir.” He clips his response, then his words seem to drift, and he’s more hesitant when he speaks again. “I’m just pulling into the village… Sir?”

  “What? I don’t need a mile by mile breakdown of your movements Clarke.” I retort.

  “No, I know. It’s just, were you expecting your mother to be visiting, sir?” I let out a humourless laugh.

  “Yes, of course. I’ve set up afternoon tea for the four of us in the Orangery.” My tone is laced with sarcasm. “No, I’m not expecting my fucking mother, why?”

  “Her Range Rover is parked up next to a police car in the pub car park.”

  “Fuck!” I let out a heavy puff of air
with the justified expletive. That fucking woman! “Okay, drop the package here, and then drive back to the village and keep and eye on my mother. She’s not to come any closer to Tartarus, understand?”

  “How am I supposed to stop her exactly? You want me to knock her out too?” His voice rises in the right place to register a question, but it sounded more like a statement.

  “I wish,” I exhale my answer and then clarify my actual reply. “No, do not hit my mother. Shoot her damn tyres out, if you have to. Just don’t let her out of your sight.”

  “Very good, sir.” The line goes dead, and without missing a beat, I press the speed dial button on my next call.

  “Mother.” I push the term through my clenched jaw. I’m struggling to feel any connection to this woman who has caused so much hurt and destruction. I know if the web she’s woven didn’t include Tia, I would’ve severed the tie in a heartbeat.

  “Atticus, do you have the money?” Her tone is hushed, but the panic in her voice is stark and genuine. It should be.

  “You couldn’t just leave me to it. You have to fucking interfere,” I snap with open hostility, and she sucks in a shocked sharp breath.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Where are you?” I ask, my voice regaining a modicum of calm, despite the anger bubbling through my veins.

  “Visiting a friend. I thought you might need some local support. Chief Inspector Adams was so very helpful last time.” She prattles on as if she’s doing me some enormous favour.

  “I said I would handle this, and I will.” I respond with enough warmth to freeze the phone in her well manicured hand. My voice drops low and an undercurrent of menace ripples with each word I utter. “If you ever want to see me again after this is done and dusted, you will get in your car and not only leave the village, but you’ll leave the fucking country.”

  “All I want is our money back,” she pleads, and even her attempt at heartfelt honesty falls flat.

  “That’s not all you want, and we both know it,” I assert, and the line goes quiet. I can almost picture her plotting her next move so I stop her with mine. “Do as I say, Mother, or I swear—”

  “Fine, fine,” she blurts, flustered. “I’m leaving now. I was only trying to help.”

  Her earnest response makes me choke out a tight cough. Clearing my throat, I reply. “Mother, I’ve had about as much help from you as I can handle.”

  “I didn’t know I was risking everything when I agreed to underwrite their investment, Atticus, I swear.” Her pathetic explanation falls on deaf ears, too little too late.

  “Ignorance is no fucking defence mother, especially when I can no longer believe a single word you say.”

  “Atticus I never—” I don’t care what she ‘never’. Nothing she can say will change the mess she’s created. I cut the call dead and drop the phone back into my pocket. Dragging my hand through my hair, I pinch the tension at the bridge of my nose and let out a heavy breath.

  This is spiralling out of my control, and it’s unacceptable.

  My bare feet make next to no noise as I pad the length of the stone slabs of the Great Hall toward the main stairway. The thick red carpet runner, which is held into place by solid brass big cat claws and doesn’t reach the edge of the sweeping staircase, feels good against my toes. I take a moment to curl them into the soft pile when I reach the first landing where the staircase splits to either side of the gallery landing. Tia and I used to break up cardboard boxes and lay them flat to slide down these stairs, and we would use rolled up sweaters on the bannisters. The highly polished wood would provide little resistance, and the speed of descent was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. I was always careful to bail before I did myself any damage on the carved lion’s head at the end and Tia would slide backward, feet first so her feet and legs, not her rear-end, would take the momentum of coming to an abrupt halt.

  This place really was a magical playground, and I can’t help the slice of sadness that it’s no longer mine. The truth will never erase the memories or the fact that I was only ever truly happy here. Still, I was raised on nothing but lies, and that does somewhat tarnish my charmed childhood. I draw in a deep, steady breath when I reach Grandfather’s room.

  Pushing the door wide, the creak alone would wake the dead; however, the drugs seem to be having a lasting effect. Tia’s body doesn’t react to the noise or the light bursting into the room when I pull the curtain open.

  I pace the length and breadth of the room, checking for what, I’m not sure. Nothing seems out of place, the furniture has the dustsheets over the larger pieces so there really isn’t much to check. Besides, I can clearly see Tia is very much secured to the bed frame with her hand hanging limply from the cuff attached to the bedpost. My mind is skipping way ahead of itself. Cracking a safe is one thing, picking free a solid steel cuff with no tools is the stuff of Houdini.

  I think I must be going crazy to think she’s slipped her restraints.

  One thing is certain, if she had, she wouldn’t be lying in the bed. I doubt I’d see her again if she were smart, but she clearly has an unresolved vendetta so maybe she wouldn’t run; maybe she’d stay and hunt. Maybe she’s searching for the same answers I am. She told me she has my money, but she looked genuinely confused by my comment about it not being mine in the first place.

  Not for the last time, I’m sure, I have to remind myself maybe I don’t know her. This thought alone is the one that will drive me insane. She was mine, is mine, always will be mine, and when we made love last night it was how it was always supposed to be. I felt it in my soul, and I would bet that very soul she did too.

  She tasted the same, and her body yielded to mine like it always had. She fell asleep in my arms, and I held her all damn night, afraid to let go, not knowing what the morning might bring. Still, behind those eyes, I can’t be a hundred percent sure I know what she’s really thinking, and I hate that. I stand so close to the bed I can feel the warmth radiating from her sleeping body, soft breaths making her chest rise and fall and her lips part just enough to let the air escape.

  She looks like an angel.

  I need to know what she knows. I need the truth, and I need my money. I might not deserve the former more than the latter, but that isn’t going to stop me, and it’s unlikely after today I will ever get a chance like this again.

  I sit down carefully. The bed dips, and I smile when I see her lips twitch at the corners, and her eyelids pinch closed a little tighter. If I wasn’t looking so intently I would’ve missed these tells, but I didn’t, and now I know.

  I lean down so my mouth is close to her ear, and whisper, “Time to stop pretending, princess.” My breath kisses her skin just as my jaw clenches at the sharp prick of cold metal at my neck. Every muscle in my body contracts and freezes, and I don’t dare breathe. Her eyes spring open and pierce deeper into me than any blade. A stormy mix of hurt, betrayal, and utter rage bore right through me.

  “Does this feel like pretending?” She mimics my softly spoken tone, a confident smile slowly working its way wide across her face. The pressure of the blade is enough to puncture the skin, and I’m waiting for the warm trickle of blood, but it doesn’t come. My eyes flick down, recognising my grandfather’s letter opener in her white-knuckle grip. She holds the point of the steel firm with one hand, and with the other that should still be in the cuff attached to the bedpost, she pushes me back. She rises to keep the distance as I retreat. I’m watching every facial muscle for movement, ticks, or involuntary twitches of nervousness but there are none. There’s no weakness, no hesitation, and for the second time in just one day, I find I am more than a little impressed.

  My face fails to hide this mistimed pride because, unfortunately, my impressed expression must look a lot like I’m arrogantly amused, and I wince when I feel the nick at my neck.

  “There is nothing fucking funny about this, Atticus. Only you could look so damn smug,” she snarks, shaking her head in disbelief. “Not
hing fucking funny about kidnapping and drugging me. You’re going to jail for this, arsehole.”

  “I’m not laughing, princess. I’m actually impressed and a little hard.” Her eyes widen, and now I do laugh out loud.

  “What the fuck, Cass!” She keeps her focus on me and the knife. I can feel her indignant outrage like a force field. She is good at putting up barriers, but I’m very good at breaking them down. She jabs her other finger hard into my chest, and I wrap my hand around the digit, gently at first, and I wait for her to pull it away. She doesn’t but she does press the blade a little harder into the cut. There’s a fresh spurt of blood rushing down my neck, and I can feel her hand start to tremble. “You fucking drugged me and that gets you hard. Oh my god… Did you—” She stops mid sentence at her own horror filled conclusion, and I interrupt with the mine.

  “No, no I didn’t.” I growl. “For fuck sake, Tia, after what we did last night? We made love, that’s never happened to me.” I’m absolutely gutted, wrecked she could even go there. I let out an unbearably heavy sigh. “I’ve never felt anything like that before. I knew it would be like this with you. How could you even—” I falter, and she is quick to attack in the momentary pause.

  “Think you’re capable of fucking me while I’m unconscious? Oh I don’t know, Cass, maybe because you’re the one that made me unconscious in the first place. Maybe it’s because you fucking drugged me and chained me to the bed!” Her voice gets breathy and high pitched, and I feel the fury coursing through her. She’s distracted and that’s all I need.

  I jolt forward, catching her off guard and off balance. She squeals as I knock the letter opener from her hand and force my full body weight over on her. It only takes a fraction of a second for her fight instinct to kick in. Not just kick in but go into some demon-fuelled frenzy of flailing arms, jabbing knees and full bucking body contortions while trying to dislodge me. I hold firm and heavy, and it seems to take for-fucking-ever for exhaustion to quiet her resistance. She pants and struggles until all that’s left is despair, and it nearly breaks me.