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The floorboards creak under Bram’s weight, and the television stops playing abruptly. We freeze.
“Hello?” Spencer calls. Hearing him sends a shiver trickling down my spine. We were close to each other at the Collingsbrook Ball, but this is the first time I’ve been in close proximity and able to act on my impulses.
Bram holds his breath. A few seconds later, the television resumes. My palms tingle with excited anticipation, but I don’t advance yet. We wait, not saying a word, listening to see if Spencer talks, but nothing.
From the Dukes’ previously gathered intelligence, we know Spencer’s paranoia had set in. Despite his security, he’s been selective about who he lets inside.
I beckon for Bram to follow, inching closer to the noise. Memories flood back of hours spent pacing these corridors, weighing up whether leaving was a good idea. Even when I left the house for an afternoon, Spencer subjected me to an interrogation upon my return because he convinced himself I was seeing other men. He wanted me to be his pet. His prize. A pretty piece on his arm to show off. His. If he had his way, he’d have kept me locked away like an artefact in a museum, like all of his awful paintings.
The living room door is ajar. From my position, I can see the place is a mess. Bottles, papers, cigarette butts, and half-eaten plates of food litter every surface. I wrinkle my nose at the stale smell. With the curtains drawn, the only light comes from the show he’s watching. Spencer sits in a hideous high-back chair, one of his arms rests on the side, his hand clutching onto a glass of his favourite scotch.
This is my moment.
“Hello, Spenny,” I drawl.
He jumps up in a flash, turning to face me. His face turns a stark white as he looks me up and down like he’s seen a ghost. In a way, I suppose he has.
“Surprised to see me?” I ask, unable to stop a chilling smile from stretching over my lips.
His mouth gapes open, speechless. What do you say to a woman you thought you killed five years ago? Conversation killer, or what?
“You… you’re…” he stammers. “I… It can’t be… You’re d-d-d-dead.”
“Correction,” I say, holding up one finger. “You left me for dead. I think you’ll find I’m very much alive.” I narrow my eyes menacingly. “No thanks to you.”
He backs away, edging towards the fireplace. If he thinks grabbing a poker will change things, he’s delusional.
“Can you make sure Spencer is comfortable, Bram?” I ask.
Spencer predictably lunges for the poker, but his sweaty hands make it impossible for him to get a decent hold. It falls from his damp fingers onto the wooden floor with a clang. He lurches towards a panic alarm button on the wall and almost trips in the process.
“You should leave,” Spencer warns, thinking he’s in the clear as his palm triumphantly slams on the button. He straightens his spine, looking like he might not shit his pants after all. “My security team will be here soon.”
Bram smirks and grabs Spencer by the throat.
“Yeah, about that…” I say, twirling a strand of my hair around my finger casually. “You may have a bit of a security problem. No one is coming, and even if they do, your team is no match for us.”
Bram squeezes Spencer’s throat in his giant hands, making the bastard’s cheeks flush as he forces him back into his armchair.
That’s it. Stay down like the dog you are.
“If you move,” I threaten, “things will get ugly real fast.”
Bram retrieves cable ties from the backpack and gets to work on Spencer’s restraints. He’s the perfect killing partner, acting before I need to ask.
“There’s no need for—” Spencer begins.
“You move, and he snaps your neck,” I say, finishing Spencer’s sentence.
Spencer swallows hard, not resisting as Bram binds his wrists and ankles to immobilise him. Spencer seems to realise how fucked he is as the grovelling starts.
“Come on, Ivy. We have history. Is it money you want?” he asks while I yawn. Naturally, Spencer thinks flashing his wallet and credit cards will fix everything. “I can give you that. Just name your price. You know I can.”
“Money?” I shake my head. “Money won’t change what you did. You and your friends raped me and my sister, then left us for dead. You left us to die in a ditch like we were nothing.”
“What do you want?” His panic gives way to a wave of fresh anger. “Tell me. I’ll do anything.”
“I think you already know the answer to that,” I say, holding my hand out for Bram to pass me a knife. The hilt feels comfortable in my palm, like an old friend. “Why don’t you get the rest of my toys out, Bram?”
