Page 21 of Payback

I twisted around in my seat and gaped through the gap in the panel. This had to be an exaggeration. Rudolph wouldn’t be stupid enough to ask Charlotte to bring him underage girls.

“He said his wife didn’t understand him, and they slept in separate bedrooms. He was lonely and needed a little company.”

I drew in a sharp breath through my teeth. Mom had told me she hadn’t slept with the syphilitic lizard, but I hadn’t thought he would go so far as to approach some as young as Charlotte. “Why didn’t he just marry someone else?”

“Because he’s twisted,” muttered Blake.

“And you gave him this company for money?” asked Henry.

Charlotte dipped her head. “You make it sound sordid. I didn’t sleep with him out of enjoyment. I needed to continue my education, and he was desperate to hurt his wife.”

Henry remained silent. How could anyone reply to a comment like that?

“Rudy wasn’t a good sugar daddy. All he could talk about was getting payback. Payback for the gold digger who married him and didn’t love him enough. Payback for his insane bitch stepdaughter who was going to get herself killed.”

A boulder of shock hit me in the gut, and the blood drained from my face.

“What?” said Blake.

“What did you say?” said Henry.

She paused as though she hadn’t revealed something heinous. “You mean Hobson? Rudolph told me she was a slut who would sleep with anyone. It would get her into trouble one of these days.”

I grimaced. Something told me he had been laying the foundations for his kidnapping plot, rather than bitching that I would get an STD.

Charlotte sniffled. “He was picky, too. He listed all my flaws and said I would only reach his standards with liposuction, rhinoplasty, and collagen implants.”

“Ouch,” said Blake.

A dull ache filled my chest, and I wrapped my arms around my middle. All this time, I had thought Charlotte had demanded the cosmetic surgery when Rudolph had been the one who had demanded she alter her features. “He’s sick.”

Blake shook his head. “I almost feel bad for the girl.”

“Did you have sex with him during the Easter break?” asked Henry.

Charlotte shook her head. “I was still recovering from my surgeries, but we watched each other over video chat.”

“How many times did you meet him in real life?”

“A few times.” She paused, either because what she would say next was terrible, or because she wanted to draw out the suspense. “Philippe would meet me in London and take me to Rudolph’s suite.”

“What did you do for him?”

“Everything,” she said in a broken voice. “Oral. Anal. Whatever he wanted. I kept thinking about helping my family, not about myself. Rudolph is ugly, and—”

“Whose idea was it to lure Emilia into that trap?” asked Henry.

My gaze flickered down to my app, which still recorded her confession.

“Not mine,” she replied. “Rudolph told me Emilia had been his little spy for the Saturday Correspondent, but she was doing a poor job and needed to be taught a lesson. He asked me to meet Carbuncle and to present a scheme for him to get enough money to survive while hiding from the police.”

“But you left that invitation in her hallway,” said Henry.

Charlotte sniffled. “If Emilia didn’t show up in Chelsea Heights, Rudolph wouldn’t help my family.”

“How did your brother get involved?”

“He went to mother, demanding that she sell her jewelry because someone he owed threatened to cut out his liver. I asked Rudolph for money, and he suggested that Peter make himself useful. The plan was to have an anonymous kidnapper send Hobson’s pictures to the Correspondent every day until Mr. Carbuncle was finally caught.”