Page 21 of A Sorrow of Truths
The eventual sight of the townhouse dominating the avenue makes me slam on the brakes and park directly outside it, the door crashing behind me as I get out. The main entrance looms just as large as the old building does, black on black, the knockers and letters sunk in with metallic hues to highlight the oil that bought it.
It opens as I’m approaching, the swing of it only guarded by a lone man in a suit.
“Good evening, Mr Rothburg,” he says. Good?
No, it isn’t.
I keep walking passed him, swerving corners and rooms to find Malachi. He knew. He knew she was still taking the damn pills and didn’t tell me. It’s bad enough that he didn’t screen her before she left his fucking castle, but to have not checked if she’d managed to hide any?
Stupidity.
“MALACHI!” bellows out of me.
Nothing. Not even the sound of his damn wife snickering at me. I take the stairs up to the top floor, rounding the myriad of steps three at a time to get to the observation deck. They’ll be up there, probably toasting their little game with champagne and caviar.
Another landing, the length of the main hall crossed, and I break out onto the stone flagged gardens and fountains. The back end of it’s illuminated, framed by the city around it, and there, part hidden by the foliage and sculptures, steam and mist rippling the air, are both of them in the pool.
The hard clack of my shoes slams down heavy on the ground, finally coming to a stop by their side. Faith pushes off backwards, arms swirling the water around her as she floats.
“So angry, Gray,” she says. “Delicious.”
No words from Malachi, just his tan, top half out of the water and his eyes watching me carefully.
“What the hell are you playing at?” I grate out. “Letting her carry on out here? You’re fucking insane, Malachi. We made rules about this.”
He starts to get out, shaking his head, as he walks forward. “And you thought coming here to shout at me was more useful than looking after her?” He takes a sip of his champagne, reaching for a towel. “That really is cruel, Gray. She’ll need you. Where have you taken her?”
“That’s none of your damn business.”
My body carries on around the pool, about ready to get the last of this anger out on something physically until I’m feet away from him. “You didn’t check her? Make sure she didn’t have any? Ease her off them before-"
“I did, but then it seemed counter intuitive with you and her.” He chuckles and finishes off the rest of his champagne, pouring another immediately, and looks my tense frame over. “Please don’t tell me you’ve come here to fight. You’ll lose. You know that.”
I’m in his face before he can get away from me, one hard right fist sent at his jaw to show my contempt. He barely moves other than his head slowly turning, but the fucking thought has at least landed on his skin. Another might any damn minute. “Anything could have happened to her. You’re a fucking asshole to have played like that.”
“Says the man who invented the fun in the first place,” he snarls, rubbing his jaw.
“It was reckless of you.”
“And you fucking her in your apartment wasn’t?” He laughs, then sneers, dismissing the punch as if barely felt. “I think you know that something has already happened to her. You. And that is not my fault. It’s yours.”
“What happens in the confines of my own damn home is none-.”
“Everything’s my business. And you tipping her over the edge for the rest of us to play with definitely is. Poor little Hannah and those red pills.” A giggle comes from Faith, water splashing around. “If you don’t want her out here, maybe I should continue playing rather than helping.”
“I told you to leave her alone.”
He sighs and looks over at his wife, a smile on his face about something. “The problem is, Gray, I’ve got several complications with that statement. One, why? Two, she doesn’t want me to. In fact, she wants me to take her home with me if the phone call is to be believed. And three, you don’t want me to.”
My feet inch closer, fists tightening again and mouth opening to retaliate.
“Try it again and I’ll react. Don’t push your luck,” he growls in warning. Another step moves me closer again. I don’t give a fuck for warnings. Not this time. “Stop it, Gray. You can’t tell me you didn’t like her in your apartment, or, presumably, that you won’t like seeing her in that monstrosity of a place you own in the country,” he says. “Assuming that’s where you’ve taken her for whatever rehabilitation you’re choosing.” Rage starts building in me at his ability to read me so well. A rage so profound I’m barely keeping it contained. More games. More playing with me. “I did call you, Gray. I could have just taken her and you wouldn’t have known a thing about it. I thought you might prefer to deal with the disorder you’ve created yourself.”
“You’ve made all this happen.”
“No I didn’t. You brought her to me in the first place. You can keep your blame and reprimand yourself for it. Not me. I was a spectator.”
My teeth grit. “I meant all this now.”