Sam picked at her pasta ready-meal and stared aimlessly at the blank television screen, her mind turning like a roundabout. Sitting here doing nothing was getting her nowhere, but then pacing aimlessly around the Orchid had got her nowhere either.
She’d tried unsuccessfully to get hold of Seb. Twice. According to the Peacock’s receptionist, he wasn’t in tonight.
Sam picked at her fingernails, worry sparking harder. Had Seb even been seen since removing Gary’s body? She didn’t know but could hardly ask.
She could and probably should have remained at the Orchid. What if Seb was trying to reach her there? But all she’d been doing was pacing around her office achieving nothing, short of working herself into a frenzy. She didn’t want to bump into Liam or John either, having seen neither of them since earlier, so she’d left for the night.
Sam pulled her hair away from her neck into a makeshift ponytail and glanced at the clock. Nearly midnight. God, this was frustrating. She could do nothing but wait.
Contemplating whether to just throw the towel in and go to bed, she instead got up and moved to the cabinet, pouring herself a larger than average vodka. Raising the glass to her lips, she froze with the buzzing of the intercom.
Hurriedly placing the glass down, she rushed to the intercom and with shaking fingers, pressed the button, hoping to God it wasn’t Liam. Or John. ‘Yes?’
‘Sam? It’s Seb.’
A wave of combined relief and apprehension flooded her as she pressed the door release button. ‘Come up.’
In the few moments she had spare before Seb appeared at her front door, Sam found herself smoothing her hair down, then checking her reflection in the hallway mirror. Before she could analyse her confusing actions, Seb tapped on her door.
‘Sorry it’s so late,’ Seb panted, having loped up the stairs. ‘I need to speak to you.’
Sam took in Seb’s appearance. His standard black suit and white shirt were replaced with a tight black polo neck and jeans. He looked different to usual, but still as handsome as ever. ‘I’ve been going out of my mind,’ she cried, pushing the thumping of her heart to the back of her mind. ‘Why has it taken you so long? You need to tell me what happened with Gary. I’m having to lie for you, so you could at least tell me the det…’
‘You’re lying for me? I didn’t kill my brother and I thought you knew that or have you changed your mind again?’ Seb barked, doing exactly what he’d done the last time he was here – striding past Sam into the lounge and helping himself to a drink.
Pouring himself a large Scotch, he frowned. He wasn’t here to argue, but this woman infuriated him. He’d insisted on not going any further with interrogating Maynard against his brothers’ wishes so Sam could witness what came out of his mouth, yet she was already on his back?
Sam followed Seb to the drinks cabinet and found herself placing her hand on his arm. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I’ve just been so worried.’ She picked up her own drink. ‘When I didn’t hear from you I thought you might have been arrested.’
Seb stared at Sam’s hand on his bare forearm and then at her. ‘Shit, Sam! What’s happened? You almost sounded like you cared for a minute then!’
Sam indignantly pulled her hand from Seb’s arm. ‘It’s not funny! Your mother’s been on the phone to mine asking about Gary and I didn’t know what to say. On top of that I’ve been worried sick! What did you do with him?’
Seb stared at his whisky, before locking his eyes with Sam, not wishing to recount the less than acceptable way he’d been forced to store his brother’s body. ‘All you need to know is that it’s sorted for now. I owe you a van, though.’
‘But…’
‘Don’t ask me, Sam,’ Seb said, his green eyes cold, yet holding a hint of desperation. ‘Please!’
Sam swallowed uncomfortably and nodded. She wanted to ask Seb how he felt about it all but sensed that would only make things worse. ‘The other thing is John Maynard,’ she said quietly.
Seeing Seb’s head snap up at the mention of Maynard’s name, Sam continued. ‘He’s lying. I spoke to him earlier. You’re right about him being behind everything. The problem is, I don’t know where to go from here… He’s family.’
Seb stared at Sam, the alien feeling of the sudden urge to protect this woman from the unsavoury things surrounding her intensifying. He took her elbow, distracting himself from the need to press her against the wall with his body. ‘That’s why I’m here. Come and sit down.’
Sam tensed and shook away Seb’s hand, the succinct tinge of impending dread flooding her. ‘I don’t want to sit down,’ she snapped. ‘I want to know what’s happening.’
Seb took a deep breath, then tipped the remains of the whisky into his mouth. ‘We’ve lifted Maynard.’ He watched Sam’s eyes widen. ‘Tonight. Not long ago. We’re holding him.’
Sam swayed and steadied herself against the wall. ‘What have y…?’
‘I haven’t hurt him… Much…’ Seb interjected, his eyes narrowing. ‘Not yet anyway, but I’m planning to.’
Sam nodded. She’d half-expected this to be on the cards. Questioning John was something she understood had to be done, but despite being on the cusp of suggesting it herself, John was still her blood and that wasn’t a comfortable situation. ‘Where…?’
‘Maynard’s being held in one of my lock-ups,’ Seb said, taking the impetus to top up Sam’s drink as well as his own. ‘My brothers are with him.’ He handed her the glass. ‘It’s imperative you witness what he has to say.’ A ghost of a smile crossed his mouth. ‘My brothers weren’t too pleased. They’re used to getting straight on with it.’
Sam’s eyes locked onto the small smile on Seb’s full lips, the heat of his body radiating towards her despite him standing over a yard away. ‘You’re waiting for me?’
‘Don’t get me wrong, Sam. I know the cunt is behind everything. I also believe he killed my brother, but I understand he’s your family and I, more than most, know how important that is.’ A lopsided smile slid across his face. ‘Contrary to popular opinion, I’m a fair man and feel you need to hear what he has to say yourself. You were good to me with the Gary business, so I figured I owe you the same courtesy.’
Scarcely able to believe Seb had gone against his own plan of vengeance, as well as his brothers’, for her, Sam slammed her glass down. ‘Then let’s go. Let’s go now.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘If it turns out this is right, then I’d rather know the definitive truth sooner rather than later.’
She rushed up the hall, grabbing her jacket on the way. ‘If John is going to be killed,’ she glanced over her shoulder, ‘and I know you’ll end up killing him, then I’d prefer get it over with.’
Seb stared after Sam with ever-growing admiration. He couldn’t have been more incorrect in his initial assumption of her if he’d tried. She was more level-headed and centred than most of the men he knew.
His longing for her burned brighter than ever before as he followed her up the hallway. ‘It won’t be happening tonight,’ he said, catching hold of Sam’s arm.
Sam spun around, her eyes wide. ‘Why not? I need to hear the truth!’
Seb nodded. ‘I realise that, but it can wait. Maynard’s been dosed up and letting him think about what he’s going to say is a good idea. We’ll deal with it fully tomorrow.’
‘But I…’
‘This is the way it’s happening, Sam. No arguments!’ Seb’s hand moved to Sam’s face, his finger tracing down her left cheek, stopping at her lips. Gently, he ran his thumb across her over her bottom lip. ‘Get yourself some rest. I’ll be back to collect you tomorrow.’
Her skin burning from where Seb’s fingers had touched, Sam watched him walk to the door. ‘Seb?’
He turned around.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
Nodding, Seb turned back towards the door.
‘Oh, and Seb?’ she whispered, moving to stand in front of him, longing to reach for him.
‘Yes, Samantha.’ Seb’s eyes were focused only on Sam’s slightly parted lips.
‘Good night.’
Shutting the door behind him, Seb raced down the stairs and through the main door of the apartment complex. Grateful to be in the cool evening air, he leant against the wall and pulled much-needed air into his lungs, knowing his growing feelings for this extraordinary woman were a lot more than base desire.
The whirlwind of colours rushed from the back and then to the front of John’s mind as the LSD continued its drawn-out torture of every thought and sense he’d ever had. In desperation, he grasped onto the infrequent blips of logic and rational thought before his conscience swirled back down the looping, kaleidoscopic and fluctuating tunnels of weirdness.
He’d loved this stuff many years ago, but that was long before he’d become involved in all of this – the quest for what he deserved. What had been promised. What had become all-consuming. And the times he’d enjoyed the effect of this drug coincided when he wasn’t in a situation guaranteed to give even a serious acid-head the worst trip ever.
John’s heart lurched as his eyes fixed on the blood pumping along the veins in his forearm. His stinging eyes watched in terror as his blood vessels grew and expanded. Grew and expanded. Over and over.
He could even hear his blood moving along, the whooshing noise getting fainter as it branched out into the tiny capillaries across his skin.
Was he leaking? Was his blood leaking? Fuck. FUCK.
He could hear a sound like an injured dog whimpering and yelping. He glanced around the gloomy space. Where was it? He didn’t dare look up. It was too cavernous and no one knew what might be hiding in the shadows.
Suddenly, he realised the sound was coming from himself. Entering another lucid loop, John fought to gain control of his mind. He needed to concentrate while he could.
His eyes darted to the two ghouls watching him intently from the corner. They’d been there all night – staring, laughing, trying to steal his soul…
It was okay. He’d got this. He knew what he would do. It all made sense and was the best way. They’d never win. He’d leave a legacy that would haunt that bitch for years. It would finish all of them.
John started chuckling then abruptly stopped, hearing something creaking loudly from within his head. He could hear the floor moving. He could actually hear it.
Bending his head forward as much as possible, he searched for evidence of millions of marching ants, before realising he’d turned to stone. He hadn’t moved his feet or arms for ages. Probably months. Why was he in this chair again?
Clawing to keep the fast-disappearing wave of logic before realising it was pointless, he gritted his teeth and waited for the next band to spin into position so that he could continue to plan.