Tortured Souls (Rebels of Sandland 2)

“He said to go right in.” She stood against the door to hold it open for us and we filed into the warm study like lions entering the colosseum. Prowling slowly and gauging our surroundings for any possible threats.

The room was dimly lit by picture lights on the dark wood-panelled walls and a study lamp that sat on the highly polished mahogany desk. The wooden floors creaked as we moved into the centre of the room and stood in front of the roaring open fire. There was a bookcase the height of the whole room running along one wall. Had he read all of those? There must’ve been hundreds of leather-bound books up there. Who had time to read that many books?

The atmosphere was strangely relaxing, with its smoky whiskey smells and the burn of the fire behind us. The soft crackle as the flames danced over the wood. But I wasn’t about to let this lull me into a false sense of security. The devil that sat behind the desk in the high-backed winged chair made sure that I kept my wits about me. If we were the lions, he was the gladiator, and he carried himself with an air of importance, full of cunning and pride for how he thought he was about to play us.

He watched each of us in turn as we took our places side by side, standing on the Chinese rug laid out in front of the fire. His face didn’t give anything away. If poker were an Olympic sport, no one else would compete because what would be the point? This guy had fucking nailed it.

The room was silent as he picked up his tumbler of whiskey and took a swig, then he placed it back carefully on a coaster. He leant back in his chair with his arms outstretched on his desk, tapping his fingers and sizing us up. It was like we were standing in front of a headmaster, if the headmaster was a cold-hearted sadistic liar who only thought about himself and only kept people around him if he thought they could do something for him.

He must’ve got bored tapping his fingers and decided to thread them together and rest them on his paunched stomach.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” he said in a low drawl, looking at Harper then the others, but not me. He either didn’t see me as a threat or he was avoiding poking the biggest beast in the room.

“You know damn well why we’ve come here,”

I said on a snarl, and he pinned me with a stare that was supposed to unnerve me. It only made me want to goad him further. I didn’t cow down to anyone.

“If I knew what you wanted, I wouldn’t have asked. I don’t play games. I don’t have time. Some of us have a serious business to run.” He stayed still as he spoke, but the tic in his jaw showed he was on edge; more so than he wanted to let on.

“God forbid we should interfere with your business. Isn’t that right, Don?” I opened my legs to stand firmer in my place and crossed my arms over my chest.

“I take it from your tone that you have something on your mind. So, spit it out, boy. I don’t have all night.”

My back went up as soon as he called me boy. I knew he’d said it to belittle me. But it also made me want to settle this the only way I knew how. With my fists.

“Call me boy again, and I’ll show you exactly how wrong you are.”

He huffed out a laugh and moved forward to lean on his desk, his fingers steepled in front of his face.

“You’ve got fire in you. I like that.” He turned to glance at Chase. “Do you have any idea what they want? Seems like we need to play twenty questions to get it out of them.”

Chase rubbed over his chin and chuckled.

“I’m guessing it’s to do with Jensen. He had a fight tonight and-”

“It’s got fuck all to do with Jensen,” I cut in angrily. “I wanna know why you’re sending threatening texts to my friends, trying to get me to throw the fight tonight and involving my girl in this. If you want a war, you come after me, not them, and certainly not her.”

Don Lockwood’s head whipped back around to me so fast he almost gave himself whiplash.

That’s right, I’m calling you out. You come for my friends, you come for me. I would take anyone on who disrespected us.

“What the hell are you on about?” He screwed his face up in disgust. “I haven’t sent you any messages. What is all this?” In his defence, not that he deserved one, but he did look totally clueless.

“We traced the phone records. The number was registered in your name,” Zak added.

We had proof. We weren’t going to let him worm his way out of this so easily.

“Show me. I want to see these messages I’m supposed to have sent.”

Don Lockwood stood up from his chair and walked around to the front of his desk. Then he leant up against it and held his hand out for one of us to hand our phones over. Zak did the honours, and when Don started scrolling, his brow furrowed so deeply he looked like a fucking pug. We all stood firm, ready to jump into action.

“I didn’t send these.” He scowled at us and handed the phone back to Zak. Then he glared right at me. “What number did they come from?”

Chase shuffled backwards as Zak read out the numbers and Don’s face got redder by the second. Dude was a prime target for a heart attack at any minute.

“That’s your new number, Chase,” he barked. “Care to explain to me why you’ve been sending those?”

I threw my head back and let out a growl as I glanced at the ceiling then back at Don fucking Lockwood. All this time we thought we were dealing with some dangerous gangsters or criminals linked to him, and all the time it was his punk ass son doing his attention-seeking bullshit. I needed to kick more Lockwood ass tonight. This was getting out of hand. No way was Chase going to get away with playing us like that. He needed to pay.