“That me marrying a Radcliffe would simplify my ascent to head of the gang and glorify my rise in the eyes of all Chicago.”
“You are delusional if you think Beau is gonna let this slide. He’ll fucking kill you, Tommy.”
“No need to worry your pretty little head. Beau’s already dead...”
Even if she’d seen it happen to other men a thousand times over, it could not be true. A man like Beau, someone so grand, could never have been brought down by swine like Tommy. But Charlie knew where they were. The building Tommy had stashed her in was coarse red brick. A place she’d skulked as a girl—the Radcliffe storage yard.
And if they were there… Tommy ruled the roost.
Charlie went pale, she swallowed. “And who’s gonna back you once those loyal to Beau call for your head? No outside men, no wanna be gangsters, are going to be able to hold a city like this. Chicago won’t bow to interlopers or pretty boy graspers. If Matthew don’t kill you, the Italians will!”
“The Italians and I… we have an understanding.”
“YOU FUCKING TRAITOR!”
Tommy crouched down to wipe a string of spittle from her lips. “And you should know, your redneck, his kin, were gunned down the moment they rolled into town this fine evening. That boy… Eli… hear tell he cried like a baby—just like you did when you got shot in the belly.”
The thought of Matthew lying dead... butchered. Her lip shook, and it felt all too real. “You’re lying.”
Tommy grabbed her by the hair so she might look him in the eye, the man whispering menacingly sweet. “Every last one of them died while you were swilling champagne with Martha. Your party was a great distraction, Beau’s best all there to babysit you while I gutted that bastard myself. So you see, ain’t no one coming to save you. Not Beaumont, not your hick.”
It felt like someone had scooped out her insides, but that didn’t change her nature. “I ain’t never needed saving.”
“We’ll see how you feel in a couple hours... If you beg, I might just listen.” Tommy’s next bark was for the men at the door. “Work her over, but no bruises can show for her big day tomorrow.” He slapped her cheek just hard enough to be annoying, talking with each tap. “Once you understand your place and learn what’s in store for you when you act up, we got an appointment at city hall, Lottie. I would prefer to see that pretty face intact when we pose for the papers. And don’t worry, I won’t touch you until I’m certain there’s no hick spawn in need of scraping from your belly.”
They’d ripped off her dress, leaving Charlie in a slip and bloomers. By the end of the first hour, the scraps were torn and bloody.
No matter the pain, her mouth wouldn’t quit. She hissed out every last curse she knew—threatened their mothers, their sisters—swore she’d chew off their cocks.
Another fist punched a kidney. She’d spit up and pretended she wasn’t crying.
Through it all, Tommy outlined a litany of rules. “You will obey, smile, and bat your eyelashes for the press, little wife. You will only speak when I tell you to speak.”
“F... fu... ck you.”
She was shoved down on her belly, her legs pulled taut before the crack of a belt hit her back in rapid succession. But it didn’t stop there. That biting leather traveled down her buttocks, over the length of her legs, and smacked with the greatest fury against the soles of her feet.
And God help her, but Charlie started screaming. Like all the others who had been tortured in that room over the years, no fucking soul could hear.
On it went. Hour after hour until she no longer had the strength to fight the rope cutting into her wrists, until she no longer made noise when kicked, punched, or whipped. She just stared forward and wondered why Matthew’s ghost hadn’t come to get her.
Probably cause she was going to burn in Lucifer’s pit...
A square of cloth dabbed under her eyes, Tommy gentle. “I don’t think you’re listening, Lottie.”
She wasn’t. All she heard was the ringing in her ears and the broken, overloud sound of each breath she could hardly suck in.
Tommy snapped his fingers before her eyes, saw her rapid blinks, and cooed, “Had enough, huh?” He cut one of Charlie’s hands free, leaving a coil still tied tight like a tether around the other. “All you gotta say is you’ll be a good little wife.”
Blood rushing back into her hand brought another new pain. Pins and needles set her fingers twitching.
“Kill me.”
“You’re no good to me dead. At least not yet.” Tommy smiled as he fingered her sweat-soaked hair. “Antonio, why don’t you show the girl your idea of a good time.”
Unseen hands flipped up her slip, her panties were yanked down, and like a shot, Charlie shrieked and began to fight like a rabid alley cat.
Everyone had their breaking point.