Otherwise, I’m going to hate myself for letting her leave.
Later that evening, I heard a car on the road. I was pretty sure it was my uncle, but Rourke got the gun ready—just in case. Luckily, we didn’t need to use it. My uncle stayed for a little while, had a couple of drinks, and filled us in on all of the events going on in the South Side. It sounded just as bad as we left it when we were locked up, but with a bigger drug epidemic.
Jacob Durst had started to make more moves and had taken out a few rivals that had started to push into his territory. He was recruiting and trying to expand his empire. It wasn’t much of a surprise. He had been trying to do that shit for years. One of his recruiting drives pulled Rourke into his operation, but I never wanted to do that shit. Maybe it would have been better than working for a guy like Weber, but the outcome would have been the same—eventually, someone was going to ask for a show of loyalty—and that meant pulling a trigger.
After my uncle left, I stared at the screen and drank until I felt like I could go to sleep. The booze eased some of my frustration, but it wasn’t enough to erase the worry. The sense of dread was starting to consume me. I wasn’t sure I would be able to get another good night of sleep until Anabelle was safe in my arms—and Adrian Prescott was no longer the King of Chicago.
I just hope his kingdom comes crashing down before my sanity unravels.
Anabelle
I was caught. Staring at my father from his throne—with his computer unlocked in front of me. Luckily, he couldn’t see that yet. The light illuminated my face, but it was normally lit up, even when it was on the password screen. I thought he was in bed, thought it was safe, and if he took a step, he would realize that I had figured out his password. I needed to think of something and I needed to think of it fast. He looked at me with curiosity on his face after he asked me why I was there.
“Daddy…” I sniffled, a fake one—but good enough. “I couldn’t sleep—I had a nightmare.”
I pushed my foot underneath his desk until I felt the power cord while I spoke. It was my only option. I wrapped my ankle around it, rolled the chair back, and yanked the cord out of the wall. At the same time, I burst into tears. A distraction—hopefully, one that would work and keep him from noticing that his computer went dark. I hopped up and ran to my father, wrapping my arms around him as quickly as possible. There was pause on his part—hesitation—then I heard him sigh. His arms squeezed me tight.
“I’m sorry darling.” His hand moved to the back of my head and he started stroking my hair, trying to calm me down.
“I just keep thinking about all the awful things they did to me. I thought I loved Rourke—I didn’t know he was a monster.” I unleashed a sob from my throat and buried my face into his shoulder.
“Sometimes you don’t know people until it’s too late.” He exhaled sharply. “All I’ve ever wanted was to keep you safe—to keep you from ever meeting a man like that.”
“I know. I’m—so—sorry.” I was full-fledged bawling, putting on the performance of my life—I could feel snot pooling in my nostril. “I should have listened to you. I should have—never gotten involved with a man like that. He—said things to me—promised me that he felt the same way.”
My father released me from his grip. He was staring into the face of ultimate heartbreak, and it was all an act—a show to distract him from my plan. He didn’t see through the mask of pain I created. He put an arm over my shoulder and led me towards my bedroom. I had managed to survive. Maybe the King of Chicago did have a soft spot for his daughter—a soft spot that was going to be a good place for my dagger when the time finally came. Once I was in bed, he brought one of the pills that the doctor said would help me sleep. I pretend to swallow it and waited for him to leave—then I spit it out in my hand. It went in the drawer next to my bed—the same spot where all the others went.
That was close. I have to be careful.
The next day
The encounter from the night before didn’t seem to change anything. My father had to have noticed that his computer was unplugged, but he never mentioned it to me. I hoped he would think it was an accident—possibly a worker that was cleaning his office. The plan might work once, but it wouldn’t work twice—so I couldn’t get caught in there again. I needed to get him out of the house so that I would have time to work. The problem was that my father never left Prescott Manor. It was his castle. He ran his company from his study and if a meeting needed to take place, they came to him.
What would get him out of the house? Nothing short of a fire—maybe I can start one.
I certainly had no intentions of burning Prescott Manor to the ground just to get the evidence I needed, but there was another fire I could start—one in his heart. I waited until it was dark and stole a phone from one of the workers. I needed to make an anonymous call, but I didn’t want the police at Prescott Manor—I wanted them as far away from my home as possible. I called in a tip—one about Brody and Rourke. I told the operator that I knew them from way back, and I had just seen them in the South Side—walking into O’Malley’s Pub. Then I w
aited.
If the plan didn’t work, it would just be a few patrol cars that were sure to meet some resistance if they tried to get into O’Malley’s Pub. The people who went there to drink certainly weren’t pillars of the community. They would think the cops were there for them—and probably run when the red and blue lights showed up. I couldn’t seem too eager or question my father. If the police didn’t call him, then it would have been another failed endeavor. If they did—I would turn it into the opening I needed. About ten minutes after I placed the call, my father came walking towards my bedroom with a purpose in his step. I hid the smile that tried to form on my face.
“Anabelle, I think we got them.” He smiled as he entered—a smile as big as the one I wanted to put on my own face.
“You did?” I hopped up out of bed. “Where?”
“Some pub on the South Side. I guess they went back to their roots. The next time this phone rings.” He held up his cell phone. “I expect to hear good news.”
“I want to go!” I grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair near my desk. “I want to see the look in their eyes when they are arrested!”
“Anabelle—I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He held up his hands. “I’ve made the proper arrangements. Once they’re in custody—they’ll get what they deserve.”
A veiled threat, but a crack—he’s showing me the man underneath all that white armor he’s always pretended to wear.
“I have to.” I looked at him and pleaded—tears forming in the corner of my eyes. “I don’t trust the cops. They never came for me—I had to escape.”
“I’d feel better if you just stayed here.” His tone was getting firmer and he was one step away from turning the request into an order.
“Then—will you go?” I let a couple of tears stream down my face. “Will you make sure they are arrested and call me as soon as it’s over?”