“Okay,” she repeated, and every time she spoke, the words came out like she was playing us, not the other way around. “Where to start?”
“I already know the back story. Jon was a dick. He hurt you, humiliated you in front of the kids. Ran them halfway across the world. You hated him. Still hate him. I kinda get the feeling you don’t care if he lives or dies—”
“Oh, I care,” she said sharply, interrupting me, her eyes wide and her face falling serious.
I raised a brow. “You want him dead, don’t you?”
Helen pursed her lips, swinging her legs back and forth slowly. She didn’t say a damn word.
Stepping forward, I moved in closer to our hostage. Of course, she wanted him dead. Who didn’t?
“You want me to kill him,” I said, making it a statement rather than a question.
“Not quite.” Helen glanced at Ayda before she focused on me again. “But I’ve avoided visiting him for a reason. I can’t be in the same room as him and see him weak the way he is now.”
“Don’t tell me you love him after everything he’s done to you.”
“Love? No.” She shook her head firmly. “I haven’t loved that bastard for a long time. But caring for someone is different to loving them. When I look at my children, I see their father’s eyes. When I hear my eldest daughter sing, she reminds me of her daddy. I can’t detest something so muchthat reminds me of my girls. It’s a strange hate to carry around with you, to want to be rid of someone forever, yet still feel programmed to give a shit whether his dinner is on the table when he comes home to you or not. A strong man needs a good supper, after all,” she added with sarcasm dripping from every word.
A small part of me knew exactly the feelings she was trying to describe. I’d felt that way about Eric for so long. I’d carried anger toward the man for a while, but also been programmed to respect the fact that he’d brought me into this world and he was my blood father.
“Let’s cut the shit, shall we?” I sighed. “You wanted to talk to me about some conditions, so talk.”
Ayda stepped forward until she was at my side. “If you want our help, now is the time to ask for it, Helen. You have to lay it all out on the table or this is pointless. You got one chance. Use it wisely.”
Helen rose to her feet instantly, moving as close to the two of us as she could before the long chain was stretched to its full capabilities. She ground her teeth and closed her eyes for just a second, clearly hating the bite around her wrist. When she looked back up at me, her eyes were filled with unshed tears, but like the well-trained victim of domestic violence, Helen knew every trick in the book to swallow that emotion back and lock it down tight.
Raising her chin in defiance, she stared straight into my eyes. “Jon Taylor isn’t just a bully. He’s a sadist. A narcissist. A sociopath. The Devil’s son. Maybe the Devil’s father for all I know. He sure could teach him a trick or two. When he decided I was to be his and his only, he made sure he covered all his bases, including where I worked. He didn’t want meamong other men, you see. He didn’t want me around people who could convince me to leave. He didn’t want me to have a life, so Jon ended up getting me a position as a correctional nurse in the medical department of Huntsville Prison where he worked, just so he could keep his eyes on me twenty-four-seven.” She blinked once, letting that information sink in with me. “You should know the place well, Mr. Tucker. You’ve been there. I was one of the nurses who treated you after you were nearly beaten to death during your second year.”
My lips parted, the shock pouring out of me as my poker face fucked off to the past.
“That’s right. I was one of the women who brought you around, stitched you up, and made you better when Jon authorized the hit on you in prison that almost ended your life. I didn’t expect you to remember me. You were lucky to stay alive, never mind recognize faces.”
My nostrils flared, and my chest began to rise and fall harder. I flexed the muscles in my jaw as the memory of that beating stabbed me in the brain like tiny fucking needles of defeat.
“We looked after you,” Helen said softly. “You said a lot in your drugged-up state. Out of all the thousands of men I treated at that facility, you were one of the few I remembered clearly. Not because of who you were, the state you were in, or even because you were a handsome man no woman in their right mind could forget.” She let her head tilt to one side. “I remembered you because of the way you spoke about a man named Pete while you were drifting in and out of consciousness. I remember how you pined for your brothers, apologizing to them over and over for the things you hadn’t done more than the things you had. I remember the softwords that fell from your hard, cracked lips as I soothed your forehead with a damp cloth in a desperate bid to bring your temperature down. You said so much, Drew.” Sucking in a slow breath, she released it quickly, her eyes shining. “Youalldid. Every man who lay in our beds, bloody and beaten… they all spoke. They all shared secrets without knowing they were talking at all. Including your enemies.”
Every hair on my body felt like it was standing upright, paying attention. I felt cold. I was shaken. My mouth refused to work, and my brain was mentally reliving my entire prison life to try and remember even a glimpse of the woman in front of me.
“It’s why, even when you’ve been at your most frightening in this place with me tied to the bed, I’ve always known, deep down, you wouldn’t kill me. No man who speaks of his brothers and family with so much love can be that evil.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. It tasted like regret for hurting the woman who had once, apparently, saved me.
“So…” she started, glancing between Ayda and me. “My conditions. I’ve thought about them long and hard. I’ve had time.” She raised a brow. “And, despite the bullet wound in my shoulder, which will always serve as a reminder of the one time I thought you actually might finish me off, I find myself wanting to help you.”
“Why?” I pushed out through gritted teeth. I was acting angrier than I felt. That was my default. If in doubt, growl it out.
“Because I’m sick of seeing Jon Taylor win. I think it’s time he lost.”
“And how do you plan on making that happen?”
“Let me kill him,” she said coldly.
My eyes widened in a flash. “What?”
“Letmekill him.”
“Why would I do that?”