Assassins: Slow Agony Part 41

"He has a tendency to be jealous, doesn't he?"

I swallowed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm talking about the fact that you're entangled with a man who's somehow gotten you to a place where you could help him kill someone. And I don't simply mean simply killing that person, of course. I can only imagine what Griffin did to Marcel, but I have a fairly good idea of what would have been involved, knowing what I know of Griffin. Did he remove certain body parts?"

I flinched, thinking about the way Marcel screamed. "He deserved it."

"No doubt," said French. "Marcel was a bit unhinged, wasn't he?"

"And it's your fault he came after us." I had to remember that. French was the enemy. I couldn't trust her.

"Not you, Leigh. It was never about you. It was always about Griffin. And I think if you're honest with yourself, you'll realize that being with Griffin has ruined your life."

"No," I said. "That's not true." I thought of scrubbing blood off my body. Wolfman's blood. Marcel's blood. There had been so much of it.

"Griffin is a very dangerous man," she said. "And I had to send Marcel after him, because I had to fight fire with fire. I'm sure you understand."

"You're lying," I said. "You have a personal vendetta against Griffin. You'd do anything to hurt him."

"I want to help Griffin," she said. "I'm a psychologist, Leigh. It's what I do."

No. She didn't want to help him. I had to stop listening to her. "You admitted you wanted revenge," I said. "I heard you talk to him on the computer."

"I let him think that," she said. "I was hoping to draw him out. I've been working with him for many years. As long as I'm there, I can keep him on a leash. But without me, Leigh, he becomes more and more unstable. Haven't you noticed it yourself? Haven't you seen that he has become more violent and more erratic?"

Was he more violent? I thought of him in the morning light, bathed in Marcel's blood, sneering down at a man who begged for the mercy of death. I shook my head, trying to shake the thought loose. "If he is, it's because of what you've done to him."

"It's because he's not getting his proper treatment." She leaned forward, lowering her voice. "Is he becoming s.e.xually violent yet, Leigh? Has he ever hurt you?"

I thought of the way Griffin had shoved me into the trunk of the tree, his hands urgent. I thought of the way he'd taken me in the hallway in the dorm.

"That's really the first stage, you know." French's voice was soft. "He'll only get worse. You know what he's capable of. You've seen it. He's even managed to seduce you into partic.i.p.ating. You need to help me bring him in. It's the only way we can help him."

I glared at her. "This isn't going to work on me, French. I'm not one of your patients. I won't help you get to Griffin. I won't let you hurt him." I shot out of the couch and hurtled across the room to the door.

But the k.n.o.b wouldn't turn. The door was locked. "I thought I wasn't a prisoner."

"Of course you aren't," she said.

"Then unlock the door."

"Let's finish our conversation, shall we?" Her voice was so gentle.

I turned to face her. "I won't listen to you. Griffin isn't dangerous. You aren't trying to help him."

"You poor, confused girl," said French. "He's probably told you I'm a monstrous psychopath."

I swallowed. He had said that.

"He's the monster, Leigh. Let me help you, and let me stop him from confusing you any further. You shouldn't be with him."

Could there be any truth to what she was saying? Would I be better if I were away from Griffin?

Suddenly, something came back to me from the morning when I'd rescued Naomi. She'd been sitting on my couch, talking about Griffin. How can you not think you're lucky to be free of that man?

I s.h.i.+vered.

But it wasn't true. It wasn't only Griffin doing these things. It was me, too. I'd gone into it all willingly enough. There was blood all over my hands too. I couldn't blame Griffin. He'd been abused and hurt and forced to kill. I'd decided to do it all on my own. If there was a monster here, it was me.

And French? I'd seen the way she'd treated Griffin when we'd been in Op Wraith before. She'd been horrible and manipulative. She was using her abilities on me now, and she was good. She was the one who was confusing me.

I clenched my teeth, narrowed my eyes.

And then I lunged for her, knocking her off her chair onto the ground.

I dug my nails into the flesh of her face.

She shrieked. "Thorn! Get in here and control your daughter!"

I heard the door open, but I didn't let go of French.

Someone grabbed me under my armpits and hauled me backwards.

French detangled herself from me. She stood up, wiping blood from her face. "You're a vicious one, aren't you? I do think you'd make a first-rate a.s.sa.s.sin."

I struggled against the person holding me.

"Now, sweetheart, if you don't calm down, I'm going to give you something to calm you down." It was my father's voice. He was the one holding me.

I wasn't sure what my father had injected into my arm, but it had made everything feel very unreal, like I was dreaming. I felt loose and free, no tension anywhere. French had insisted I be handcuffed. I'd let my father do it.

I didn't feel like I had the energy to resist.

"Listen, sweetheart," my father was saying, "I've been trying to get you away from that horrible Griffin character for over a year now. You have no idea how hard French and I had to work to get Marcel and his men out of jail and working for us."

"I don't want away from Griffin," I said. "I love Griffin."

"You only think you do," said my father. "He's twisted your mind, filled it with all kinds of horrible lies."

"No, he hasn't," I said. "I think you did that, actually. You worked for this terrible company, and made all your money from killing people. You lied to me about all of it. And then you sent Marcel after me. And Marcel killed my friend and made me have a miscarriage and-"

"A what?" My father stood up, his nostrils flaring. "You will not be having the children of a miscreant and criminal, Leigh. You are my daughter, and Griffin isn't good enough for you. He's a horrible man. If Marcel stopped that from happening, then I'm glad."

If I hadn't been so doped up, that might have made me angry, but I didn't feel I could rouse the effort.

French rolled her eyes. She was pacing on the other side of the room. "Please, Thorn, can you stop apologizing to her so that we can get on with having her contact Griffin?"

"I'm not apologizing, I'm explaining," my father said. "I don't have any regrets, and you know that, Jolene."

"How do we get in touch with him?" she asked me.

"I don't know," I said. "I was supposed to meet them, but that was a long time ago. I'm surprised that this place hasn't blown up yet." This stuff was loosening my tongue, too, wasn't it? I shouldn't have said that.

"Blown up?" said French.

"What are you talking about?" said my father.

"Bombs," I said. "I'm talking about bombs." Man. Why couldn't I shut myself up?

French's eyebrows drew together. My father turned to her in alarm.

And several gunshots punched through the door, right near the k.n.o.b.

The door swung open, and Griffin stalked into the room, gun first. "There you are, doll. I've been looking all over."

"Griffin." I tried to muster excitement, but this drug seemed to make it hard to do much of anything except talk.

French stalked over to her desk.

"Don't move," Griffin growled at her.

She glared at him and deliberately picked up the phone.

Griffin pulled the trigger.

The bullet caught her on the arm. Blood spattered. She screamed, dropping the phone and crumpling, grasping at her arm.

"There's no one to call, anyway," said Griffin. "Sloane took out your guards already."

My father swallowed. "That's right, they're working with the twins. Jolene, there could be bombs here. Silas is very handy with explosives."

"That's right, he is," said Griffin. He turned to me. "You told them about the bombs."

"They drugged me," I said. "I can't seem to shut up."

Griffin rolled his eyes. He pumped two bullets into my father's chest.

He gasped once and then fell to the ground, lifeless.

I flinched. He'd just... done that. Like it was nothing. Had I been blind to how violent Griffin was?

He was kneeling behind me. "Show me your hands."

With effort, I managed to move so that I had my back to him. "It's hard to move."

"Yeah, I know that stuff. It's a c.o.c.ktail of truth serum, muscle relaxants, and some special secret stuff that Op Wraith put in for fun. It's good for subduing prisoners." He tugged on my handcuffs. "Had to be cuffs, didn't it?"

He straightened.

I fell back into the couch, happy to be able to relax.

"French, where are the keys?" He went over to her, holding his gun to her head.

She smiled up at him. "Why should I help you, Griffin? You're going to blow me up and kill me. You can see you don't have a lot of leverage."

He glared at her. "I might just shoot you for fun."

She closed her eyes. "If it would make you feel better, try it."

Griffin considered for a second. "Okay." He pulled the trigger.

I flinched again. He really was careless, wasn't he?

He was behind me again in a second, and I had to haul myself forward again. "Have to try to pick the lock, I guess. All I've got is this knife."

I let him work at it for a minute. "Griffin, I'm not sure if we should kill them."

"What?" he said.

"I'm not sure that killing people so much isn't changing us in bad ways."

"Is this really the time to talk about this?"

"I don't like the person I'm becoming. And I don't like the way you are when you're doing it."

He went still at my handcuffs. His voice was soft. "I know. I can tell."

I tried to turn to look at him, but it was hard to move my head. I only made it a few inches.

And then my gaze settled on my father, who was lying on the floor with blood spilling out of his chest. And a key spilling out of his pocket. "Griffin, there's the key to the handcuffs. In my father's pocket."

"Good eye, doll," he said. He placed the hilt of the knife in one of my hands. "Hold this." He scampered over to my father, picked up the key, and was back to unlock the cuffs.

My hands free, I pulled them in front of me. I was still holding Griffin's knife. I contemplated the sharpness of the blade, thinking of the way I'd cut Marcel. About how easy it had been. How good it had felt.

Griffin took the cuffs across the room. He knelt down next to French and handcuffed her to her desk. Then he walked over to my father. He nudged him with his foot. "They could wake up at any second." He got his phone out of his pocket. Dialed. "I've got her. Go ahead and start the ignition sequence."

"No," I said. "Griffin, I don't think we should-"

My father was moving. He lurched up from the floor, his movement stiff and unwieldy. "Griffin Fawkes, you'll pay for what you did to my daughter."

Griffin fumbled for his gun.

"Don't!" I cried out.

And my father tripped over my foot, and he came down with his back to me. He ran into the knife.