R I V E R
Not a hint of guilt on her face.
River scowled as he stared at the skinny shadow of Rosalyn. To his annoyance and relief, she was busy searching the cabinets for some antibiotics. He wanted her to hurry; the patches of violet on his skin were flaring with pain, and he couldn't present the sturdy facade much longer.
But unfortunately for him, she was bent on testing his thin line of patience with her slow movements. Her fingers were lazily hovering over the content, and he was confident she was doing it on purpose.
With a sigh, he let his upper body fall against the soft surface of the bed. His back ached at the point where the ceramic vase had clashed against moments ago, and with a short hiss, he prompted his body back up.
He chose to sit instead, his head hanging low between his parted thighs. He covered his face with his palms, a frenzy of afterthoughts running wild in his mind. Between the small space of his fingers, he saw Rosalyn sneaking him a sly grin.
Asking her was a bad idea, the worst fucking idea.
She stalked her way to him, the simple black sundress gave her more character than the flimsy red one ever did, but River wasn't going to confess that out loud. He had played his hands far enough by threatening her life once.
With a strange sense of pride, he believed he had humbled her.
She may have been desperate for air a couple of hours ago, but she would never be desperate for his attention again.
She kneeled before him with a cotton ball wedged between her fingers. Covered in a yellow opaque liquid, it looked like a nightmare for his bruises, and he tried his best to hide how much he hated pain.
She dabbed the soft cotton on his skin, and he clenched his fists on top of his thighs.
She pressed it harsher.
"Quit it," he barked, and she grinned.
"For a man so tough, you scream worse than a toddler." And if her sneaky glances weren't enough, he could now confidently acknowledge the shift in their dynamics. Asking Rosalyn for help was one of his worst heat-of-moment decisions, and soon he'd have to face the consequences.
"Quiet," he shot her a hostile glance, losing any sense of any caution that had left in him, "Unless you're ready to crawl back into that dirty water—"
"Do you want Ander to know you paid me to inflict those bruises?" Her voice was so quiet, it was almost a whisper.
River knew the game she was playing, but he also knew that along with revenge, she was battling her need for affection too. Her attempt to blackmail him was admirable, but she lacked the very first essence of playing the upper hand—confidence.
"Go ahead, tell him." As he predicted, she was caught off-guard.
"What?"
"If he believes you, I'll double that money." His thin lips stretched with a small slime, and she recoiled under his hardened gaze.
"He will believe me. He saw what a crazy man you are." He laughed in response and snatched the cotton away from her hands.
The pain was killing him; Rosalyn had taken all her anger out while painting his body with bruises, yet he looked at her with pity.
River's plan was in motion and so far on track. He could safely assume Ander didn't fuck things up with Jamie, which meant he knew about the evidence. Now, for him, River was innocent and even better. . . a victim. He could use that.
"If only you were smarter," he tsked, and she glared at him in response, "Your life wouldn't be this sad."
He let out an annoyed sigh at the sight of Ander. He'd hoped his irksome brother would leave by now. Earlier his concerned outburst had surpassed any expectation River had. At best, he'd wished for a few pity glances, but what he received was a fiery outburst and a striking need for vengeance.
He couldn't deny he liked the naivety of his brother; it was too easy to break his barriers.
What caught his interest the most though, was the redhead inside the car. Ander was crouched against the open window, his arm resting on the car's roof, while he conversed with her in hushed whispers.
River walked in their direction, a sly grin plastered on his face.
Is she going to be scared of me? That'll be fun.
And it was fun, her breath hitched in her chest the very moment she saw him. He grinned at the scared woman. "Interesting seeing you here, Jamie."
"River. . . don't." He shook his head at Ander's concerned voice, and with a shove on his chest, he removed his brother out of the way. He bent low, his intimidating argent eyes met her scared coffee ones, and before she could shut her windows, his head was already inside. She shifted away from him.
He noticed as he clutched the fabric of her skirt tightly, her jaw clenched with layers of fear reflecting on her face.
She'd always been easy to scare.
"Not even a hi? That's upsetting." He tsked, and she blew out a breath.
Jamie had been an unexpected light in one of his worst dark moments. He couldn't say he ever cared, but she had been a good distraction. It was a pity she turned against him, they could've been something.
"Get out," he laughed but complied nonetheless.
"I hope you visit again, it's a nice place, you know? Perhaps not as nice as your father's mansion, but—"
"Enough." Ander interrupted, and River laughed again.
"Playing nice, brother?" He questioned, with a small laugh and in response, he only got a glare, "Keep trying, maybe you'll get into her pants. She prefers them poor."
Seth Quinn was a frustrating man. Even worse, he wasn't punctual.
River stood outside the warehouse, leaning against the wall with an annoyed expression enveloping his face. However, the balaclava prevented anything from the eye. His bruises were already killing him, and his head pounded with pain every other second.
He wanted to get done with this as soon as possible.
"River?" A woman approached him, and he eyed her with weariness. She looked like one of Jamie's high-end friends. Dressed in an elegant blue bodycon dress with sharp pencil heels, she looked out of place in this shithole. "Nylla Quinn," she extended her hand for a shake, but he kept his hands to himself, stiff inside the pockets of his jacket.
Embarrassed, she backed away.
"I thought I was supposed to meet Seth."
"Ah, my husband's inside." She unlocked the padlocks on the bottom of the shutter and pulled the metal gate up.
He pushed himself away from the wall, following her inside, and he blinked with surprise at the sight.
Seth, the man he'd only met once, sat on a chair tied with ropes around his body. He was a skinny man, and his bony face was clenched with anger, which only intensified at the sight of his wife.
River pushed his hand inside the pocket of his pants, clutching the small knife in case this was a trap, but Nylla shrugged casually.
"He's been driving me crazy; I have to show him his place sometimes."
She untied him, and he broke free with an angered glare piercing holes in her head. He glared at his wife, "One of these days, I'm gonna put a bullet in your head." He gritted, and she chuckled.
"You can try, honey."
River watched the maniac couple exchange raging glances before Seth turned to him, rubbing his wrist with a frustrated sigh, "You have the name?"
"Yeah,"
Seth was desperate to know who put his bosses behind bars, and being the one to figure out the snitch could give him an advantage in the future. He could rise beyond a petty drug dealer, and to River's benefit, he knew the name.
"How long do I keep him here?" Seth pointed to a man in the corner, unconscious and similarly tied to the chair.
He looked half-dead; his earlier round face was starting to look bonier. The corner of his thin lips was covered in dried blood. River remembered him, the long-haired drunk at the supermarket. Marco was his name, he recalled.
"I don't know, why is he even here?"
"You said he was important to that snitch! But he hasn't said a word!"
"I say a lot of things, man." River tsked, "Kill him if you wish; he's irrelevant."
With a pained expression, he handed River a bundle full of cash. "Name. Now."
"Ander Cassidy."
River walked away with a pocket full of fortune, and a satisfied smile settled on his lips.