Tom had driven all the way back into London to Y/N's house with the intention to kill her, simply because he believed she was a loose end that needed to be taken care of. But as she sat beside him in the backseat of the black Range Rover, he couldn't imagine laying a finger on her. Her cold exterior had melted off like sugar in rain, she sat quietly as her hands shook in her lap, fingernails slicing into palms. Bruises in the shape of fingers on her wrists, becoming more prominent as each minute passed, bracelets of abuse. Her eyes were still glazed over, and around them was turning black and blue. Tom noticed her shoving her hands under thighs, desperate to keep them from shaking. She was suffering but refused to look weak. Tom admired her for that, but had had enough waiting,
"Who was he?" He asked forcefully, not even turning his head to look at her. She remained silent while staring at her palms. He continued, his tone growing more harsh, "what's his name?"
"Ivan," saying his name made the shake in her hands corrupt her shoulders.
"You're going to have to give me more than that, darling." he smirked, but Y/N could tell he was growing impatient.
"I don't have to do anything," Y/N snapped back, her hands sliding out from under her thighs and into shaky fists in her lap.
"That's where you're mistaken," he had turned and leaned over to her, snatching her wrist in a violent grasp as anger coursed through veins, "now, who is he?"
Her mind wanted her to stay strong and remain confident, but her body betrayed her the minute his fingers pressed against her freshly bruised skin. Instinctively, her hands pulled out of his grasp and she pushed herself further away from him and pushed her shoulder into the car door. Realizing what he had done, Tom sank back into his seat with his jaw clenched and didn't say another word.
Y/N wanted to tell him, she wanted to finally blurt it all out to someone. Explain what had happened periodically throughout the two decades she spent in that godforsaken house. She wanted to tell him about every girl that walked in and that was dragged out, to give him their names and their eye colour and the colour of their nails. But she held back, it was too much to say. Too much to process and too much to explain.
Why didn't you call the police?
The threats that he made her believe.
Did he ever assault you?
Physically, sexually and emotionally.
At first, a young Y/N wasn't aware that this wasn't a regular thing that happened in everyone's home. But after talking to a friend from school in sixth grade, and a half-hearted attempt at an investigation, she learned to shut her mouth. He showed her what happened when she talked about home.
He hadn't hit her or forced himself on her like that in years. And it brought back painful memories from a childhood full of trauma.
Tom watched thoughts flow through her head as she blankly stared down at her hands, they still trembled. Even from across the car it was obvious her bottom lip was between her teeth, but this time it wasn't seductive, she bit down so hard her skin had turned white and blood began to pool around her teeth.
Tom tried to read her life through her actions, like he did with any other person, but just found himself in the same situation the first time he met her. Only this time her eyes carried tears and her hands were no longer strong and unwavering, a mysterious pain.
+++
When they arrived back at the Holland Estate, Harrison led her up the grand staircase to a bedroom. Meanwhile, Tom drove away from the house with Ivan still tied up in the trunk, no one fucked with anyone associated with the Hollands and got away with it. That had just applied to members of the family yesterday, but Tom decided to extend the branch out to close associates.
Y/N sat silently on her bed, Harrison stood by the door for a few moments, waiting for her to say something. As he turned to leave, Y/N forced the words out of her throat, "he hasn't done that in a while."
His ears pricked up the sound of her voice. Harrison turned to her, his expression soft as he walked over to the edge of the bed where Y/N sat solemnly.
"He's hurt other girls too," she paused, "and I know I should've said something to someone. But I've tried and he's covered it up and he said he'd kill me." The pace of her words quickened as she tried to get it all out, in hopes that it would help her forget.
Harrison stood, letting her speak as she wished, "can I sit?" He said, pointing towards the empty side of the bed. She nodded.
"We'll take care of him, just have a rest, yeah?" Y/N could tell he wasn't used to comforting people as he pushed out the words he thought would fit best. But he was trying, and to Y/N that was more than enough, and more than she'd ever had.
"Yeah, next time you see me I'll be ready."
"Ready for what?" Harrison asked, confused.
"To kill him," the tears in Y/N's eyes threatened to spill, but as she lifted her chin to Harrison, they fizzled back behind her eyes, "I need to be the one that fires a bullet between his eyes, but I need to make him suffer." It wasn't a want that Y/N craved, it was something she needed to do to try and move past that part of her life.
Harrison realized she was talking about Ivan and he nodded before heading out the door, "I'll let Tom know."
"Harrison-"
"Call me Haz," he grinned, looking over his shoulder at Y/N.
"Haz," she paused, getting used to the name on her tongue, "don't say anything about this to anyone else, yeah? I don't want all my new co-workers thinking I'm weak or anything." She smiled weakly as Harrison nodded and finally walked through the door.
+++
"She wants to kill him," Harrison stood across from Tom, his feet propped up on the desk. Tom had just gotten back and had set himself up in his office, papers astray all over and a nearly empty scotch bottle at the back of the room.
"Too bad," Tom replied, scrolling through documents on the computer in front of him.
"What do you mean 'too bad'?" Harrison's eyebrows furrowed as he looked down on Tom.
"Fuck, I hate how tall you are," Tom groaned as he sat up in his chair, swinging his legs off the edge of the desk, causing some papers to drift onto the floor.
"Sit down," he gestured to one of the leather chairs near the desk.
Harrison sat in the chair and leaned forward, his elbows supported by his thighs as he folded his hands.
"I already killed him," Tom stated with lack of expression.
"What? Tom, she's been readying herself to kill this fucker since she got here."
"Well, she clearly hasn't realized that I don't abide by others wishes," he laughed a bit then got up from the chair and walked over to the table behind him. He poured himself a glass of scotch, the silver tray shaking a bit when he picked up the glass.
"You're something else, aren't you?" Harrison scoffed and rose from the chair, "I'm not telling her you killed the one person she wanted revenge from."
"Watch it, Haz. I am your boss," Tom snarled from behind the glass.
Harrison glared from across the office.
"Yes, I'll tell her. It's not that big of a deal anyways," Tom threw the last mouthful of scotch into the back of throat, embracing the burning sensation and allowing the fire in his stomach to settle.
"Yeah, right." Was all Harrison said before he left the office, leaving Tom alone with his thoughts.
+++
After two hours of Tom not leaving his office, Harrison decided to take matters into his own hands. He leaped up the steps and rapped his knuckles against the wooden door, the sound echoing through the wide hallway.
Y/N opened the door wide enough for Harrison to see the whole room. She had somehow, made the room look like a bomb had gone off. The duvet on the bed was half on the floor, pieces of paper from god knows where were scattered around the dark hardwood, the curtains on the window were hanging on to the curtain rod by three rings. Harrison raised his eyebrows and scoffed at her, was this her attempt at a power move?
It was like she read his mind, "it's not a power move, you div. I think better when things are messy," she pushed him and walked out into the hall, skipping down the stairs. Harrison took one last glance at the disheveled room before shutting the door and following Y/N down the stairs, wondering where she thought she was going.
+++
He found her in the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge.
"Tom wants to see you," he said, waiting for her to look up from inside the fridge.
"No he doesn't," she replied, grabbing a slice of watermelon.
"Yes he does," Harrison assured, he pulled out a stool and sat down at the kitchen island.
"Haz," she paused, taking a bite of the sweet melon, "if Tom wanted to see me, you would have come right from his office. But you didn't you came from the complete opposite side of the house, and Tom doesn't seem like the type to text you an order," Y/N smiled, basking in her knowledge as she watched Harrison decide if there was any loophole in her evidence he could take advantage of. Before he could say anything she added another fact, "and, you wouldn't be sitting down at the kitchen island like you are."
He immediately got up from the chair. The legs squealing against the tile, she giggled as she finished the last bit of edible watermelon then threw the green rind in the trash.
"But, I'll go do what you want me to, Haz," she walked out of the kitchen and down the west wing of the mansion. There was a long hallway that had three doors, one at the end, and two on either side. Harrison led her all the way to the far door, which opened to a wide room with a few chairs, a large globe and an impressive desk, with Tom sitting behind it.
He sat upright, scowling with his hands folded on a stack of files, "what the fuck is this, Harrison?"
"You had something to tell, Y/N?" Harrison replied, acting innocent as he held the door open.
Tom just rolled his eyes and waited for Y/N to sit down in a chair across from him.
"Here's the deal, darling," he snarled, annoyed with Harrison. He thought this whole thing was a waste of time, in Tom's eyes he took care of a problem. That was his job.
"I killed your friend, sorry about your luck," He tilted his head as he told her, Tom knew he was being ignorant but he couldn't care less.
"You-" she paused, her fists clenching, "You fuck-" hair falling in her eyes, she made no move to tuck it back behind her ear, "You fucking inconsiderate fuck!"
She stood over the desk and leaned across, she grabbed his face with her dominant hand, squeezing his jaw so her nails slightly dug into his soft skin. As she was reaching for his face, his hand moved to rest on the gun that was tucked in his waistband. He was about to pull it out and press it into her chest but he stopped and waited for her. It shocked him, but he did nothing. She leaned down even further and lifted her slightly chapped lips to his ear and whispered acid, "he was mine and you knew it." Her full lips brushed against his ear, her breath warm. Then suddenly, she let go of his face by shoving it to the side, leaving him bewildered. Tom's face quickly became red with fury, but he made no movement to fight back. His hand slid from the handle of his gun after she let go and fell on his thigh, and he sat there waiting for her to make her next move.
Harrison watched the interaction with wide eyes, what in the fuck, he thought.
Tom and Y/N stood, glaring at each other. The only thing keeping them apart was the desk that stood as a barrier. The tension in the room grew as each second passed, leaving Harrison in an awkward position in front of the door.
Knock.
Harrison almost sighed with relief as he heard it. He spun around and opened the door to see one of Tom's men, Alex, standing at the door with a package between his fingers.
"What is it?" Harrison questioned, his gaze hard as he looked down on his inferior.
"I don't know, it was on the front door. It's addressed to Tom and Y/N," Alex hid behind his words, spitting them out as fast as he could so he could leave the office.
"Y/N? Why?" Harrison asked himself as he snatched the orange package from Alex. He turned back around to face Tom and Y/N and shut the door on Alex's face.
While Harrison spoke to Alex, Tom was dealing with Y/N.
She was demanding, overbearing and domineering, but Tom was fascinated by her. He was drawn to her in the most peculiar ways, he wanted to know the way she thought and how she kept herself composed in stressful situations. Why her cold exterior fell apart in particular circumstances, but any other time she was cold and demeaning, as powerful as an arctic storm. How had she grown and manicured this incredibly disdainful persona in her short twenty-something years. When she had her hand wrapped around his mouth, he felt like he was under a microscope. He was being examined in the closest of quarters, he was being judged by a jury and the jury decided he was guilty. In this court of law, he felt no resentment. Under any other conditions, he would have pulled his gun and fired mercilessly. But with her, he wanted to hear what she had to say, to hear what the jury had decided. In all truth, he was aroused, and he knew this was a life sentence.
When Harrison turned around with a strange package in his grasp, Tom's train of thought took a sudden halt, "Tom, it's addressed to you and Y/N."
"What? Who the fuck knows this address? And who would know that she's here?" Tom's mind was going into overdrive. He was analyzing possibilities, loopholes in the security, threats within the staff. Tom pictured the background of every person who could have known that Y/N was here, or that he hired her.
"No return address, I assume?" Tom asked as he eased himself back into his chair.
"No, messy handwriting though," Harrison held the edge of the envelope and flipped it over, "After we open it, I'll take it to the warehouse and see if I can pick up any prints."
"Yeah," Tom nodded, "open it, would you."
Harrison peeled the flap of the envelope open, then pulled out a file, much like the ones found in Tom's desk. In fact, it was one with Tom's desk. His handwriting labeled the file "Nova". Y/N recognized it as the name of the strip club she worked at.
"What the fu-" Tom paused, he jumped up from his seat and walked over to the filing cabinet that was built into the wall. He flipped through the alphabetical files, searching for the "Nova" file. It was gone, replaced by a file that said "watch out". Tom was fuming, who snuck into his office and stole a file without any alarms tripping or anyone noticing someone was in here besides himself? The first thing he thought of was to round up all the house staff and all his men that had ever worked security within or around the house in the last month.
Harrison was working his way through the contents of the file, about ten pictures and then a typed note.
The pictures were in a sequence. The first was Ben, who had worked for Tom, on the ground in the alley. His face bloody and swollen, hard to identify but Tom could tell. The next few were different angles of Ben on the ground in the alley. The last two was Y/N walking out of the same alley and climbing into a car without a license plate, Tom's car. But to a court or to the regular person, no one would know whos car it was.
The typed note was ominous in its wording:
Dear Mr. Holland,
Lovely that I have a way to contact you, isn't it?
There's no evidence of her being a victim, only that she assaulted him. The only way this gets covered up is if you represent as a witness in court, otherwise it's her word against his. I know you don't like the law, Tommy, but if Y/N goes in without you, I'll just happen to slide some evidence of her little secret to the prosecution. So you give it all up, Tommy, or you give her up.
See you soon, Mart.
P.S. Ivan wasn't the only one who knew, Y/N.
Y/N's fists were tight at her sides. She wished she had a knife in her hand so she could slice the paper up into a thousand pieces and burn it in the warm fireplace that blazed behind her. Her mouth was dry as she slid her bottom lip between her teeth, trying to gnaw away at the anxiety building in her gut.
"Harrison, I've just been fucking blackmailed!" Tom looked up from the note with disbelief. His mind was racing again, who was Mart? Harrison was silent, trying to think of an answer for Tom.
"Who the fuck is Mart?" Tom looked at Harrison, wanting to bounce ideas off of him. He read the note over and over, trying to find something that would give away the scheme.
Y/N was silent as the name popped into her head, "it's Rob, Rob Martin from Nova. He tried to get a bunch of us to call him Mart months ago, but it never caught on."
Tom searched his memory for as much information on Rob Martin as he could muster.
Rob Martin, 37, manager of Nova strip club in London, started working for the Hollands in 1995. He was one of the people that really pushed for the underground brothel, half of all the brothel clients mention his name as to how they found out. Indulges in the brothel's services himself from time to time. Family history? Alcoholic mother and father committed suicide.
Tom turned and walked up to Y/N, their faces inches apart, "what's he talking about, Y/N?" he snarled, the faint scent of scotch seeping from his mouth.
"I don't know," she said, scrunching her nose up at the smell.
"Bullshit, Y/N! I need to know, so I can make a plan," he was angry now, it galloped through his veins like cocaine through an addict.
She wouldn't tell him, she didn't trust him to turn her over. It scared her that another person besides herself or Ivan knew, let alone Rob Martin. How did he know? He must be a hacker? But she had never mentioned it ever on any technology, nor had she spoken about it to anyone. Unless Ivan blabbed, but she figured he was too drunk at the time to remember the main events.
"I don't know, and I'm leaving."
"I don't fucking think so," Tom growled
"Give me a reason to not turn around and leave," she dared him, her eyes staring at his.
"Because I fucking own you."