Travis never had that epiphany. He still hates Connolly. Worse, Travis was one of those kids who starts out bigger than everyone else, only to lose steam when he hits adolescence, while Connolly did the opposite. Connolly may have topped out around five foot eight, but he’s a couple inches taller than his former tormenter, and I get the feeling there’s been a physical altercation or two since childhood. Fights that Travis lost. Which only makes him hate Connolly all the more.
While Connolly is no longer physically intimidated by Travis, the guy is still bigger than me, and with those two goons backing him up, I pause only a second before lowering the knife.
“What do you want, Travis?” I say.
“It’s not what I want. It’s what Ms. Connolly wants. You.”
“My head on a plate?”
That makes one of the guys sputter what sounds like an honest laugh. I glance over. He’s maybe thirty, Latinx, taller than Travis and broad-shouldered.
Meanwhile, Travis still seems to be thinking of a comeback. He wants to say something snappy. Vaguely threatening. Preferably insulting and, given our last conversation, definitely suggestive. But it’s too much for one comeback, and he’s not that clever.
“What does Marion Connolly want with me, Travis?”
“A conversation.”
“I’m being summoned to speak to the lady of the manor?” I glance down at my jeans and sneakers. “I don’t think I’m dressed for an audience. Let me go home and get changed. Maybe seven? I could do seven.”
Travis’s mental wheels chug so hard I hear grinding. Then he smirks. “Oh, I bet you could do seven.”
I fix him with a level look. He glances at his two sidekicks. Neither of them reacts.
“Do seven,” he says. “Seven guys. Probably at once.”
The Latinx guy lets out the softest sigh.
I frown. “Seven guys at once? Is there an orifice I’m missing? I mean, two hands plus three possible points of entry. I’m not getting where the other two go. Wait! Do they have really small dicks? Small enough to hold two in each hand? Seems a little awkward, but if you’ve done it, I’ll accept the word of experience.”
The other guy—a bulky blond—snickers.
“Let’s drop the sex jokes,” I say. “They get very old, very fast. Ms. Connolly wants to speak to me. I’m proposing a seven o’clock appointment. Just tell me where she wants to meet, and Aiden and I—”
“Aiden is not invited.”
“Ah. It’s that kind of talk.” I take out my phone to text Connolly. I expect Travis to stop me. When he doesn’t, I relax. Yes, they broke into Connolly’s house—they obviously know his security code—but this isn’t as threatening as it feels. I pop off a text to Connolly.
Me: Your mom wants to talk. I know you’d rather I don’t, but Travis is here with two other security guys. Advice?
I hit Send. An exclamation mark immediately pops up warning me that the message can’t be sent. My gaze rises to my connection, and a chill trickles down my spine.
“No service?” I say. “In downtown Boston? That’s impossible.”
“Must be magic,” Travis says, his smirk back in place.
“It’s a cell blocker,” Latinx guy says. “Travis has it. Ms. Connolly insists. General precaution.”
“Against anyone calling for help when her goons show up.”
The blond guys says, “We’re members of her security team, Ms. Bennett. The cell blocking is a security measure.”
“Right. Like I said. Security against your target calling for help.”
I want to say this is wrong. They’d only laugh at my naiveté.
Duh, obviously, it’s wrong. What are you going to do? Call the cops? Even if you got through, our bosses are powerful enough to make this go away.
I want to say that Connolly is going to be furious, and how the hell does his mother think she’ll get away with this? More B-movie victim dialogue. Marion Connolly knows exactly what she’s doing and how she plans to get away with it. As for Connolly being angry, that’s why Travis can’t wipe off that smirk. He’s loving every moment of this.
Inside, I’m shaking. Inside, I’m also outraged, and I need to stifle both reactions. Don’t give Travis the satisfaction.
I resist the urge to address my questions to the Latinx guy. Blondie has drunk the Connolly Kool-Aid. Travis hates Connolly and would happily slap me around if he could. The Latinx guard has shown sparks of actual humanity, but that’s like being cornered in an alley by three guys and focusing my pleas on the one who seems the least into it. Just because he isn’t attacking me doesn’t mean he’s my ally.
So I address Travis, as the de facto leader of this goon squad. “So how is this supposed to go?”
“It’s supposed to go that you come and talk to the boss,” he says, slowly, as if to a child.
I motion for more.
Latinx guy answers. “We’ll need to confiscate your phone, for security purposes. We’ll drive you to Ms. Connolly. She’s at the house. You’ll talk to her for maybe an hour. Then I’ll drive you wherever you need to go. Or Mr. Connolly—Aiden—can pick you up at the house, if you’re more comfortable with that.” He pauses. “It really is just a talk, Ms. Bennett.”
“Then why doesn’t she call me herself? Ask me to meet with her?”
Because she doesn’t want to give me the chance to tell Connolly. To my surprise, though, he says, “Some kind of painting arrived, and she freaked out. She knew you were in Boston with Aiden, so she sent us to pick you up.”
Travis and Blondie’s glares tell him to stop talking, but I barely hear him after the word “painting.”
“Fine.” I hand my phone to him, ignoring Travis reaching for it. “Take me to her.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Twenty-five
Latinx Guy has a name: Leon. Which is a relief, because it’s really awkward even mentally referring to him that way. As for Blondie, he might have a name, but I’m not going to bother using it.
I’m transported in the customary black luxury SUV. Blondie drives, Travis rides shotgun and I’m in the back with Leon, who might be the best of the trio, but he’s still taking me captive, and he doesn’t exactly chat me up. It is a silent ride, leaving me to do nothing except fret and worry.
Marion Connolly received a painting today. There’s zero chance that’s random. Of all the people they could target . . .
I won’t say this is the worst. I do not want my sisters or Jonathan subjected to something like the Eldest Daughter. I could say Marion is the most inconvenient, but that sounds laughably underwhelming. It’s true, though. There are a lot of names below Marion is on the list of “people I’d least like to see tormented.” But she tops another one: the list of people for whom a cursed painting will cause me the most trouble.
I try to question Leon. Has he seen the painting? How did it arrive? Is everyone okay? The last seems to puzzle him. That means the curse hasn’t activated. Or so I hope. Still, while his expression conveys confusion, he’s not answering my questions. He just keeps telling me that I need to speak to Ms. Connolly.