Undressed By His Arrogance-Chapter 269: He Has You Here

Joey crossed the room and wrapped his arms around her.

"He has you here," Joey murmured against her hair. "I think he will be alright."

"That’s what I’m afraid of," Ivy choked out. "That I won’t be enough. That I don’t have enough to give him."

Joey pulled back, hands on her shoulders, studying her with a knowing look. Then a small, sad smile tugged at his lips.

"God, you still love him," Joey said.

Ivy’s breath hitched, but she didn’t deny it. She couldn’t. It was carved too deeply into her. Instead she wiped her face with shaking fingers and whispered,

"It... it kills me to see him this way."

Joey nodded slowly. "I got the Orchard jet ready for you guys," he said. "It’s cleared for takeoff."

Joey squeezed her shoulders once more.

Ivy sniffled and nodded in response.

*****

Evans stepped out of the SUV and inhaled sharply as the cold forest air bit into his lungs. They were deep—far deeper than he’d ever driven with his father before. The pines loomed tall. Ahead sat an old cabin, abandoned-looking. Its windows were fogged, its wood greyed by time, and the roof sagged with moss.

"Dad... what is this place?" Evans asked, frowning at the structure. "And what are we doing here?" 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

Sam Everest simply lifted his cane and tapped it once on the ground. "It’s time I finally show you," Sam said, "how Everest men handle people who touch their family."

Evans blinked at him, taken aback. "What do you mean?" he asked, following cautiously.

"Quit asking questions and follow me in."

Evans swallowed his curiosity and fell silent, trailing behind him.

The cabin door creaked open before they even reached it. A man stood there—a thick, burly wall of muscle whose neck looked wider than Evans’s thigh. He could have passed for a bouncer at a strip club or a bodyguard for someone deeply criminal. Ink covered his forearms, and the gun holstered at his side was not for decoration.

"Mr. Everest," the man greeted Sam with a nod that held a surprising amount of respect.

"You have her?" Sam asked, straight to the point.

"Yes, sir. In the basement."

"Good."

Sam stepped through the doorway and walked inside. Evans followed, nerves knotting tightly in his stomach.

They reached the basement door. It groaned like something dying when Sam pushed it open.

"Here," Sam said.

Evans gripped his father’s arm automatically as they navigated the rickety wooden steps. The staircase complained with each footstep.

When they reached the basement floor, Evans froze.

Three men stood around a long table lined neatly with various torture tools. Hooks, knives, electrical wires.

Evans’s stomach rolled.

And then he saw Sharona.

Tied upright to a thick pole bolted to the ground, wrists bound behind it, ankles shackled. Her hair was matted with blood. A gag in her mouth.

His breath left him.

"Dad..." Evans whispered, stepping closer instinctively. "What is this? How did you—Were you... The news said the prison transport was ambushed."

"I ambushed it," Sam said.

Evans stared at him, jaw hanging open. His mind tripped over itself, trying to process words that didn’t make sense in any rational world. "Excuse me?" he gasped. "Dad... what—what are you talking about?"

Sam finally looked at his son fully, eyes cold and sharp as a surgical blade. "She hurt my baby," he said simply. "So I am going to hurt her in every single visible and non-visible part of her body."

He turned toward Sharona, who stiffened against her bindings, gag muffling her weak whimper.

"She’ll be screaming for death," Sam said. "By the time these men are done."

Evans felt his stomach lurch. He stepped forward, hands raised helplessly. "Dad, do you—do you have any idea how illegal this is?" He looked around in disbelief at the torture tools, the men who avoided eye contact. "This is—this is kidnapping, torture—"

"I’m an old man," Sam cut in smoothly. "Who’s going to put me in prison?" He waved a hand dismissively. "Besides..." He gestured toward a large industrial bathtub in the corner. At first glance, Evans thought it was full of water—until he noticed the surface bubbling slightly, emitting a faint acidic hiss.

"No one will ever find her," Sam added casually. "Not even her body."

"This ends only one way, Miss Priestley," Sam said, leaning on his cane. "You are not leaving this room alive."

Sharona made a strangled sound behind the gag.

"But," Sam continued, holding up a finger, "you can choose whether your death is slow, imaginative, instructional, and extremely educational..." He smiled lightly, "or quick."

Evans shut his eyes for a second, running a trembling hand through his hair. Sam kept talking.

"If you choose the latter," Sam said, "you will give me a list of every single person who has even looked at my granddaughter wrong. I want names, I want affiliations, I want motives—hell, I want the time and date they were born."

"But until you make your choice..." Sam’s smile turned chilling. "Have fun with my friends here, darling."

"What a shame," he murmured. "You really are quite the beauty."

Evans watched, horrified, frozen, unable to reconcile the man before him with the grandfather who would sing Theresa to sleep.

"Come along, son," Sam said.

Sharona’s muffled screams followed them out the basement.

"Do I even want to know how you could pull this off?" Evans demanded as he followed behind his father up the stairs. "You spend all your time at home." His disbelief was a living thing clawing at his ribs. He kept glancing back down the steps, half-expecting one of the men to come storming after them.

"There is a part of my life I kept from you, your sister, and your mother," he said. "No one has ever messed with us. Ever." He paused to adjust his grip on the railing. "But I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have kept it from you."

Evans’ brows shot up. "You mean you want me to be vicious like Winn," he said, the bitterness in his voice unmasked. "Is that it? You want me to turn into him? Into some avenging, blood-soaked vigilante?"