Chapter Thirty-Seven
When his doorbell rang, Lex ran to answer faster than he'd gone to meet anyone since his mother's death. His alert posture behind his desk transformed into a ducking, exhilarating motion as his hopes rose out of sight.
It was stupidly vapid of him to hope -easily the least thought he'd put toward any action in years. It felt wonderful.
He disregarded what must have been an unholy amount of noise for his downstairs neighbours and sprinted through rooms, hating every square foot of luxury. Chloe was right about his apartment; it was obnoxiously large, expensive, and had no redeeming atmosphere. His shoes skidded on the foyer floor, but he didn't slow down. Catching himself on the wall, he didn't bother to hide his panting breaths. He pulled open the door without looking, heart racing.
Lex's brief optimism froze solid and shattered. The call girl in his hallway was young, blonde, and dressed to kill. Her dress wasn't red, and it didn't have the flawless gleam of real silk, but it was flattering. She had a jean jacket slung uneasily over the dress, a misstep that signalled urgency. She had to look up at him, and immediately took in details of his appearance; Lex supposed that was only fair. What she saw made her back up half a step and hover in the doorway. It was a sick re-enactment of that first night with Chloe, down to her obvious nerves as she looked at him. He didn't think he knew her, but his mind was occupied with much larger issues.
“I didn't call for anyone,” he barked. “I don't want company tonight.”
He knew his temper was shredded, and he'd take it out on her if she complained. His pride hurt to be so deeply unhinged, but the most kindness he could offer the woman was sending her away quickly. Lex was slamming the door in her face when she pushed it and leaned hard.
“No! Please! I have a message for you! You wanted to buy Lionel Luthor's safety,” she gasped. “I'm supposed to tell you-”
He moved back and the door swung wide with her weight, sending her off balance. He reached out and held her steady by her wrists. As Lex helped her keep her feet, he dragged her inside and closed it firmly. His glare fixed on her trembling, and he grabbed her purse to throw it away. He wasn't going to be shot now when he might be able to help Chloe.
“Talk.”
The woman's eyes were stuck on the purse, perhaps yearning for a weapon inside, or just the security of having it in her hands. She was in her twenties, at least from the wear around her mouth and eyes. Unlike Chloe, she was not new to any of this.
“Morgan Edge is taking Mr. Luthor and Chloe Sullivan to Metropolis General. He will check Mr. Luthor in under another name, so you should not try to interfere,” she recited woodenly. Lex could see she was barely comprehending her own words, only saying them as she'd been instructed. “You have to go to the hospital alone with the money, and someone will meet you there.”
“Who?” Lex still had her by one wrist, and his grip tightened threateningly when she shook her head.
“I don't know that. I was – They told me what to say and they gave me something of hers,” the woman said faintly. She pointed to her purse, moving very little.
“Something of Chloe's,” he said quietly, pushing away the potential horror of what that token was. His vision washed red for a moment that broke when his grip on her wrist made his messenger whimper. Lex let go, and gestured toward a chair standing flush to the wall. He glared as she sat down, pulling her feet in protectively and closing herself up.
When he was sure she wouldn't run at him, Lex walked over and picked up her purse. It was more suited to her jean jacket, and the cheap imitation leather had cracks all along the handles. He set it down on her lap and stood back, crossing his arms over his chest to brace for what he saw next.
The woman dug around for a moment and held out a cellphone. He recognized the model as Chloe's, even with the wave of relief. It was a part of her that could be replaced. Lex had been thinking of fingers, ears, a chunk of lip. He had imagined a soft blond curl across his palm, disembodied from the rest of her tresses. Even the bloodless, painless strands would have offended him to a depth he hadn't known he possessed.
He was still angry, but he could be rational now. He had his answer to the ransom offer. He would have to listen to the instructions. The phone wasn't proof his father and Chloe were alive, but it was convincing along with Lucas' confession. Horrible as it all was, he could make sense of it and move forward.
He'd been asking for this, verging on sending out vague prayers. Lex opened the phone and scrolled the display. The last activity had been his call. Chloe hadn't even had time to call for help, and the pang of sympathy for her reminded Lex of his guest. She shifted uncomfortably and eyed the door. She was one of Morgan Edge's employees, acting on his orders. Her appearance suggested she was a prostitute, but she might sell drugs or work in one of his backrooms where various illegal entertainments went on.
“Why the hospital,” he asked flatly. “Did you see them? Is Chloe injured?”
“I didn't see the – I wasn't – They made me remember what to say and take the phone. I didn't see anyone,” she stammered. “I looked out my window?” She wavered a bit, uncertain but not dishonest. Lex didn't call her on it. “There was a limo downstairs. It might have been them.”
She tucked her chin in as if expecting to be struck, and Lex swallowed an outraged snarl. He had no mercy for anyone except Chloe, but the teenager was looking to him for his compassion. She would probably see this prostitute as a person worthy of saving. Chloe would make excuses for the woman standing aside and abetting a kidnapping. The young reporter would tell him it was difficult to fight a man as powerful as Morgan Edge with money and resources; it would be suicidal with nothing to help.
The bland anxiety from the woman vexed him, made him almost want to take it out on her. Lex threw back his head and shuddered with repressed violence. He wanted to hurt her. He wanted to hurt his father, Lucas and himself. He wanted Edge floating in the harbour. Acting on any of those urges was stupid and impulsive. He had been in training to be cold and mechanical since childhood. His father had prepared him for war, and it was starting to feel like war to Lex.
“You don't say anything about this,” he said curtly. “Walk out of this building, report back if you have to, but otherwise forget every single detail. Just coming here and delivering your message, you committed three felonies for your boss. If I see you again, I'll have you brought up on every possible charge. Go.”
She popped to her feet and clacked over his floor, moving with jutting elbows and knees bent. It pleased him on some vicious level. He wanted to see guilty people prone and abasing themselves to make up for the grinding worry he was feeling. Lex had wanted to punish the whore himself, but he thought the justice he wrought should meet Chloe's standards. The woman was free to live her life as best she could.
He had things to do, and not much time to prepare. Extra time before he arrived would be suspicious to Edge. It was the deal of his life, literally, and every step had to be perfect.
Chloe had a friend in school long ago who owned a chameleon. The lizard wasn't very friendly with strangers, but once in a while it would sit on a lap or a shoulder. She didn't remember the chemicals that made it able to match its skin colouration to the surface to which it clung. It had stayed with her that even as fast as the lizard could camouflage, there was still an in-between when it looked like a mix of before and after.
Morgan Edge was no chameleon. When he transformed, it was instantaneous and total. He put the bat away under the bar, finished off his drink, hefted Lionel's body up onto the seat, and addressed her with a polite, distant tone.
“We're here,” Edge told her, extending his arm. “I know you're in shock, so let me do the talking. It's all been arranged. I'm afraid anything you say will only sound like babbling. I would hate for you to be sedated and not know a thing that was happening.”
The threat grazed off her battered self-preservation, but she didn't want to be more helpless. He climbed around her out of the limo, reaching in and tugging her arm gently until Chloe followed. She hadn't dressed for the night, but at least she was wearing pants instead of a skirt. Her filmy top blew gently around her waist and she pulled it back down.
“What about-?”
Two of Edge's men were gently guiding Lionel out of the other door, holding him up as the older man staggered. He was alive, and Chloe felt brief anger. He was the only man in the world she wanted dead, and he'd probably find some experimental treatment to survive his illness. It wasn't fair. None of this was fair.
She looked around at the cars and people, entertaining a thousand hopes of rescue. There was a young man who looked strong enough to help her, but he was alone and he wasn't stronger than a bullet. She couldn't call anyone since her phone was gone. Yelling crazy things at random people would make her look like she was being checked into the hospital.
She walked on Morgan Edge's arm, both of them glancing back while Lionel was seen to a wheelchair. He grumbled and made weak swipes at the flunkies, but went quiet when a nurse hurried over. She pushed Lionel inside another set of doors, and Chloe sat as her rapist was soothed and cared for.
Edge let her pull her arm away, and she clasped her hands together in her lap. Maybe it looked like prayer, but what she asked for wasn't remotely Christian. She wanted heads on pikes, bodies rolled in ditches. She wanted suffering and misery. She felt like she was able to point a gun at one of these men and shoot. It might be regrettable later, but now she was fighting for her life.
She looked around the room and saw the usual mix of parents with small children, elderly people, and young thrill-seekers who'd found their limitations the hard way. A clock showed the time, and she watched it tick away most of an hour before a new nurse walked over to them.
“Mr. Edge, Mr. Luthor is being moved upstairs. If you'll follow me, I'll show you to a waiting room where his doctor will speak with you,” she said politely. “Are any of you that are with him family?”
“I believe Miss Sullivan has become quite close with him,” Edge said, oozing smarm. “She's been interning with his office. So unfortunate she was present for this accident.”
Somehow, the nurse didn't notice his oily tone, or maybe Chloe was projecting that on his words. It was certain Edge meant to make her uncomfortable, but someone outside her situation might not see anything wrong with a teenage girl in the company of these monsters. The thought was sickening, and Chloe felt herself go pale.
“It is too bad,” the nurse said, looking at Chloe with a sympathetic nod. “We'll get you some juice along the way. You look like you could use the sugar.”
It had been a long time since any meal, and even longer for sleep. Chloe nodded and her arm was tucked back in Edge's elbow with proprietary deference. He even patted her hand.
“For privacy, I'd like to ask Mr. Luthor be registered under a pseudonym,” he asked. “It's the only way the poor man will get any peace from the media.”
His hold on her arm squeezed a little, and Chloe knew for sure that Edge was well-informed of her investigation into his past. She walked with him as his men filed in behind, closing her off from the door to the outside world. She could have made a run for it, but she didn't want to see what was behind the contained menace.
They were back in the city, in one of the places where people went to be safe. Lex would find her there, and she wouldn't have to drive down the panic and act. He would save her. She believed he would save her.
And if he didn't, Chloe thought bleakly, she wouldn't be alive to suffer anymore.
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