The moment the phone called ended, Nicolette felt a sense of relief. She got that out of the way, and now, Spencer. It was his turn to find out what fucking with someone’s life meant. This one would come with more pleasure than the other. It was personal for Nicolette and Spencer. So much more than Spencer would ever realize.
Looking down at the screen on the phone, she hit contacts, opening the one labeled, pig. See, she didn’t use names for these people. To Nicolette, they didn’t deserve to be called by their human name. They were animals to her. Predators sought nothing more than to ruin the lives of others. She had lowered him to a bottom eating barnyard animal. One who wallowed in his shit served one purpose in life. To consume.
Dialing, the number began to play out on the screen as it dialed. Nicolette took a second to catch her breath and get her thoughts under control. With Frank, he was just a part of this shit show. Spencer, he was as personal as her father was. Any man who laid his hands on a child deserved death. Nicolette would make sure she was the one wearing the black cape and dropping the blade when the time came.
“Spencer here. Who is this?” he said.
“Ah, Mr. Kennedy. I’ve been waiting so long to speak to you personally. Having a good day, I presume?” Nicolette asked.
Spencer sat back at his desk, once again looking at his phone. All the number said was restricted. “No. What is this about, and how did you get my private number?” he asked. After the last phone call, Spencer was in no mood to talk to anyone other than the man who held his granddaughter. Right now, Grace was the only one who mattered to him. It was not because she was blood, but the simple fact she was his. Spencer felt she could be the perfect addition to his life. He wouldn’t fuck up with this one like he did, Mary. He would make sure she knew her place in the family.
“There is no real need for my name right now. You will find out that soon enough. I’ve called to speak to you about Grace,” Nicolette said. She knew the moment she said the name. Spencer would change his tune. Spencer had a craving for the innocent, and Grace was by far the only one who consumed his mind at the moment. She was the only one who mattered to the Eldest Kennedy.
“What do you want, Miss?” Spencer asked. He was trying to get her to slip with a name, but women like Nicolette don’t fuck up. They have all their ducks in a row before the show starts. Arison trained her for this very moment. Little did he know all those years ago that she would hold the fate of the world in her hands.
“I know what you did. How you hurt your daughter in the most private ways,” she whispered. The whispers were a dramatic effect. She didn’t care who knew about the animal that Spencer Kennedy had become. “Don’t you feel guilty about those pictures you took of her. How you drugged her and allowed all those men to touch your baby girl? Is there not a human somewhere inside of you, Spencer?” she asked. Closing her eyes, blinking, tears stained her eyes. She had never cried before. Arison told her that tears are a sign of weakness, and she never wanted to disappoint him. He was a close as a father, brother, lover, and saint as any man would ever be to Nicolette. It was the bond she had with Gypsy that tore at her soul. She knew the pain that poor girl had gone through, and swore the night she found her in that bathroom that she would take it away.
“Who the fuck is this. I will sue you for slander. You cannot prove any of this,” Spencer growled. Reaching for a bottle of bourbon, Spencer was shaking when he poured himself a drink. Placing the phone on speaker, sitting it down, Spencer used both hands to bring the crystal glass to his lips. After the last conversation, he wasn’t ready for this one.
Cocky, Nicolette pulled an envelope out from the top drawer of her desk, scanning pictures of the photographs it contained. Within seconds, they were on the way to Spencer as a little collateral.
“Where the fuck did you get these pictures?” Spencer demanded. His hand slammed down on the desk, shaking the glass to teeter to the edge of the solid oak desk.
In almost a mechanical laugh, the kind that you hear in a funhouse, Nicolette whispered into the phone smirking the entire time.
“One two, I’m coming for you. Three-four, you better lock that door,” Nicolette laughed. Hanging the phone up before he could respond, the ball was in his court. One last thing before she left was a text to Spencer. “Suicide isn’t a sin in your case.”
Spencer sat in disbelief, looking at the phone, someone had set him up. There were only a few who knew of those pictures, and most of them dead. Reaching for his chest, his fist clutching over his heart, Spencer pushed the glass from the desk to shatter on his office floor.
“Mr. Kennedy, are you okay?” his assistant asked. Pushing the door open, her face as white as a sheet, she called out for someone to call 911. “Mr. Kennedy needs help, hurry.”