by Bella Jewel
I know he could.
And he will.
Eventually, he will kill me.
I need to get free.
“There was no girl,” I rasp out.
He holds his boot for a second longer, and I’m worried that he’ll leave it there, but eventually, he lifts it off and growls, “Ever mention her name again, I will kill you. I promise you that.”
With that, I crawl out of his office and push to my feet, stumbling down the hall until I can find my purse. I grab my keys, and I walk out of his house. I go to my car, and I drive to the police station. Maybe my father will kill me for this, but the fact of the matter is, he’s going to kill me anyway. I’ve lived in fear for too long. If that’s how I’m going to end, then I’m not going to let him go down easily.
I reach the local station; it’s massive, one of the best in town. I get out of my car and walk into the front doors. The receptionist takes one look at my bloody face and picks up the phone, calling someone. I walk up to the desk, and whisper, “I need your best detective.”
She nods, her mouth wide as she stares at me. “Are you okay?”
“Just get me one. Please. Now.”
I stumble back into the chair, my body in agony, everything inside me broken, including my spirit. I don’t care anymore. If this is how it’s going to end for me, so be it.
I can’t live like this a second longer.
“Miss?”
I look up and see a man in his thirties somewhere, standing in front of me, looking down, his eyes soft. He has brown eyes, the kind you’ll never forget. Warm, and kind, and framed with thick lashes. His hair is dark, and wavy, and thick. Maybe Italian, maybe Maltese? I’m not sure. He’s handsome, and he looks safe.
“Are you a detective?” I whisper.
He nods. “I am.” He extends a hand. “I’m Oliver. How can I help you?”
Oliver.
I don’t hope you can help me.
I hope you can save me.
-18-
NOW – KODA
He puts his fuckin’ hand on her one more time, I’m goin’ to lose my mind. I don’t like that big fuckin’ giant putting his fingers all over her. Grabbing her like he’s going to rip her head off. Whatever this girl means to him, it’s enough for his eyes to have glazed over. Probably with desperation. I step up close, growling, “Let her go, or so help me, I’ll fuckin’ shoot you.”
Slater looks to me, and his eyes clear up a little. He looks back to Charlie, and then makes a growling sound, but lets her go.
She steps back, rubbing her upper arms, but the look on her face is pure devastation. She knows Ellie, whoever she is. And he didn’t know that. Hell, I don’t think even Charlie connected the dots.
“Talk to him, Charlie,” Malakai says. “Tell him what he needs to know, because we need him, it’s the only chance we got left.”
Charlie nods, and looks to Slater. “For what it’s worth, Slater. I didn’t know she had anything to do with you. If I did, god, I would have called … I would have …”
“Where is she?” Slater grinds out.
“I don’t know, that’s the honest truth, but you’re right my father does know about it. I was scoping out a house for him, as you do. My boyfriend at the time, Carl, it was his uncle’s house.”
“Shaun?” Slater grinds out. “Shaun Mercury?”
She nods. “I didn’t know his name until now, he was always just Carl’s uncle. Anyway, I was at his house. My father was certain Shaun was double crossing him, so he wanted me to find information, the normal. I was searching through his room when I found a door, it led down to a basement and I found a girl in there. She was … chained up.”
Slater’s eyes flare and his fists clench. This girl, she obviously meant a fuck of a lot to him, by the way he’s panting with built-up emotion right now.
“I’m so sorry, Slater. Again, I didn’t know it was any relation to you.”
“What was happening to her?” Slater demands through clenched teeth.
“I don’t know, she was chained up, in a pretty bad way. She told me she’d been taken while on a vacation …”
Slater closes his eyes, his panting so deep his chest is rising and falling rapidly and his body is shaking. “Yeah,” he grinds out. “We were on vacation. She went missing.”
Charlie looks to him. “You didn’t know she was so close?”
“If I had known,” Slater bellows, “I’d have fuckin’ saved her!”
Charlie flinches and steps back, that steely look coming across her face. She’ll take so much out of pity, but she won’t allow herself to be spoken to like trash. “Slater, I understand you’re angry and frustrated, and probably feeling a pain nobody could even begin to understand, but if you want me to continue, then do not yell at me any further. I don’t appreciate it.”
Slater opens his eyes and glances at her, their eyes holding for a few moments, and then he takes a deep, angry sounding breath and nods.
“Thank you,” Charlie continues. “Anyway, she told me she had been there for a year.”
“Fuck,” Slater grinds out, and I can hear the pain in his voice.
Poor bastard.
Fuck.
It would suck to find out she was so close all that time and he didn’t know. He had no idea. Hell, he’d probably been in that house.
“I couldn’t get her out,” Charlie says, and I don’t miss the flash of guilt that crosses her face. Like she blames herself for that. “If I tried, we would have both been killed. I knew that. So, I got her name, and I got out of there. I mentioned it to my father, because at that point, I didn’t know who else might have the information. I thought … I thought if I mentioned what I’d found, he’d give something away … he didn’t. He flipped out, beat me to a bloody pulp and told me I’d never seen a girl. That was the first night he nearly took my life.”
Fucking wild anger, unlike anything I’ve ever felt, bubbles in my chest and I find myself panting just to keep it inside. If I ever get my hands on that filthy motherfucker, I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking kill him and make it the most painful fucking thing he’s ever felt in his pathetic life.
“He knew about it, and whatever reason they had her, I figured at the time, was part of whatever operation they were running. For the first time, I thought maybe they might have been buying and selling girls. Anyway, I had no other option. That was the night I went to Oliver. I got his protection. I told him everything I knew. When we went to look for Ellie, she was gone. No trace of her. It was as if she didn’t exist. But I did try, Slater. I swear to you I tried.”
I glance at Slater, who is staring at Charlie. I figured he’d lose his mind and go off at her for not taking Ellie out the day he found her. That would be anyone’s automatic reaction. I know it would probably be mine. But logic says that Charlie was right. There is no way she would have been able to get her out alive. They’d have both been killed.
“That’s the first bit of information I’ve had in ten fuckin’ years,” Slater murmurs. “I finally know where to look, so for that, I am thankful, Charlene. And I’ll help you, for the conditions we discussed. Local members of the Mafia have a big fuckin’ deal goin’ down in about a week. Shanks ain’t stupid enough to mess with it, but he knows the ins and outs of it. He knows what’s bein’ dealt with, and he’s watchin’, waitin’ plannin’. He wants to be the biggest, the deadliest, and he’s takin’ down anyone in his path to do that. But he’s smart about it. I mess with this deal, it’ll bring the entire Mafia down on him. He ain’t big enough yet for that.”
Malakai steps forward, extending his hand. “You do that for us, we’ll patch you in and help you find Ellie.”
Slater nods, stepping forward and putting his hand in Malakai’s, shaking it. “You have a deal. I’ll get the information needed. You can assure me I have your protection?”
Malakai nods. “Yes. You have our protection. Be smart. Be careful. Do what you have to do and get out. We’ll have you protected from ther
e.”
Slater nods, stepping back. Then he looks to Charlie. “Thank you.”
Charlie nods. “I hope you find her, Slater. I really do.”
His face remains stony, no emotion, but the flash in his eyes says that he hopes so, too.
He wants to find her.
He has some small slither of hope.
Can’t say I blame him.
~*~*~*~
THEN – KODA
I’ve got everything.
Jarod came through, he gave me everything I needed. He got all the identification to get Braxton and me out safely. Now, all I have to do is get Braxton and get the fuck out of here.
Everything is packed.
Everything is ready to go.
Our tickets are booked.
We’re leaving, and my brother might have a fighting chance at making it through this.
I walk out of my apartment and into the street toward my car, which is packed, ready to go. I’m wearing a hoodie, black, and a pair of faded denim jeans. My plan is I’ll go and get Braxton, and we’ll head out after dark. When it’s less likely we’ll be seen anyway.
My heart is fuckin’ racing with anticipation.
I’m so close to possibly getting him through this, and yet I feel so fucking far away.
I reach my car and unlock it.
I’m about to get in when two dark figures appear beside me, fully dressed in hoods, holding guns. One is stuck into each of my sides, and I’m forced to stand dead still.
“Don’t move,” a gravelly voice tells me, jabbing the gun further into my ribs. “I’ll blow you the fuck away here.”
My blood runs cold.
Fuck.
No.
This can’t be happening. Not here. Not when I’m so fucking close. Not when I could taste the fucking sweetness of freedom.
These fuckers think I’m Braxton, and for a second, I consider letting them. But I have a better chance of getting out of this if they think I’m not Braxton. Otherwise, there’s a high fucking chance I’m about to be taken to some fucked up location and shot without a second glance.
“I’m not fuckin’ Braxton,” I growl, wheezing as they press the guns in so hard my lungs are crushed by my ribs, that feel on the verge of snapping.
“Oh.” One man laughs, low and throaty. “We know that, Dakoda. We’re not here for Braxton, we’re here for you. Braxton will follow.”
Fuck.
This is bad.
This is so fucking bad.
Braxton was right, we were never getting out of this. We were never getting a new life. We were always going to be found. I should have fucking run with him and then found the fake identification. What the fuck was I thinking?
“Walk, do not fight, or you’ll be dead before you reach the fuckin’ truck,” the man to my left barks into my ear, his breath making my skin prickle with rage.
They jab me hard with the gun, and I move, taking a step forward. I’m not fucking stupid enough to try and run. I have two guns on me, guaranteed one will blow a hole clean through me if I try. Then Braxton is dead for sure. Right now, I’m still alive, and while I’m still alive, I’ll still fucking fight.
I will fight.
Hard.
We reach a truck only a block down where the back door is opened and I’m shoved inside, but not before my hands are jerked behind my back and cuffs are thrown on my wrists. I land with a thump on the back seat, panting with rage. The urge to lean forward and choke one of these motherfuckers with my cuffs is so strong, I actually lean forward in the seat.
“Try a single fuckin’ thing,” the dark haired man in the front seat growls, aiming his gun at me, “and your brains decorate the back window.”
I sit back, glaring, teeth clenched.
Fuck.
Why the fuck didn’t I get the hell out of here sooner?
The drive to wherever they’re taking me is only about thirty minutes long. And in that thirty minutes, I contemplate every move. Every scenario. I think of every way I may, or fucking may not, be able to escape. When we arrive, I’m hauled from the car like a fucking rag doll and shoved toward an old warehouse. Big, run down, perfect place to hide.
When we step inside, two men are sitting, lounged on a large sofa. The first stands, and the first thing I notice about him is his flaming red hair. There is no missing it. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. A crisp suit, that’s perfectly ironed, covers his body as he strides toward me—cool, calm and collected.
Dangerous.
No doubt about it.
All these clean motherfuckers are.
“Well, well,” he murmurs, stopping in front of me. “They said you looked scarily identical, and they were correct. Hello, Dakoda. I’m sure you know me …”
I say nothing. Nothing at all.
And I won’t say a single fucking thing.
Not to this bastard.
Not to any of them.
“I’m Shanks.”
That’s him? That’s the motherfucker who runs this show? Who my brother is so fucking afraid of that he’d attempted to take his own life to escape him? Fuck, I could rip him apart with my bare fucking hands.
“I’m sure you know why you’re here,” he goes on, his voice silky smooth and calm. He does this a lot. He’s a pro. That much is clear. “Braxton hasn’t been easy to find, but when I got word of a twin … Well, you can imagine the plan was fairly simple, bring you here, and Braxton will follow, eventually.”
“And if he doesn’t?” I spit, anger getting the better of me.
It always gets the fuckin’ better of me.
“What then?” I challenge.
Shanks grins. “I have a strong feeling your brother isn’t going to leave you and run. I could be wrong, after all, he isn’t all that smart as I’m sure you well know, but my guess is his conscience won’t let him leave you in our hands.”
“You’d be wrong, then,” I growl. “So you’re better off killin’ me now. My brother ain’t comin’.”
But I know Braxton. I know him well. He can be selfish and hard and all of the shitty things a human can be, but I know, deep in my fucking gut, that when it comes down to it, he’ll come after me. I know it, just as well as I knew when he got into trouble that I’d lay my life on the line for him.
We’ve always had each other’s backs.
I know that won’t change.
“Oh.” Shanks laughs, throwing his head back. “I’m not going to kill you, that would be far too much fun. If Braxton doesn’t show, I’ll torture you in ways you can’t even begin to imagine, until you tell me where he is. Either way, Braxton will come to me, because of you. And I’ll kill him.”
“Torture away,” I hiss, holding his eyes. “I’ll never tell you where my brother is.”
Shanks smiles, and it’s cold and deadly.
“Have it your way. This should be fun.”
He won’t get it out of me.
So help me fucking God, I’ll protect my brother at all costs.
Even if that cost is my life.
-19-
NOW – CHARLIE
Guilt.
It is swarming in my chest, making me feel so uneasy I don’t say a word the whole way home. Even when we get there, I retreat into my room, refusing to speak to anyone. Eventually, the others go home and Koda and I are the only ones to remain. He leaves me be, which I’m grateful for. I don’t need him to make me feel worse than I already feel right now.
The thought of Ellie being still out there, still being tortured, makes me feel sick.
I could have gotten her out that day, I’m sure there would have been a way if I really tried.
But I didn’t.
Not really.
I was so afraid, and because of me, Slater has lived in agony for over ten years, wondering where she is, wondering if she’s okay, or if she’s even alive still.
Because of me.
I push off my bed when the sun has set and walk into the kitchen, finding a
bottle of vodka and opening it, drinking four big mouthfuls before slamming it down on the counter beside me.
“Not goin’ to help you feel better.”
I spin around to see Koda walking in, shirtless and fresh out of the shower.
“Don’t tell me what will, and will not, make me fucking feel better, Dakoda. You don’t know shit.”
His hair is dripping, and the droplets are running down his forehead, and god, he looks gorgeous. I hate that I’m so attracted to him. I hate how pathetic he makes me feel, because he doesn’t feel the same. That only makes me angrier until a tense ball feels like it’s building in my stomach, bubbling up until I’m barely able to contain it.
I’m so angry.
At myself.
At Dakoda.
At my life.
Mostly, at my father.
“Snappin’ at me ain’t goin’ to make it better, either.”
I spin around and pick up the closest thing I can find, which happens to be the bottle of vodka. I don’t think, I just hurtle it across the room, right at him. I’m so angry. So bitterly angry. He ducks just in time and the bottle smashes against the wall, sending glass and vodka everywhere.
“Don’t you fucking tell me what’ll make me feel better,” I scream, so loud I scare myself. “You know nothing about me. Fucking nothing. Stop acting like you give a fuck about me. We both know you don’t. You’re as selfish as the fucking rest of them. Just pussy. Just pussy. That’s what you called me. You piece of crap!”
I go to storm out, but Koda moves fast, like a tiger on the hunt. Suddenly, he’s in front of me, slamming my back against the counter, caging me in with his big body. Both of us are panting, and wild, and angry, and at a breaking point. I want to hurt him. God, I hate him.
Only I don’t.
I fucking don’t.
I slam my fists against his chest, over and over, angry and frustrated. Needing to make him suffer, just a little bit. He grabs my wrists and slams them down by my sides before leaning in close until his breath is puffing against my face.
“Do not tell me how I fuckin’ feel, and do not fuckin’ hit me.”
“Just pussy,” I cry out. “That’s what you called me. That’s what you fucking—”