by Webster, K
“Watch it,” he threatens me, but I refuse to back down.
“Or what, you gonna ground us both? Spank us?”
“I’m warning you,” he hisses.
“Or… Else what? You gonna—”
My words are cut short when I squeal at his large hand that reaches out and grabs my bicep. “I told you to watch it. I thought you were raised better than the mouth you seem to have picked up on your journey here. Maybe a spanking would set you right.”
I’ve never been spanked. Never hit. Never yelled at. Momma may have lost her patience with me, but she never took her anger out on me. The fact this man thinks he has the right digs deep at my emotions. “I was raised right, you old oaf—”
“I’m only forty-five, dammit.”
“My momma never once threatened to lay a hand on me. And even though it was only her and she busted her tail to make sure I was fed and happy and never without love, she still never raised a hand at me. So, if you think you can just boss me around and spank me into submission with your rules, then you have another thing coming to you, Dr.—”
“Mister.”
“It’s clear you don’t have children of your own, because you’d know better how to treat people.” My lower lip begins to quiver. How dare he trash my mother’s name and her ability to raise me right. “If my momma were here, she’d spank you!” I yell, ripping my arm out of his grip, pushing beside him, and running toward the stairs.
“Francis, wait,” I hear him calling for me, but I don’t stop until I get to the bottom of the stairs. When he yells my name again, I finally halt, turning to face my enemy.
“For what it’s worth, Billy is back in the field with the others. You got your goat back. Give me back my Luca. You have until morning, or you’re going to seriously regret ever putting me on your radar.” I swear I see his lips curl into a satisfied smile, but I don’t stick around to find out. I take the stairs two at a time, before making it to my bedroom, slamming the door and falling into my bed just in time for the tears to fall.
Luca
Satan and his Little Goat Minions
Whap!
I spit at his feet and laugh. “Did you just slap me?”
“I’m going to do so much more than slap,” Death growls. “We’re just getting started.”
My head throbs as my mind attempts to piece together the recent transpiration of events. I was cruising along—fucking married to the hottest, most hilarious girl on the planet—and then BAM! The rest is a blur. I vaguely remember being dragged out of the vehicle, screaming through my haze for Francis and my dog, and then being hogtied. Something warm hit my system and I was out.
I’m not sure how much time has passed, but I’m now Death’s punching bag. Except he doesn’t punch. He slaps like a fucking woman. I bite my tongue. If it were just me, I’d taunt the hell out of him. But he has everyone I love and care about.
“Where’s my sister and niece? Where’s Francis?” I demand.
Whap!
Fuck, his stupid slaps hurt.
“They’re away from you. You’re toxic, Luca. Tainting everything you touch. And you touched her, hmm? You touched Francis? You’ll pay dearly for this,” he threatens.
Whap!
Van Damme stands nearby, his arms crossed over his beefy chest. I should have known that guy was Death’s man.
“Let Lindsay and Cala go,” I plead. “You got Francis. You have me. Just uphold your end of the bargain.” At least if they’re safe, I can focus on Frannie.
He steps into view, scowling. “They’re not going anywhere.”
Whap!
“Would you stop with the fucking slapping?” I roar, fighting against my restraints.
Death laughs. Van Damme remains on guard by the open doorway. It’s large. Like a barn. That accounts for the smell of hay and goat shit.
“Why do you care that I love Francis?” I bark out, rage burning through me.
This sets him off because he throws a punch. My head snaps to the side and my jaw explodes with pain.
“What do you need her for? Some human trafficking bullshit?” I spit out blood and grin at him. “Is this a bad time to tell you I took her virginity?”
The next punch knocks me out completely.
It’s pitch-dark in the barn. Something makes a sound and rubs up against my leg. I need to piss, but it was pretty fucking awkward the last time when Van Damme touched my dick because apparently manhandling another dude’s junk is preferable to freeing him for four fucking seconds.
Ba-a-a-a-a-a-a.
“Juniper? Is that you?”
The animal rubs against my leg again. Then, it hops into my lap and I groan in pain when one of its hooves mashes my balls.
“Fuck, Juniper, watch it!”
Juniper—at least that’s what I’m calling it—starts licking my face. There’s no escaping this goat’s obsessive need to clean my face as it sits in my lap. It nibbles on my jaw and I yell at it again. The damn thing isn’t worried. Simply chills in my lap like it isn’t fucking heavier than hell. When the goat takes another nibble at me and my legs go numb from its weight, I decide this is some form of hell. I died in that car crash. Heaven took their angel—my girl—and I got booted to hell. I’m sure my Bing man is around here somewhere. All dogs do not go to heaven. Not Chandler. Not after what he did to Toto. That’s unforgivable.
Ba-a-a-a-a-a-a.
“Yeah, you’re handsome too,” I tell Juniper dryly.
The goat hops off my lap and trots away, crying out like it’s excited. A few seconds later, a dark figure looms in the open doorway.
“Van Damme? Is that you? Did you come to play with my winkie again?”
The figure takes a menacing step forward. Then, a few shadowed figures of goats circle his legs. Yep, looking right at Satan and his little goat minions.
Mr. Bing, I need backup!
“You. Motherfucker.” Death’s voice is a low growl.
“Good evening to you too, kind sir,” I throw back at him. “Since Van Damme’s missing in action, how about you come hold my dick. Yeah, the same one that made that angel not so innocent anymore.”
Since Frannie is his weakness, I use it against him.
Even if it gets my ass kicked in the process.
Death storms my way and kicks me hard in the chest. The chair I’m tied to falls back, slamming to the barn floor. My head bounces off the ground, dizzying me. I blink away the stars. He grabs my throat and rights me back in my seat, but doesn’t let go.
“I ought to choke the fucking life out of you!” he roars, squeezing me. “You disgusting predator!”
Predator?
That’s rich coming from this guy.
I’m about to tell him as much too—once I can suck in a tiny breath of air—but then his phone rings. And since I want him to stop fucking choking me, I politely wait for him to take his call. He grunts, releasing me, and then yanks his phone from his pocket.
“What?” he growls.
He’s silent for a beat as someone yaps on the other line.
“No deal, Rossi. No fucking deal.”
What’s going on with these guys? I perk up, praying for superhero hearing to catch the other end of the conversation.
“You don’t get any of what’s mine,” Death snarls. “I know what you’re up to. If I give you the piece of shit, you’ll use it against me to get to her. Get it through your stupid skull. She’s mine now and you’ll never hurt her.”
Frannie.
Why is everyone fighting over Frannie?
I mean, I’d go to hell and back—clearly—for that girl because she’s mine and I love her, but these motherfuckers need to back off.
“You can try, Rossi. Try and storm my fucking city. See what happens. We don’t allow trash to sweep through LA. No, we fucking burn it,” Death roars, hanging up.
“Your friends are awesome,” I deadpan.
“You really fucked up messing with Arlo Rossi,” Death says like I already don�
��t know this.
“No shit?”
Whap!
God, I forgot about how hard he slaps.
“Rossi is a bad man,” Death says.
“You don’t say…”
Whap!
“As bad as they come…”
“I might have to argue on this one,” I say with a smirk that earns me another slap.
“He wants to kill Frannie and I’m not about to let that happen.”
Finally something we can agree on.
“You could free me and I could help,” I offer.
“Fuck you,” he barks out.
And because I obviously need a nap, I laugh. “Nah, that’s what I have Frannie for.”
His fist slams into my face, making everything blissfully black again.
“Luca,” a sweet voice whispers. “Oh God.”
I blink open my eyes and peer into the familiar ones of my sister. “Linz,” I croak out, unable to say her full name.
“Shhh,” she croons. “That bastard. I’m going to kill him. Hold still. I’m going to free you.”
She squats behind me and starts to work on the knotted rope. When Death storms into the barn, my heart thuds in my chest.
“Lindsay, go to your room,” Death snarls. “Right now.”
“No!” she cries out. “You’re a monster for hurting my brother!”
Bravely, my sister ignores him, but he’s bigger and meaner. He stalks our way and he yanks her up. She screams when he tosses her over his shoulder.
“Let her go,” I wheeze. “Just let her fucking go!”
She shrieks and calls out Frannie’s name. Death pops her ass hard, making her shush.
“Paul,” he barks out. “Take him to the warehouse in the city. I don’t want him here with the girls any longer. They’ll just pester the shit out of me and keep doing more of this.” He smacks her ass hard again.
They leave and my heart rate quickens. He better not fucking hurt her. I’m struggling against my restraints when Van Damme—or Paul—approaches. He walks around behind me to unhook me from the chair. I’m still bound but no longer tied to the chair. I don’t waste a second, making a run for it.
Problem is, I’m tired.
Beat up.
Bruised and sore as hell.
I make it all of ten feet before I stumble and fall hard on my chest. Knowing the fucker is coming, I roll onto my back and kick him right in the nuts. He howls and then does some crazy fucking ninja shit before bringing his elbow down on my head.
Blackness.
Frannie
Pappa Death?
“More tea, Princess Bing?” Cala asks. Chandler yaps, his tail wagging through the princess dress Cala borrowed from her doll and dressed him in. “And you, Queen Francis?”
“Oh, why but of course, Princess Cala. This is the best tea in all the land.” I raise my still half full teacup so she can refill it up to the top. With the three sips I’ve already taken down, I’ve confirmed her secret recipe is water, chocolate syrup, and possibly salt. My stomach is already starting to rumble a wee bit, but no one turns down tea with a princess.
“Would you like another cookie, Princess Francis?” My stomach churns. I’m on my third frozen French toast stick. My belly says please God no, but my heart and that sweet little smile has me lifting my tiny plate for another raw stick.
“Why thank you. This breakfast has been simply magical! You make a beautiful princess, Cala.”
“So do you! I love your makeup. You look beautiful. I can see why Uncle Luca married you.”
I smile back, my heart threatening to explode with love. I’ve only just met her, but I’m already so much in love.
“Would you like me to touch up your lipstick now?” Before tea, Cala insisted on doing my makeup. At the current moment I have purple on one eye, starting from my lid to my forehead and the other is pink with glitter to my ear.
“Sure!” As much as I know how silly I must look, I’m enjoying myself immensely. Playing dress-up and having a tea party reminds me of when I was a little girl. And of Momma. She would always drink any concoction I made, even when I swore dirt was a natural spice. Cala giggles and reaches into her pink purse and pulls out the tube of red lipstick. She gets up from the tiny table we’re sitting at and pats Chandler, who wags his tail, causing the bow wrapped around his tail to fall off. He jumps onto the table, his painted nails pawing at his frozen French toast stick as he eats away.
“Now, stand still. I don’t want to mess it up,” she says, a serious look on her face as she tries her best to stay in the lines of my lips. I feel the lipstick swipe my nostril, go a little past my lip line, and onto my cheek. I also may be wearing some on my chin and am resembling the Joker.
“You look so pretty. Let’s go find Pappa Death and see if he wants to take us to the ball. He can drive us around in the tracker. He does that sometimes.”
Pappa Death. Interesting. “Princess Cala, has Pappa Death been nice to you?”
Her eyes light up. “Oh, yes. He’s very nice. He yells sometimes, but then he says sorry. He buys me lots of stuff. And Mommy too.”
“Has he told you why you’re here?”
She pulls out her brush and starts combing my hair. “He says me and Mommy make him happy.”
Happy?
None of this is adding up. He kidnapped them as collateral to get me. But we still have no idea why. And why has he been so kind to them?
“Right now, Mommy is sad. I think Pappa Death made her cry. She cried all night long. She didn’t want to play dress-up with me. But maybe if she sees how pretty we both look, she will want to play too.”
My heart sinks. What did Mr. Death do to Lindsay? Has he been… Is she… “Hey, how about you wait here and I’ll go find out if Mommy wants to play? Sound good?”
Cala perks up and jumps off my lap. I stand, popping a button in the too small princess dress Cala insisted I squeeze into. “Hurry, go go!” She tugs at my arm. I start to walk, sadly catching the gown under my feet, and trip.
“Shoot, I’m okay!” Minus the huge tear in the back of the dress.
I walk down the quiet hall to the room Cala and Lindsay share. I knock gently, with no reply. I knock again, but this time, I open the door. Lindsay is lying in bed on her side, making soft sounds of sniffling.
“Lindsay, are you okay?” I call out. She doesn’t answer me, so I step farther into the room and sit on the bed next to her. “Please, talk to me. Is he hurting you? Has he done anything that you don’t—”
“He’s horrible and I hate him.” She starts to cry into her pillow. My heart sinks once again at the thought.
“Lindsay, please, tell me what he’s done. I want to help.”
She sniffles, lifting her head out of the pillow. “He’s such a—Jesus!” Her body flinches, causing me to shoot off the bed.
“Oh, Francis, I’m so sorry! You, I didn’t expect to see you so…”
“I’ve had a wonderful morning with your daughter. Does it show?” I smirk, throwing my hair back to accentuate my makeup job. Thankfully that gets a small laugh from her. I sit back down. “Tell me what’s wrong, please.”
She stares at me, debating on opening up. “He’s just…just…so hot and cold. One minute he’s this wonderful man. Gentle. Caring. The way he…” She stalls.
“The way he what?” I brace myself to hear it. If he touched her against her will, I swear to God…
“He’s… I don’t know how to describe it. But when he’s not this man who makes me feel, he’s a monster.”
Makes her feel? Oh boy. Talk about an eye for an eye. If Death was upset about Luca and me… “Lindsay, is something going on between you and Dr. Death?”
“It’s Mr. and…and… I can’t.” Her face falls back into the pillow and she begins to heavily cry. I wrap my arms around her for comfort until her tears subside. She lifts her head back and sits up. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
Oh crap on a cracker.
�
�I saw Luca last night.”
“What! Where?” My heartrate speeds up. God, I miss him so much! “I need to see him. Can you take me to him? Is he okay? Did he ask about me? Did you tell him that Billy was—”
“Francis, wait.”
I stop talking, confused. She should be happy, not so upset to reunite with her brother.
“I found him in the barn. I heard Vincent and his henchman talking about him. So, once we all went to bed last night, I went in search of him. And I found him.” The torment in her eyes has my stomach turning. “He didn’t look good. He was all bruised and bloody. I tried to free him, but then Vincent caught me.”
No. No. No.
“I tried,” she chokes out. “I tried, but he ripped me out of the barn. Said for his henchman to take him to the city. Francis, I’m scared he’s going to do something to him.”
My breakfast threatens to come up. No. He wouldn’t. He made a deal. He has me. He said he would let everyone else go. “But, but…he doesn’t want Luca. He wants me. He made a deal.”
Her cries gut me. “And he’s going back on it. He told me last night, before tossing me in here, that we weren’t going anywhere. He said the tables have turned and Luca got himself into trouble he’s not willing to risk getting him out of. I should forget my brother.”
No…
The room around me spins. Lindsay reaches to steady me. Image after image of Luca and his beautiful smile, his infectious laugh, his strong, greedy hands fly through my brain. No. He won’t take that from me. “No.”
“No what? What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to tell that big oaf what I think of him and demand he bring me back my husband. He made a deal. And he will stick to it. Or else!” I stand up abruptly, catching the dress under my heel, and trip to the ground.
“I’m okay!” I pop up and storm out of her room in search of the big, bad Dr. Death. I find him in his office, on a call.
“Find the goddamn location!” he roars and slams the phone on its base. “Oh hello—Jesus!”