Love on the Rise: Book Two of The Against All Odds Series

by Gemini Jensen

  I’m not surprised I’m here in this leaky, musky basement that looks more like something from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. The setting fits in with my real-life horror story. And who knows? Maybe someday my own tale will end up on the big screen.

  Mom always believed if we did everything just right, our survival was a given. She thought we could run forever, or at least until Dom decided to keel over, or one of his enemies was finally successful in taking him out. Naturally, never being one to enjoy confrontation, I went along with her beliefs. I had my own motto to live by, however; one I never spoke of: Hope for the best, expect the worst. So, I did both. Consistently hopeful, yet forever waiting for my fears to become my reality.

  My mind wanders constantly as I stare at these four walls, the yellow and brown stained ceiling, and wonder how many lives have ended in this exact room. My treatment has only gotten worse now that Dom has officially confirmed what he had suspected for years. Kept in darkness for what felt like more than a day, my vision is still blurry from attempting to readjust. Or maybe it’s just how weak my body is becoming. My stomach groans, angry about its usual consumption being cut back so drastically. Instead of two noodle bowls a day, I’ve been dropped down to only one and on lucky days, my diet is supplemented with either a banana or an apple for meal two. Although the fruit is typically overripe and closer to being rotten, I eat it earnestly, grateful for whatever smidge of nutrients I might be getting.

  On the morning of day eight, I hear a conversation between Asshole One and Asshole Two—one that might just be a small window of opportunity if I can use it as leverage to get what I want. But it’s going to be risky. It can either make things much worse on me, or I can truly luck out. At this point, things have gone from completely horrible to fully fucked up.

  Besides the one thing I’m trying to preserve, what do I really have to lose?

  “Congratulations, man. Heard you were gonna be a dad,” Dimitri elbows his much quieter side-kick, Jerome.

  My ears instantly perk up, and even with my blurred vision, I witness the small smile that works its way onto Jerome’s face. It only takes a question or two from Dimitri before Asshole Two launches himself into a breathless conversation explaining everything pregnancy related.

  Apparently, he heard his baby’s heartbeat for the first time recently. His eyes twinkle like those of a child on Christmas morning. The way he speaks of his wife and how she’s even more beautiful now that she’s carrying his child is almost precious. If he wasn’t one of my captors I wouldn’t have to say almost, but it’s a little difficult for me to allow myself to refer to someone who’s holding me hostage in such terms of appraisal. I secretly wonder how Asshole Number Two, someone who seems to be all about his family, lives a double life. How does he wake up, kiss his wife goodbye, and drive to work where he “babysits” a young girl who’s likely going to be killed? What kind of man can flip the switch so easily?

  Then I realize that’s exactly what Jameson did, and even though he rubbed elbows with questionable men who were often lacking any morals at all, he himself was still a good man.

  Choices don’t necessarily define a person; the reasons behind those choices are what truly matter. Just like there are justifiable homicides, there are certainly justifiable actions.

  Finally, their conversation steers toward current sports events before sputtering to a lull. Dimitri informs Jerome he’s heading up for a quick smoke break and to grab something to eat in the kitchen. I don’t know what he means by kitchen, only that it isn’t the microwave and mini-fridge occupying the rooms of the basement. I try to memorize the bit of information in case it proves useful in some way later on.

  I wait a minute after the door closes before I strike. “Congratulations on your baby,” I tell him, attempting to make my voice sound genuine.

  His eyes flash to my face as he grunts in disbelief, apparently shocked by my comment.

  Surprising me, he croaks out a “Thanks,” in spite of himself. His acknowledgment, the fact he at least has a smidge of empathy in his body to respond, is all the encouragement I need to follow through with my plan.

  Time to initiate a little small talk.

  “So, when do you think he’ll kill me? In the next few days? Or do you think he’ll wait a while longer?” I stare at him, expectantly awaiting an answer he doesn’t give. Frustrated, I try again.

  “If I’m going to die down here, I want to confess something to you. Something I didn’t get a chance to tell anyone before I was taken. I’d like at least one other person to know before I leave this world for good.” I add a sniffle for full effect, although it doesn’t take much effort from me. I’ve been on the verge of breaking down for days now, but the truth is, tears are more harm than they are good in a place like this. If Dominic sees me distraught and upset, it will only encourage him on until my mind breaks.

  Jerome shrugs his shoulder, but from the way he keeps eyeing me, I can tell he’s at least a little curious.

  “It’s just…” I pause like I’m trying to find the right words to express myself, “exciting to hear someone else is having a baby. Just hearing you gush over your wife and how excited you are for your baby being on its way makes me feel cheated. The night before I was taken, I found out I'm expecting. It was out of the blue and completely took me by surprise, but I was happy nonetheless. The dad doesn’t know. I never got a chance to tell him, but I’d like to imagine him being as excited as you are.” I offer him a small smile. “But even if I do get out of here alive by some miracle, I’m scared my baby won’t. Nutrition is important in pregnancy. I’m surprised I haven’t begun to miscarry. Gosh, that would be such a mess for you guys to deal with.”

  He says nothing for a few moments, deeply lost in his own thoughts, before raising his raspy voice to command, “Quiet.” His piercing glare strikes me, but I know I’ve gotten under his skin. Hopefully, now that it’s there, the knowledge bubbles and festers until he can’t stand it any longer. From the way he’s jiggling his leg at a furious pace, and the rumpled lines of his forehead, I can just tell there’s a shift in his mood.

  All I can wish for is that it’s going to be in my favor.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Gray

  HERE’S A RIDDLE.

  What’s the one thing that can give a person a sense of security one moment, then have them feeling like they’ve dove headfirst off a cliff in the next?

  Need another clue?

  It’s an intangible object that wraps itself around you like a thin shroud, seeping into your skin and embedding itself into your heart until it becomes as much a part of you as your own soul.

  And your last hint…

  It can be a shield—a thin veneer of armor if you let it. Or it can be a weakness, the one thing that’s able to bring you down.

  Love. Love is the fucking answer.

  Valley has now been gone for eight days. Her chances of coming back to me alive are slim to none. If she is alive by some miracle, she could be having a miscarriage because of poor handling and I know that fucker won’t give her any medical treatment. It’s too risky. If he’s going to kill her, he doesn’t care about her well-being anyway.

  If she’s dead, my life is over. It’s meaningless, pointless except for caring for my sister and father whom I have seen twice in the past few years.

  If Valley is gone, all of my plans for the future will die with her.

  I’ll never know what it’s like to wake up every morning beside the woman I love.

  I won’t get to see her walking down the aisle towards me, a redheaded vision in white.

  I’ll be deprived of my opportunity to indulge her; to bring her breakfast in bed and surprise her with something she’s been wanting forever but I keep insisting we can’t afford.

  And worst of all, I’ll never get to experience holding her hand—as she squeezes my fingers ‘til they’re crooked—and looking into her silvery eyes—fiery with hostility—as she cusses me for everything I am, and t
hen gives birth to our first child. And our second. And maybe even our third.

  I’ll never know what it’s like to receive a “World’s Greatest Dad” mug as a gift from my kids, and actually believe it’s true. Because I don’t want kids. Not if it’s not with her.

  The past few nights I’ve gotten down on my knees and prayed for a miracle. It felt strange because I haven’t done it in so long. For me, it doesn’t make sense to pray—not when you’re making deals with devils and playing cards with thieves and murderers. Seems a little hypocritical to be asking favors from God when I’m in the process of damning myself to Hell.

  But this favor isn’t only for me; it’s for her and the life growing inside of her.

  And I know if that miracle happens, I’m not accepting that she doesn’t want to be with me. She might be having someone else’s baby, and that someone can be a part of their child’s life if they want to. But if not, I’m raising it. Valley is mine and there isn’t a damn thing she’ll be able to do about it. I’ll be the most persistent idiot on the planet, and she’ll have no choice but to surrender and accept the fact that she’s belonged to me from day one. I’ll treat her baby like it’s my own because it came from her—it’s a part of her—and anything that’s a part of her is a part of me too. I’ll strive to be even more of a father than the baby’s real father, and I’d be lying if I said I hope the motherfucker is ready for fatherhood. It’s messed up, but I hope he wants nothing to do with Valley or their child.

  Unfortunately, all of that is a big if.

  If we find her.

  If we get to her on time.

  If she’s still alive.

  I rap three times at the door, softly, in case Althia is sleeping, and wait for Jameson to answer. The bed creaks and I hear shuffling before his face appears through the crack. He holds his finger to his lips, gesturing for me to be quiet. Slipping through the door, he quickly shuts it so that no light streams inside.

  “She’s finally asleep,” he whispers, his eyes tired and a little bloodshot.

  Althia has been frantic, sleepless, desperate, and inconsolable. She hasn’t slept a wink—not that any of us have, but she’s more delicate. I swear with each passing day she becomes more and more fragile. The fact that he got her to sleep at all is no small feat, especially when she’s so adamant about being present for every little thing going on.

  Jameson follows me into the den of his apartment—we’re now staying in Jersey since it’s the most likely place Dominic would be holding V—and we take a seat at the mini-bar.

  Glancing around the room, I take in the décor. The house suits his tastes perfectly. It’s all dark wood and leather, utilitarian, and comfortable in an uninviting and lone-wolf kind of way.

  He’s about to be faced with a choice and I can’t help but feel sorry for him. Having to choose between his only brother and his only child is going to do a number on him. How could it not? Dominic may be a ruthless piece of shit, but it’s still a tough decision to be forced into, choosing to kill your sibling. From what I understand, Jameson has never had a very close relationship with his brother, and he even despised him at first. He once told me that no matter how much he hated the person his brother grew into, nothing could make him betray him; nothing could turn him against someone who had saved his life, not once, but twice. Because Dominic had saved his life, Jameson believed himself indebted to his brother. Didn’t matter if he didn’t agree with the things Dom was doing. Didn’t matter if he despised them. His loyalty was unshakable. And this proved to be true for the greater part of their lives, with one exception—Althia.

  His love for her supersedes everything else.

  Why else would he stay behind when he sent her and his child away? It must have been painful knowing he’d hardly ever see the love of his life anymore and he’d miss his daughter growing up; but also knowing she and his child’s survival depended on him being able to tell them what the man who hunted them was up to.

  I take it upon myself to make us each an Old Fashioned, sliding Jameson’s over to him as I finish pouring my own. “So, what’s the plan?” I cut through the bullshit, getting straight to the point. We don’t have time to do otherwise. Time is not on our side…it’s the enemy.

  Jameson brings the beverage to his lips, lost in thought as he stares at the countertop. One hand lands at his temple, and he rubs slow circles, perhaps trying to stimulate his brain cells to awaken. Maybe in hopes he’ll have some aha! moment about some avenue we’ve overlooked.

  Finally, he speaks. “There’s only one man in Dom’s inner circle who might be willing to help us. It’ll take a fuck-ton of favors on both our parts, but we don’t have much other choice at this point.”

  I know exactly who he’s speaking of as soon as he says it. If he’s referring to St. Pierre, there’s truly no telling what he’ll ask of us in return for his cooperation. Hopefully, it’s not something violent. Hopefully, it’s just something that helps him climb further up the social ladder. He probably seeks a higher position in the organization once Dominic is out of the picture, which now that I think about it, will still require an equal amount of death and destruction.

  “Call him up,” I say without hesitation.

  Immediately, Jameson pulls out his phone to make the call, but freezes, his back going stiff as he stares at the screen. My stomach plummets just from seeing his reaction. With the life he’s lived, there isn’t much that would cause him to pause or react in any way at all, so whatever he’s looking at can’t be good. His Adam’s apple bobs and sweat breaks out above his brow as his fist slams down on the countertop. A long string of expletives fly from his mouth before he slowly slides his phone, face up, down the counter to me. I attempt to hide the tremor in my hand as I pick it up, and for the first time since I’ve started this tumultuous, downhill spiral of a lifestyle, I pray to God before taking a peek to see what’s now laying before me.

  The first thing I notice when glancing at the picture, are the crystal gray eyes peering up at the camera, wild with animosity toward the photographer. The second is the thick strip of tape wrapped around her lips, nearly matching her eyes, albeit a duller shade. The third is the swollen purple bruise on her cheek.

  White hot rage blisters the inside of my veins as my heart beats strong and hard.

  That motherfucker hit her.

  Blood whooshes through my ears.

  If Jameson doesn’t get to him first, he’s mine.

  I scroll on down to see the caption below.

  It reads: Send Althia if you want to see your daughter alive again.

  Snorting, I meet his eyes, attempting to read his thoughts. He’s apparently trying to do the same with me.

  “You know he’ll never let either one of them go alive,” I admit, as much as it pains me to say it. “It’s not his style. He wants them both just to throw it in your face. Then he’ll kill them, probably record the video as he does it, and send it to us.”

  I glance back down at the most beautiful face in the world and wonder how I gave up three years of my life, doing things I despised and never would have done for anyone else but her. I’ve beaten other people to a bloody pulp, manipulated, coerced through sheer terrorization tactics I’d rather not admit to. And I’ve even killed, which was really hard for me—until I realized the group of men weren’t only guilty of bad business dealings, but were also hurting young girls; getting them hooked on drugs and pimping them out. There were rumors they were even involved with snatching the ones they couldn’t get hooked and selling them into sex slavery. I’ve found peace with myself about ridding the world of those types of people.

  But all of it was to get closer to Dominic Malone, to imbed myself further into his circle and become Jameson’s only ally that he could trust one hundred percent. Just us, working together to ensure Valley and her mother’s safety.

  All of that…all the bad deeds during those three years, and it still comes to this.

  My worst fear.

  Jameso
n’s worst fear.

  “Althia is desperate and not thinking clearly. She’ll do whatever anyone suggests if it provides even a sliver of a chance of getting Valentina back. Acting on a whim like that will get her killed in a heartbeat, so whatever you do, avoid speaking about the message or the picture for that matter. It’s better that way. I can’t be worrying about the two of them at the same time. Splitting my concentration like that would make things impossible when they’re already that way, to begin with,” Jameson says, cracking his knuckles.

  From my peripheral vision I swear I see movement, a flash of white at the entrance of the dark hallway, but when I turn my head to look, there’s nothing there. Maybe I should force myself to get some sleep too, for sanity’s sake. But I’ll never bring myself to do it, not while she’s out there. Polishing off the rest of my drink, I stand, pulling my keys from my pocket.

  “Where are you going?” Jameson asks with a furrowed brow.

  “Gotta go home, check my apartment, feed Prin,” I list off the shit I need to straighten out.

  He shakes his head in response. “That’s a terrible idea. He could be planning to hit us with a surprise attack. We should be sticking together. Safety in numbers.”

  I wave him off. “Nah, I’ll be watching. I’ll be back within the hour.”

  Though I can tell from the pinched expression on his face that he still doesn’t approve, he says nothing as I head out the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  AS SOON AS the door slams shut in my apartment, the skittering sound of nails clicking against hardwood echoes through the near-empty space. Excited whining follows as Princess Frou Frou approaches me in full gusto. I’ve hired someone to walk her and care for her, but you can tell she’s upset with me for ignoring her so much lately.

  “Hey, Prin,” I coo at her, squatting down to greet her. I’ve resorted to shortening her name, although when she gets in trouble, I still use it in its entirety. Prin is more acceptable to use in front of company, which is typically just Jameson anyways, but at least it makes me not look like such a pussy. In my line of work, you don’t want anything to cause someone to think you’re weak and won’t be able to handle yourself when push comes to shove.