by Hayley Smyth
Purgatory
Hayley M Smyth
Copyright © 2020 Hayley M Smyth
All rights reserved. This book and any material inside it must not be used without written permission from the original publisher or Hayley M Smyth ©
The characters in this book are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
In Loving Memory of James.
“Do you want any dinner with your salad cream?”
The brightest star in the sky.
1989-2017
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Eight
Chapter Twenty Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty One
Chapter Thirty Two
Chapter Thirty Three
Chapter Thirty Four
Chapter Thirty Five
Epilogue
The End
Acknowledgement
About The Author
Prologue
Ella - Then.
“I CAN’T! I can’t do it!” I scream, as a new kind of hellfire burns between my legs. This pain isn’t the same kind of discomfort I felt when my husband tore through my virginity, this is on a whole other level and delirium from the pain, the exhaustion takes over me, and I become a woman possessed. Edith places a cold, wet cloth to my head and coos in my ear, whispering soft encouragements and another tightening tears through my stomach. If I survive this, I’ll be surprised. Each tug, each pull, each stretch feels as though my pelvis is going to snap in two.
The man responsible for my current situation paces at the far corner of the room, looking anxious and wound up, but he never looks at me. He doesn’t hold my hand and tell me what a good job I’m doing; he is merely waiting to find out if I’ve got this one thing right. If I have redeemed myself, if I’ve proved myself useful.
The burning resumes, fiercer than before, and I throw my legs open, screwing my eyes shut as my body acts on instinct now.
“You can do this, sweetie, it’s almost here,” Edith says, peeking between my legs.
I cry, sweat sticking my hair to my face, pooling at the bottom of my back, “It hurts, Edith, I can’t!”
“I know, darling, I know, it won’t be long now,” her hands rest on my belly, “and big push, Mrs. Chrobak!”
It’s at this moment, that my situation hits home. There’s a little moment of clarity before I push, and I take in my surroundings. Edith isn’t a nurse, no, and I’m not in a hospital. I lay, in agony, on a mattress, below the ground of Vladimir Chrobak’s mansion, and I am giving birth to a child who will never have a birth certificate, which will only be wanted by its father if it is a boy.
I look down at my dirty feet and see just how filthy the mattress is. The once white material is red, balls of dust are stuck in the groves, and terror captures me, screaming at me that my child will become infected before it has even taken its first breath. I say it because I do not know if I have carried a boy or a girl. I have not seen one baby doctor, I have taken no prenatal vitamins, and I have no idea if my child is even okay. Not once did I see it’s kicking legs on a sonogram, hear its heartbeat through a doppler. I have grown this child, loved this child, and denied every precious moment new parents look forward to during the nine months.
Vladimir looks distraught, disheveled, and he turns his back on me as I give my last push, the biggest push I can manage. It’s a weird sensation. One moment there is so much pain, so much pressure, and the next, I feel as though I’ve deflated.
My head lulls back, and I collapse on to my makeshift bed as Edith scurries between my legs, a blanket in arm, and scissors ready to cut the umbilical cord. It’s quiet. Too quiet. But I feel as though I’m being weighed down with a ton of bricks, my eyelids fluttering shut, the room spinning far worse than ever before.
“She’s losing blood, Vladimir!” Edith cries at my husband, her voice sounds a million miles away as I fight to stay conscious. What’s going on? Why isn’t my baby crying? Edith massages my belly and my weak body cannot fight or speak to her. “Vladimir, call someone, please! I can’t stop the bleeding!” Edith’s voice is urgent, and that scares me.
And then I hear it. The gargled cry of a newborn, and my baby take its first breath; it has me sitting up. My mother’s instinct is more potent than blood loss. I look between my legs where Edith looks ashen, a small bundle in her arms wriggling madly and then something falls out of me. I feel sick as I look at, what I assume, is the afterbirth. The blood. Oh, my God. That can’t be good.
Waving my hands in front of me, I lick my lips and widen my eyes in an attempt to stay awake, “M-m baby,” I slur, “I w-want my b-baby.”
Edith and my husband exchange looks, hers is of concern, his is of impatience. He nods and then holds his cell to his hear, speaking in his mother tongue. Edith leans forward, her arms outstretched as she places my child into my arms.
Vladimir shoves his phone into his pocket and rushes towards my baby and me; he peels the towel from its little body and opens its legs. “No!” he bellows, flicking the sheet back, his booming voice makes my daughter, our daughter, cry harder. “Fuck!”
“Ella, I need you to lie back, sweetie, someone is on their way to help. You need a blood transfusion,” Edith breaks the news, and yet I can make out what she’s saying. I’m yanking down my top, noticing how my sweet, red-haired baby girl is puckering her lips through each sob. I don’t know what to do, other than to try and nurse her. Lying back, we get into a position that’s as comfortable as one can be in this situation, and I do my best to get baby girl to latch. It takes a few attempts as my shaking hands wobble her, her tiny lips slipping from my nipple. The world around us fizzes and hisses, and my eyes grow heavy. Stay awake, Ella, I urge myself.
“Vladimir, how long is Jozef going to be?”
“Three minutes,” he growls, and then he’s leaving the room, unable to comprehend that we have a daughter. I don’t care. The unseen bundle of hope I’d spent countless hours talking to though the lining of my stomach is here, and she is perfect.
I continue to fight the urge for sleep to overwhelm me and lock each perfect crease of her skin, each wrinkle of her forehead, each noise she makes as she latches on, each wispy strand of downy, red hair to memory. She is perfect. Her eyes are closed, so I do not know whose she has inherited, but the hair, oh, that’s all me. Her skin is so pale, not sickly, just like mine when I haven’t seen the sun in a little while.
She’s content now, her chest moving up and down as she feeds. Tears burn the backs of my eyes, spilling down my cheeks and splashing on to her face, and I wipe them with my fingers and rub my thumb back and forth over her soft, perfect skin. She’s so tiny. I can’t imagine how much she weighs.
Love, a feeling that I haven’t felt for anything for a long time, bubble
s inside of me, wraps around each organ, and I realize that its this baby, this amazing child that’s causing it. It’s consuming, overwhelming, and I know I’ll never love another human being like it. How did I create something so perfect in amongst the horror that is my life? How has my husband, a man who lives and breathes evilness, given me such a precious gift? Where is he? Will he ever love her the way a father should? It didn’t bear thinking about how a parent could dismiss their newborn as he has done. I shudder, remembering the look on his face when he saw what was between my sweet girls’ legs. Vladimir had wanted a son. An heir to raise and groom to be just like him, take over the business when he died, and he’s ended up with a daughter. I don’t want to think about what this may mean for us. Surely he won’t kill us.
The world is beautiful with my baby girl in my arms. She’s sleeping now, a full belly from nursing, and I stroke her hair, gazing at her soft features while trying to think of a name for her. We hadn’t spoken of names, although I do know that Vladimir wouldn’t want anything American, much preferring to look into his Slovak roots, and that was fine with me.
I watch, mesmerized, as my fingers brush through the tiny smattering of hair around the crown of her head. Long, thick eyelashes twitch as she dreams. Of what, I don’t know. Her little finger holds mine, and my heart has never felt so full before. Things will be different now. Vlad and his cruel ways will be a thing of the past, and I know that this child will bring us together for the better. With this child we made, we can change the hatred between us, the violence that binds us, and fix all the mistakes we have made. To her, this precious blessing, we owe it.
My arm sticks out at an awkward angle as blood is being moved from an IV, replacing all that I’ve lost, I can barely feel it. Too wrapped up in my baby. Jozef’s eyes had welled up when he peeked inside the soft towel, a man colder than ice showing a smidgen of emotion had taken me very much by surprise, and my husband is still nowhere to be found.
Edith has remained at the foot of the mattress, a wet cloth prodding and pressing on my legs, my thighs, scrubbing the blood from my flesh. The room is quiet.
The storm is building.
Baby girl grizzles a little, her head shifting from side to side, and I wait to see what she does next. I want to see her eyes, want to know if they’re bright blue, dark blue, or if she’s inherited the dark brown of her father’s. She whines a little, and then stills once more, her small fist finds her mouth, and she sucks until she’s asleep again.
“She’s beautiful, Mrs. Chrobak, a real treasure,” Edith gushes, dumping a wet cloth into a bucket of water beside her. I’m still so dizzy, nauseous, and every muscle is screaming, but I give her a small smile, her words rattling against my fit-to-burst heart.
“Thank you,” I reply.
“Have you chosen a name yet?” she asks, drying her hands on her apron.
I shake my head, and my brain bangs against my skull, making me wince, “No, I think Vladimir would like to choose.”
A small, strange emotion flickers across her face as she looks towards Jozef, who is now changing the empty IV bag. Looking down at the crook of my arm, I wonder, briefly, how the heck he knows what he’s doing, but the loss of fresh blood pumping through my veins has me weakening once more.
My arms feel far too heavy for me to control; my head falls forwards as a gush of warmth flows from me once more. “Edith?” I groan, holding my baby outwards. My eyes close, and the warm body of my baby girl leaving my arms has me bereft and cold before my eyes shut, my body has finally given in to the last nineteen hours, and all it had in store for me.
I’m aware of the door bursting open, but I cannot move.
I’m aware of angry voices, loud and booming, but I cannot ask what’s wrong.
And then I’m wholly aware of Edith begging Vladimir, but I cannot open my eyes to see what’s happening. Baby girl screams.
The door shuts.
And then the world is black and silent.
Chapter One
Jax.
Skinny arms wrapped around my waist from behind, her chest pushing into my bare back as I stood in front of the mirror to get ready, my hands fumbled with my belt buckle. I was to meet Carter in less than an hour, and I just wanted this bitch to leave. I shrugged the naked blonde away, whose name eluded me, and ignored the pout on her face before grabbing my white shirt from the back of the chair.
Dressing quickly, I shoved my hands through my hair and looked into the mirror. As I did up the buttons of my shirt, I saw the blonde in the reflection swipe the small, clear plastic bag of white powder from the dressing table. Turning on my heels to face her, I raised an accusing eyebrow.
“The fuck you think you’re doing?” I asked, enjoying the panic seep over her face.
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, Jax. Like you’re short on the stuff.” She bent down to collect her underwear, wobbling as she hooked her panties over her feet.
I stalked towards her, cracking my neck from side to side. “That’s beside the point. I know you don’t have the cash to pay for that, and you sure as god-damned hell do not steal from the Murdoch’s.” I held out my hand, and she thought better of crossing me, placing the bag into my palm. I grinned, tucking it into my sock. “Good girl.”
“You’re an asshole; you know that?” Taking her dress from the edge of the bed, flinging it over her head, she glared at me. Jesus, would she ever fucking leave?
My cell rang, and my chest puffed out in relief, thankful for the respite from this utter wench.
Seeing Carter’s name, I swiped the screen to answer the call.
“Hey, buddy. Are you ready to go? Amy is here, and we er...” he stammered, and I imagined him scratching his head, “have some news for you!” I walked over to the window and looked down upon Santa Fe. It sure looked pretty tonight.
“Oh shit, you’re not finally making an honest woman of her, are you?” I asked, chuckling.
“Well, if I was you’ve just fucked the surprise, haven’t you?” he laughed back, women’s laughter filtered down the cell, and I smiled. My father was giving us the night off after a shitty week, and it was a welcomed night indeed.
“Nah, hurry up and send whoever you’re with, home, and get your ass here, man.”
“Alright, bud, see you soon.” We hung up the phone, and I slumped on the chair by the window, crouching down to tie my shoes.
The navy suit us Murdoch’s wore fitted me like a god-damned glove, and as soon as I stepped into it, I felt the power of our name smother me like oil.
The Murdoch’s worked for Vladimir Chrobak. We oversaw the delivery of cocaine, weapons and the like, in exchange for a pretty penny and the protection of the Slovaks who ran the underworld of New Mexico. It wasn’t the life I’d imagined to live as a child, and while some days shit got to me, we had it pretty fucking good. We rubbed shoulders we the best of them, spending our nights creating more opportunities to spread Vlad’s top dollar coke across the city. When we weren’t hard at work, we were either partying and fucking at Vixen’s, my buddy Luca’s club, or chilling in a home that would make the least materialistic person jealous.
Life was right at the moment. No, it was fucking great.
Blondie finished gathering her things and stormed towards me, throwing her hands to her hips. “I don’t want to beg, Jax, but can I please just have a line or two to see me on my way? I promise you won’t hear from me again.”
Leaning back on my chair, I drummed my fingers against my chin, “My, how could I resist that offer?” I replied, deadpan, before pulling the bag from my sock and chucking it at her.
The white powder dropped to the floor, and she scrambled to pick it up. She straightened her back and smoothed down her dress, muttering obscenities under her breath as she exited my hotel room.
Once I’d got all my shit from the room, I headed out on to the streets of downtown Santa Fe in search of my truck.
It was Saturday night, and the sidewalks were beginning to bustle
with people looking for a place to drink, their voices growing louder with relief at it being the weekend. I smiled, listening to snippets of their conversations. They were so unaware of the dark world that lurked just below their feet, where only the chosen had the pleasure to do business with the Chrobak’s and Murdoch’s. Vlad didn’t just deal with drugs and guns. No.
At his home on the outskirts, a dominating landscape, a house of horrors, was where he ran the other half of his business, the side my father had never wanted to get involved with, which is how he ended up being Chrobak’s number one drug run employee.
He sold girls, too. Some were smuggled from countries all over the planet, and a few others plucked right here off the streets I walked tonight. We didn’t know the ins and outs, but I had always vowed that no matter what, that’s not something I wanted to do with my life. What a stand-up guy I was, huh? I had morals. Even if some of them would be questionable to an outsider, I decided and told myself that the men I supplied drugs to were grown men—more than capable of making decisions for themselves. The girls Vladimir stole, however? It still makes my skin crawl now. The Murdoch’s kept away, kept our noses out, and that worked for us. Vladimir was not a man you’d want to upset. He was this ever dark presence, sneaking around the towns of New Mexico, and he was a guy everyone knew of and had no idea how they did.
My truck was parked just a few streets away, and it hadn’t taken me long to locate it.
I dumped my bags on the passenger seat, hopped in, and started the engine. It roared to life and gave me a warm buzz it usually did, the radio switching on automatically to play heavy guitar music—the thumping bass line added to the vibrations of my Chevy. I fucking loved this truck. I spun the wheels, and the tires screeched along the tarmac, and I headed for Vixen’s. The last week had left me so wound up. I could have kissed my father when he gave us tonight off and spent the last few days at work dreaming of Mindy and her sweet as cotton candy pussy. Yes, I thought to myself, tonight is going to be a good night.