by Hayley Smyth
Jax.
Three days passed since Carter had found Amy and since our lives had been snatched from under us.
I had watched him cry, sleep, drink and trash my apartment, in no particular order, and it was on the fourth day when my father rang me to let me know when the meeting was happening. The last thing I wanted was to leave Carter; there was no way of telling what he would do without me watching his every move.
Amy's body had been moved to Purgatory's morgue, leaving us Murdoch's unable to carry out any further investigations. A Chrobak would oversee the post mortem, meaning all we had to go on, to find out who the fuck did this, was all the guys had collected at the scene. So far, it was proving fruitless.
Amy's parents were informed. Jozef had paid them a little visit and warned them to stay away. He told them he'd send details of her plot when she was buried. It was all so fucking cold and callous. None of it sat right with me.
Tonight, after spending an hour comforting Carter, I was sitting, sipping my whiskey when my cell rang. "Jax, how is he doing?" My father asked. I placed my glass on the table beside my chair, and I got to my feet, pacing my open plan kitchen. "The same."
My father sighed, "Well, I hate to drag you away from him, son, but we need you at the meeting tomorrow. It's that time of the year again." He didn't need to remind me. Soon, another Murdoch would be leaving his world behind to join Vladimir's.
"Any ideas who he'll choose?"
"I couldn't tell you, son. Vladimir is calling at three tomorrow, so meeting starts at two, okay?"
My father and I said our goodbyes, and the last few days crept up on me, twisting my muscles and cracking my bones. I needed a shower, more drink, and a fuck. Anything to release the tension of tomorrow hanging over us. None of us wanted to leave; once you were in Vlad's crutches, in his home, there was no leaving unless you died or he killed you. It was a life sentence. Heading for the bathroom, I stopped in my tracks upon hearing carter's despairing wails. I cracked my neck, expelling the stress, and moved across the landing for the spare room. Knocking on the door, purely to let him now I was entering, I pushed it open and stood there. Carter was half-naked and staring out the window, his shoulders shaking with each sob. His blond hair was a ratted mess; bruises covered his back; I had no idea when or how they'd appeared.
My bare feet padded into the room, and I took a seat at the little desk on the right-hand side, resting my forearms on my knees.
"My dad always said I didn't deserve her," Carter's voice filled the air between us.
"Your dad was an asshat. He never saw you guys together, now's not the time to torture yourself with the ramblings of a madman, Cart."
An empty bottle of scotch sat on the desk, and it wasn't lost on me that just a few hours ago, it had been full.
"Madman or not, maybe he was right. It's my fucking fault she's dead, so-" Carter looked up, craning his neck, "Well done, dad, you proved me wrong, again!" His voice oozed bitterness, and he turned around eyeing me and then the bottle next to me. His face contorted with the war coursing through him, I had given both my nuts to take his pain away.
Pissed that my friend still fought the demon he once called dad, I got up and crossed the room, taking his sweat-soaked face in both my hands. "It's not your damn fault, and I don't wanna hear that shit from you. I'm so, so fucking sorry this has happened to you, but it's not. Your. Damn. Fault."
Carter pulled away from me and sat on the bed, wrapping himself up in the dark blue sheets, pulling his knees to his chest. I returned to the desk chair, my eyes never leaving him, and I waited. I waited for him to talk, to cry, or to get angry; instead, he closed his eyes and fell asleep. For a moment, he looked peaceful, and for that, I was grateful.
In all the commotion, I'd forgotten that my truck was still at Vixen's. Graham, a sullen man, and my father's best friend, had dropped it off at my condo the next afternoon, and, together, we traveled the hour out of town to The Warehouse. The meeting was looming, and a tense atmosphere filled the car as I navigated the busy roads of Santa Fe.
Switching the radio on for my some respite, I'd hoped it would bring us a moment to think of something other than Amy, Carter, and the impending auction, but Graham had other ideas. Using a small cloth, he sat in the passenger seat and wiped his gun over, scrubbing the grip until it glistened. "How is Carter doing?"
I cracked my neck from side to side as I slowed down for a red light. "Not good; not ready to be left alone, that's for damn sure," I replied, thinking back to this morning and how much of a mess he had been.
Graham gave me a sideways glance, "It's bad timing, son, but your father needs you by his side today." I nodded and put my foot to the floor as the light turned green.
"I know, it's just all so fucked."
Graham was quiet for a moment. The road opened up before us, and the hairs stood up on the back of my neck, nothing like the open road and the sound of my trucks' engine to soothe me.
"We'll find who's responsible, Jax. We may not all have the Murdoch name, but we're a family. Amy was family."
Having had to look after Carter, thinking about how to help him, holding him after another nightmare, and helping him to the bathroom so he could throw up, I hadn't given myself the chance to mourn the loss of a friend I'd had for years. It was Graham's words, "We're family," that caused the sadness to wash over me, the grief to smack into me, leaving me ice cold and with a lump the size of a fucking golf ball wedged in my throat. Graham interrupted my thoughts, "Something big is brewing, Jax. Something none of us will see coming, and we need to prepare for any eventuality." His words hung around us as The Warehouse came into view. It was an enormous piece of architecture. It had cost my father millions to have built, the security alone must have taken up have the budget.
Graham and I looked towards the imposing, metal building, and we watched the men patrolling the grounds outside, the business continuing as per, and it felt weird. Knowing that life carried on when some of us are dealing with the unimaginable. However, there was no point speculating what may or may not happen, all we could do as we drove along the winding trail of The Warehouse, was hope the meeting brought things to light, and not leave us shrouded in a darkened eternity.
Twelve men, three including myself, my father, and Graham sat around a large table, steaming, untouched coffees in front of us. Father sat at the head of the table, with glorious views of the desert behind him, he clasped his hands together, his eyes glued to the cell resting on the table.
No-one had a clue where to start and, so we waited for my father to break the silence.
The Warehouse was stifling today. I'd unbuttoned my shirt, and I still felt far too hot. Graham mopped his brow with a handkerchief and gave me a small smile, letting me know he, too, was suffering.
Growing up in the heat, most folks think you get used to it, and for the most part, I had. The mixture today, of Santa Fe's summer sun and the uncertainness as far as family went, left me feeling uncomfortable and fidgety.
Mike and Olly, brothers from Arizona, sat opposite me, they twiddled their thumbs, and their grave expressions reflected how the rest of us felt. Occupying the other seats were cousins, uncles, and family friends who had given their life for my father and his business. Archibald Murdoch was one son out of eight, most of whom had long since turned their backs on him, preferring the safety of accounting, a house in the 'burbs, and the law on their side. But two sat here today, and I gave them both a nod, thankful to have them here.
Clearing his throat, all eyes focused on dad. He straightened the navy tie at his throat before speaking.
"Fellas, thank you for coming today. I hope it's safe to say I don't need to explain the reason for being here." His Murdoch eyes flitted between each man, and we all murmured something along the lines of, "No, sir."
Getting to his feet, he sighed heavily, the sigh of a man with a thousand and one problems on his mind. "On Friday evening, Amy Blackburn was found dead at her home, which she shared with
a man, a man we all know and love, Carter Paulson.
The circumstances surrounding her death are still being determined, and please know that I have only the best working on it. A Murdoch, whether by blood or not, who is murdered, does not slip by me. I give you all my solemn vow that we will find who done, and they will pay." Father turned his attention to me. "Jax, how is Carter? Has he said anything, anything at all which may help us in the investigation?"
We've lost people before. Men. Good men, and usually, my father would visit the spouse, family, whoever, and speak to them himself. When the family were feeling up to it, he'd ask questions, gently poke for information that may help. You'd be surprised how one man's random trip to the gas station could make a world of difference in a murder investigation. But, Carter wasn't just anybody, he was sensitive, fragile, and my father had left me to try and get him to think back, remember anything Amy may have said that was out of the ordinary.
I sat forward, resting my arms on my knees and shook my head, replaying each conversation Carter and I had since Friday. "Not a dicky bird, pops. He said this morning that the only reason he left me at the club was because he couldn't bear to be away from her any longer. What with the pregnancy and all." The mention of the baby had my voice cracking, and I cleared my throat, looking into my damn lap.
Father's eyes closed, his lips pulled into a thin line, and when he opened them again, we could all see the tears. "Okay. And does anyone else have any information? Doesn't matter how small or non-relative you think it is. Let me be the judge of that." He looks from face to face, but they all shook their hands. "Shit, okay. Well, I want eyes and ears everywhere. Find out who she spoke to outside us, we have her cell, Olly managed to swipe it before Vlad got hold of it. Hopefully, that will give us some clues. Until then, though, bear in mind that we have enemies, and Carter certainly does, one of the people involved be someone we know, or know of, no way in hell was this a random kill. It was too personal."
As my father paced the room, walking behind each man, wringing his hands, I took this momentary silence to down my coffee. Fuck, I needed something stronger.
"That leaves us with the hiring."
"Is it true he wants two this year, Archie?" My uncle, Nate, asked. We all raised our eyebrows at his question. "Not a chance, brother. Vladimir and I came to this agreement many years ago, and it is non-negotiable, I'm afraid."
No-one wanted to go to Vlad's alone; having a brother in arms would have made it a little easier, but Vlad didn't want too many Murdoch's running amok. We worked for him, yes, kept our heads down and worked fucking hard, yes, and yet the bad blood between the two families was still as present as it ever had been.
No. One Murdoch would suffice, two would have been far too tricky for Vlad to control and keep an eye on.
The cell rang, the vibration causing the room to silence and it to dance across the wood. All the goddamn air evaporated from the room.
My father's long legs carried him back to the head of the table, and he picked up the phone, showing us the screen and Vlad's name written across it. With a swipe of his finger, he answered the call and held it to his ear. We all waited and listened with our breaths held.
"Sir?" My dad's voice was cool, calm, and we could never show the Chrobak's that, sometimes, even our nerves of steel could wobble. "Thank you for the kind words...not doing too great, no...okay sir, I appreciate that..." We listened to half the conversation, a conversation that seemed to be taking ages.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Graham becoming more and more agitated, his leg bouncing in time with mine. "She was... no, sir..... yes?...." My father's mouth hung open for a split second, his fingers flying to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose.
"What?" I mouthed, catching his eye. Turning his back on us, he walked towards the floor to ceiling window.
"Sir?"
I didn't like this one bit, and I shared as much with worried looks towards the men.
"Vladimir, you gave me your fucking word." My father said; I didn't need to see his face to hear his teeth clenched. "Forgive me, but you can imagine this has come as a bit of a shock. Why now?" He implored.
Shoving my chair back, I stormed towards my father and grabbed his shoulder.
His eyes looked at me, and I mouthed again, "What?"
He shrugged me off. "I understand..... yes, sir." And then the call had finished.
The room was too fucking quiet, and my mouth was agape as I watched my dad take his seat once more. Following suit, I sunk into the chair just as Graham got to his feet, reaching over to place an arm on his best friend. “Arch, what is it? Who do they want?”
My dad's knuckles were white, squeezing the cell in his firm grip. "Jaxon," he whispered. "He wants Jaxon."
All the air was sucked into a swirling vortex where black holes fought to the death to snatch it away from us. From me. Eyes bored into me, as hushed, panicked whispers erupted around the table. I yanked at the buttons of my shirt, needing more than ever to be free from it. Sweat trickled down my forehead as I tried to understand Vlad's fucking logic.
What. The. Fuck?
"Well, he can't fucking have Jax!" Graham bellowed, throwing his hands into the air. "This was part of your agreement, was it not? That he could never take your flesh and blood."
My father slumped forward, resting his head in his hands. "He can have Jax, and he will. There's no getting out of this, Graham."
Graham screwed his face up, creating more wrinkles on his brow. "What in fuck's name does that mean, Arch? Why the fuck not?"
Looking at me, my father sighed. "Because he will refuse to give us Amy's body for a funeral if we do not comply."
I sucked in a breath of air, my voice still fucking lost.
"Bullshit! We'll fucking go in there and take her ourselves, Arch."
"You know we can't do that. We don't have the manpower or guns to start a goddamn war with the Chrobak's." Father cast another look at me, placing his hand on mine. "And if I know my son, I know he's already got one foot out the door if it means giving his best friend some peace."
My father was fucking right. Graham looked between the pair of us, throwing his hands in the air, opening and closing his mouth in complete disbelief.
I could have sat there, tried to argue to the case, beg him to let me stay, and I'd deal with Carter. But how the fuck could I look the man in the eye, knowing I was the reason he didn't get to say goodbye? Jesus.
"I guess I'd better pack my bags then," I said, and the whole table exploded into shouts of counter-arguments, plans to steal Amy's body, scribbling down names of other guys in the business around this state and that state. But I'd tuned out, imagining what the fuck would await me at Vladimir's.
I'd never be allowed home again. Fuck.
Chapter Six
Ella - Captive.
I wake with a start, cold, stiff, and groggy. My tongue feels rough, my hips hurt, and I think my eyes are still not working correctly because the room is pitch black.
The floor is cold and hard, and, with careful, tiny movements, I push up from the concrete and rub my eyes. There’s a rasp in my chest which scares me, I sound like a monster. Where am I?
Broken memories of a man carrying me away come back to me, stuttering and starting like a broken engine, preventing me from putting the pieces together.
“M-mama?” I call out through a croak. Speaking hurts, and the pain in my chest makes me cough. My lungs heave, and I splutter, each burst makes the pain in my body burn like something I’ve never felt before.
Tears stream down my face, drenching my cheeks, and when I wrap my arms around my body, I notice I am naked.
Crying, I crawl around the floor, my hands searching for something to cover myself with. But there’s nothing. It’s an empty room.
My hands find something metal, and scurrying on to shaking feet, I feel a lock. It’s a door! I bang and scratch at it, seeking for a lock, or something to see outside. There’s nothing.
�
��Help me! Please! P-please!” I scream, the world around me rocking as though I am a boat on choppy waters. No-one answers.
“Hello?” I cry. “Please, is anyone there? Help me!”
I collapse on to the floor, my nails dragging down the metal. There’s a loud bang coming from above me, silencing my cries.
I look up. “H-hello?”
From the darkness, a man’s voice booms. “Hello, sweet Ella.” Sweet Ella? What happened to me?
“Please mister, please l-let me out.” I cry from below the hole in the door.
He laughs. “All in good time, Ella.”
A sob tears through me again. “Please, where am I? Who are you?”
Something cold splashes on to my head, making me flinch. “Here, drink this.”
Without asking what it is, desperate to ease the dryness in my mouth and on my tongue, I get to my knees and open my mouth. The water is lukewarm and tastes like metal, but I don’t care. I gulp it down.
“You’re in Purgatory, Ella. Do you know what that is?” He asks, ceasing the drink.
Purgatory? I’ve heard of it. I don’t know. My brain is jumbled.
“Purgatory is my home, sweet girl, and now it is yours, also.” I can hear the smile and something about the way he speaks jolts another memory into my minds’ eye. It’s clearer now, and I can see Mama and Daddy on the couch, taking their medicine and Vladimir! That’s his name. Oh, my gosh. It’s real.
“I don’t understand,” I say.
“Oh, you will.” And with that, there’s another loud, ear-piercing shriek, and the door begins to open. I shuffle backward on my knees, too scared to know what’s out there, a man, a familiar-looking man, stalks into the room.
He’s so skinny, is my first thought. And the bushy strip of hair across his lip unsettles me for reasons I don’t know. He’s dressed in a black top with a big red P on the left side of his chest, and black combats. Heavy, scary-looking boots adorn his feet, and he stalks towards me, slapping a belt in his open palm.
Vladimir stands behind him, resting against the door frame, and my eyes dart between them. “What's happening? Please, please, don’t hurt me.” I beg, and then it happens. The first blow of many. The skinny man raises his arm and brings the belt down across my chest, and I scream, my tiny body flying to one side, my hands grabbing at the flesh that’s dangling off. Vomit erupts from my mouth and soaks my naked body. He doesn’t stop.