by Hayley Smyth
It left a bitter taste in my mouth - thinking of the Chro's carrying out Amy's post mortem, it should have been us Murdoch's for Christ's sake. They'd never bothered with a stiff of ours before, so why now? Why her? What were they hiding?
That morning, as the sun continued to rise, the morning birds singing, I'd made a vow to myself - to do my job and keep my brains intact, but I was not leaving, or dying, without finding the fucking truth of what happened to her.
Later that day, just before I was due to patrol the grounds, I'd found Vladimir alone in the library, white powder covering the oak table, a half-empty bottle of Scotch. I'd apologized for intruding, but he'd invited me to sit with him a while.
He poured me a drink, a measure much smaller than his, and regarded me for what felt like hours.
Today he wore a pale pink shirt with dark purple flowers, combat shorts, and bare feet. He looked ridiculous, but you could tell he'd once been a good looking sonofabitch. The graying dark hair, deep-set eyes, now the liquor, drugs, and blood he'd spilled were taking their toll on my new boss. He looked washed out. Greasy. Sleazy.
“How are you finding my home so far?” He smiled, showing his crooked teeth and opened his arms wide, proud as fucking punch.
“It's incredible. Big - but incredible.”
“Ah, soon enough, you'll know where everything is. Even my wife sometimes gets confused after all these years.” He sipped his drink.
“And how is she today?”
He stilled for a moment, brow pulling together.
“You mentioned yesterday that she'd been feeling unwell?” I added.
Swallowing down his drink, he nodded. “Ah yes, she's much better, thank you. Nothing a good night's sleep couldn't fix.”
I paused, debating whether to say what was on my mind. I must have paused a bit too long because Vlad asked the question for me.
“You're concerned because you've not seen her today, is that correct?” His slurred speech from the alcohol made his heavy Slovak accent harder to understand. But, cautiously, I nodded.
Vladimir stood, stretched, and then walked towards a bookshelf, from which he pulled a thick photo album of some kind. Its cover was a beautiful red leather, and I frowned. Fair enough, I thought, he's got my attention.
Resuming his seat, he opened the first page, spinning the book to an angle so we both could see the photographs.
The first one was of a young child, red-haired, blue eyed and extremely malnourished. She wore a nightdress which showed the bones of her arms, her collarbones, the joints in her fingers. The room she was in was empty. Cell-like.
“That's my wife.” He declared, poking a chubby finger at the image. “A day after she came into my possession.”
Possession? Fucking animal. She couldn't have been no older than thirteen. It was hard to tell because of how underfed she so obviously had been. “My sweet wife was born into a world she'd not deserved. I saved her. I took her from two people who were more interested in sticking needles in their arms than nurturing their child.”
My stomach churned at his words. He believed each one that came from his perverted mouth, but I knew the truth. She'd been fucking groomed. Snatched. Tossed into a world that had been no less evil.
Vladimir turned the page. In this photo, Ella looked much healthier, although still young, taken in the same spot. Again, she wore a nightdress, but she seemed almost healthy, although her blue eyes screamed unheard and unspoken words.
“This was taken six months after. She'd still scream and fight, beg and plead, but we had to condition her, you see?”
I nodded, but I didn't fucking see, not through the red mist. The way he spoke, it was so detached.
Turning the page a few more times, he landed on a picture of Ella much older, Nineteen, twenty perhaps, and the sight of it made me want just to kill the prick, then and there.
Ella was naked, chained to a bed, her beautiful hair a mess, a needle hanging from the crook of her arms, blood pooled between her legs, and her perfect fucking face was black and blue.
Grinning at me, he prodded the photo and spoke. “And this is what happens when she makes a fool of me, Murdoch. And yesterday, she did just that.” closing the book, he leaned back in his chair and poured another drink for himself. “So, don't you worry about my wife, huh? I hired you to keep me and my home safe. That stupid bitch is none of your concern.”
I had never felt anger like it. It was potent, and I could almost taste the violence of it on my tongue, it was like a thick oil choking my lungs. But I couldn't react. I couldn't let on what I honestly thought, and so, with all the human strength I contained, I changed the subject.
“Sir, if it's okay, while we're alone, I'd like to discuss Amy.”
He bristled, only a minute movement, but I fucking saw it. “Of course, my boy, what do you want to know?”
I ignored the 'my boy' and the reminder it gave me of my father and manned up.
“I'd just like to know if there are any updates? Any idea who was responsible? And, well, if there's a date for the funeral yet.” I downed my drink, needing something to take the edge off.
“We got the post mortem results back this morning, but Jaxon, I'm not sure you want to know the grisly details. As for who done it, your guess is as good as mine. Did she have any enemies?”
I couldn't keep the incredulous look from my face. I felt my lip turn up, my nose scrunch. “With all due respect, sir, she was a twenty-nine-year-old woman with an attitude at times, but that doesn't explain what happened to her. This was personal, sir, someone who knew what they were doing. Her life, much as it could be, was normal, so far away from Purgatory.”
He sighed. “Jaxon, trust me when I say I have my best guys on this. I know you Murdoch's have guys of your own, but we've never had a murder so brutal before, especially to a woman. And despite our families differences, we work as a team now, huh?”
He knew, and I knew that wasn't entirely fucking true. We kept out of each others' business and done our jobs. We'd never attend an auction or socialize with any of the Chro's. His explanation stunk of bullshit to me, and I didn't believe a word he said.
“And the funeral?”
“The plot has been chosen, and you will be all told in good time.” He stood, clapping his fat hands together. “I'm afraid I must ask you to leave now, Jax, I have some other business to attend to.”
I thanked him for the talk and drink and left the library.
I'm not sure whether I was grateful to have exited at that moment or not.
But as I closed the door behind me, Josef emerged from the kitchen carrying Ella.
The state of her had me rushing the skinny prick, grabbing her frail, naked body from his arms, and if looks could kill, Jozef would have been spewing blood from his throat on to the floor.
“What the fuck you doing, Murdoch?” He sneered, Russian accent just as strong as Vlad's Slovak.
I cradled my little bird in my arms, evaluating all the cuts, bruises, burns, and other marks on her beautiful pale skin.
“She fucking nearly died last night,” I growled. “I saved her damn life, and that's what I'm going to do right now.”
Jozef smirked at me, just one corner of his lip moving beneath an enormous mustache. I was expecting a fight, for him to call Vladimir that a Murdoch held his naked wife, but instead, he simply gestured his hand towards the stairs.
“Infirmary is the last door on the left.”
I began to walk, cradling this woman in my arms as he spoke once more. “You're gonna be a dead man very soon, Murdoch, I hope cleaning that bitch up is worth your life.”
Ignoring the bait he dangled, I carried the unconscious Ella up the stairs and into the infirmary.
And for the first time in my life, I didn't care that a woman was naked, all I cared about was fixing her.
I'd spoken to her twice and yet felt fiercely protective of her.
What was happening to me?
Chapter Thirteen
Archibald Murdoch was restless, as was Nancy. He'd never seen his wife so unhinged before. Jaxon leaving for Vladimir's had been the harshest blow of their lives, and they'd been through some trials already.
Archie handed his wife a cup of sweet tea, sitting on the bed beside her. Her normally made-up face now showed signs of the grief she felt. Heavy bags hung under her eyes, her caramel-colored hair was awry, but in his eyes, she still looked beautiful.
“I miss him, so, darling, you must wake me the next time he calls. I need to hear my boy's voice.”
Nancy had been distraught Archie never woke her, but she'd been crying all day, and sleep would do her good, he'd thought.
“How did he sound? Did he say they're treating him well?” She asked, sitting up to sip her tea.
Archie reached his hand forward and brushed her hair from her cheeks, stuck to her flesh by tears, and gave her a reassuring smile.
“He sounded fine, honey, and yes, from what he said, they are.”
Nancy sniffled and hiccuped. “First, Amy, and now Jaxon. That monster is planning something, Arch, I can feel it in my bones.”
Archie grimaced. His wife never usually discussed his boss, despising the man for luring Archie into the underworld all those years ago.
“We'll get justice, and we will get our son back, Nance, I don't know how yet, but I swear it.”
Nancy reached out, her skin warm from the cup, and took hold of his hands. "I love you, Archibald Murdoch."
The two kissed, said their goodbyes, and just as his hand was reaching for the front door, Kendra came running towards him, looking no better than Nancy.
Her gray sweatpants and sweatshirt told him all he needed to know. She, too, was struggling to cope without her older brother.
“Dad, this came for you earlier.” She handed him a thick envelope with his name handwritten on the front, but there was no stamp or address.
He frowned. “Who gave this to you?”
“I'd gone out to take the trash out, and it was just there, perched against the wall.” She shrugged. “Recognize the handwriting?”
Archie shook his head. “No, only Christ knows what could be inside, as if we need any more surprises.” He sighed and leaned forward, placing a tender kiss on his daughter's forehead. “I'll be back around seven, you two look after each other, okay?”
Kendra smiled, eyes red. "Of course, daddy."
Archie didn't want to work, but they had a mortgage to pay, mouths to feed, and while his son was in Vladimir's home, he'd bust his ass twice as much, not wanting to risk anything while he son was not with him.
Reluctantly, he drove to the office, the envelope sitting on the passenger seat, burning a hole in the leather the entire journey.
Chapter Fourteen
Ella
There was a beautiful melody playing. A soft, delicate tune on a guitar that I didn't recognize, it roused me from a deep sleep, and yet my eyes refused to open. I felt exhausted. My body ached. And I was wholly aware of being tucked tightly into a single bed. It was not my bed.
A man's voice began to hum along to the tune, and I wondered if there was a radio playing somewhere.
My mouth was dry, my tongue felt like sandpaper, and I tried to remember what happened, but my brain refused to cooperate; it far too occupied with the perfect noise emitting somewhere from my left.
With all the strength I owned, slowly, my shaking eyelids fluttered open, and I immediately closed them again, the white light of the room far too harsh.
The music stopped. There was a scrap of a chair and a whoosh of air as a body approached me.
“Ella... Ella, are you awake?” The voice said a deep grumble that pierced the fog of my mind.
Nodding was all I could manage.
“Open your eyes, darlin'. I need to make sure you're okay.” The voice said, a desperate plea that worried me. What on earth happened?
Preparing myself for the white light, I opened my eyes and squinted a little. It took a few seconds, but soon enough, the beautiful face of Jax appeared. He took my breath away. Even wearing the black Purgatory uniform, even though he was the enemy, I couldn't deny the effect he had on me. His dark hair was perfectly styled, an even amount of stubble caressed a strong, square jaw, and those eyes. Oh, my. Those eyes.
“Hey,” he grinned. “How are you feeling?”
I shrugged. “What happened? I hurt everywhere.”
Jax's muscular body moved, so he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes never leaving mine. “Marco and your husband happened, Ella.” He said, not hiding the disdain from his tone.
“How long have I been out?” I ask.
He glanced at his watch. “Fourteen hours. I'm no doctor, but I've done what I can.”
I looked down and pulled the covers away from my body. I was naked from the waist up, a pair of unfamiliar gray pants hung around my hips, but it was the bandages and bruises across my torso and chest that had the tears spilling from my eyes. More scars. More proof that this was my reality.
Jax moved, and I followed him with my eyes, he took a glass of water, and a straw and held it for me. “Drink, sweetheart. You need fluids.”
I drunk, desperate to have some moisture back in my body. It's as I wrapped my lips around the straw when the confusion hit. Marco and my husband? I couldn't remember a thing. Whatever happened must have been bad; I'd never lost my memory before.
Oh, god, he'd seen me naked.
“You nearly fucking died, Ella. I fought Jozef to look after you.”
I raised my eyebrows in surprise, finishing the last of my drink.
He laughed almost. “Not physically, but I sure as hell wasn't letting you be taken away by him.”
I leaned back against the bed; my body propped up by pillows and looked away. “Why do you care so much what happens to me, Mr. Murdoch? I am not worth risking your life.”
He placed the glass back on the table and looked at me. “You don't deserve this life, darlin'. You deserve so much more.”
I wiped the tears from my cheeks. “How do you know what I do and don't deserve? You don't know me.”
Jax moved closer, his body leaning close to me and raised a hand. I shut my eyes, unable to bear the feeling he was enticing from me, and that feeling only grew fiercer when his thumb brushed across my bottom lip. When his knuckles brushed and caressed my jaw.
I shuddered from head to toe. This strange feeling spooked me.
“No, you're right, I don't know you, not yet, anyway. I want to change that, Ella. Fuck, if I sure as hell ain't goddamn enchanted by you.”
I gasped at his words, shaking my head. “No, no, he'll kill us both. Just do your job, and maybe, just maybe, you'll get out of this place alive.” I turned to look at him and those beautiful deep brown eyes. "I accepted my fate a long time ago; there is no saving me now, Mr. Murdoch."
His touch left mine so he could run his hands through his hair. He stood and moved around the room, my gaze followed him again, and I spotted the guitar propped against the wall.
The music had been Jax.
“Sing me something,” I said, desperate for that unhappy look on his face to be gone. “You play beautifully.”
He looked uncertain for a moment, looking at me and then the instrument. "Fuck it," he murmured to himself.
I watched, memorized, as he took a seat on a small plastic chair, adjusting the strap around his shoulder and strumming each string one by one. I played a little piano but didn't know much about guitars.
“Whaddya wanna hear, darlin'?” He smiled.
“Anything. Anything at all.” I shrugged, I didn't know many songs, yet I was incapable of keeping the goofy grin from my face. This must have been heaven; perhaps I had died. Things like this and men like him did not happen to me or come into my life.
“Okay, then.” And he began to play. It was magic to my ears and then his mouth parted and he sung along, keeping quiet, I assumed not to disturb anyone, it looked very early outside the window
behind him.
With each note he played, something he'd awoken in me the first time I saw him had started to blossom, it was a strange feeling, so deep inside of me, and I wasn't sure what to make of it. My skin prickled with goosebumps when he hit this one, long, perfectly sustained note and my eyes shut.
I don't know what song he played, but the lyrics were intense. A man loving a woman so profoundly. Being affected by her every touch. Is that what love was? I'd never known it, of course, I'd read about it, too, and it saddened me that I'd never feel those things.
I don't know how long he played for, I grew sleepy again, and before I knew it, slumber had pulled me into her embrace once more.
Jax.
After leaving Ella to sleep, I wandered The Mansion some. It was a little after five a.m, and soon enough, the place would be alive and bustling with bodies. I'd not left her side, and the walking was doing my legs some good, my stomach growled, but I ignored it, needing a hit of nicotine instead.
Walking on to the patio, I took out and cigarette, sparked up, and looked at the horizon before me. The place was impenetrable, high walls surrounded the entire property, razor wire wrapped around the tops, but man, you couldn't deny the view. Surrounded by hundreds of acres of forest, I wondered who the fuck would be stupid enough even to try, but it had happened. Once, twelve years or so back, a rival network was pissed Vlad's coke was selling better. They'd tried to overtake his turf, in which he responded by killing several of their men, only for them to retaliate once more by storming the fortress.
They didn't succeed, of course, hell, I wished they had.
Blowing smoke into the crisp morning air, I paced back and forth, my brain confused, and my heart was aching. The wounds I'd seen on Ella, fuck, I'd never forget them. The marks, I couldn't even tell what had been against her soft flesh. Burns from cigarettes dotted her arms and legs, her fingernails were all different lengths, broken and dirty.
Fury like no other captured me, and despite her protests earlier, there was no fucking way I was leaving here without her. And if I were here for life, then I'd make damn sure she'd never be hurt like that again.