“I told you to shut up!” Ric screams and I dart my gaze around the room, anywhere but at him. “I’m going to enjoy watching this family suffer. An eye for an eye.” I close my eyes and pray that he doesn’t hurt Seb. If he’s going to hurt anyone it should be me, I’m the one who killed Eddie.
“You want my sister to suffer? You’re sick, just like your father was. You should be the one to suffer for what you have done.” Seb really needs to stop, God, he’s making Ric so angry.
“Enough, my father was a good man, yes he made a mistake but he shouldn’t have lost his life for it. You were raped, but you survived. Haven’t we all made mistakes in life? Shouldn’t we be forgiven for them? You’re not the judge, jury, and executioner. You don’t get to take someone’s life and live as though nothing happened.” He starts to twirl the knife in his hand while staring at me.
“I didn’t mean to,” I plead as he takes a step toward me.
“I’m sorry,” Seb says. “We’re all victims in this.” He’s backtracking now; he realizes that he’s made the situation worse.
“Liar, you don’t think I’m a victim, you think I’d rape someone, you said it yourself, I’m exactly like him.” He raises his knife and starts to walk toward me. “You’re nothing but a cock tease, Michelle.”
I jump and let out a scream as the front door splinters.
“Stop pacing,” Mrs. Ethington tells me. “You’re making me anxious, well more anxious than I am already.” Ethel, Agnes, Maggie, Bryson, and a few of the other tenants are milling about in the lobby, everyone wondering where Michelle is and if she’s okay.
“Where the hell is Heller?” I bite out. It’s been thirty minutes since I’ve gotten home and that fucker is nowhere to be seen and he’s not answering his damn cell.
“I’m going to try to call him again,” Peter informs me and walks into my apartment, where there’s no one around who can listen in on his conversation, if Heller ever answers.
At a soft, gentle touch on my arm, I turn.
A forlorn Maggie stands there, tears streaming down her face. “Trent, I’m so sorry. I was late. If I hadn’t have been then maybe she’d still be here.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Bryson is your priority, and that means he comes first. He needed to pee, you weren’t even ten minutes late. This isn’t on you,” I tell her honestly; I don’t blame her. She did what she could and as soon as she saw Michelle’s car leaving the parking lot she went straight to the apartment that Peter and his family are staying at and raised the alarm. She went to the right person. As soon as Monica called Peter, he dropped everything and rushed here. Hell, he was here before I was, and I know that he had a meeting over an hour away.
“I still feel responsible.” Her gaze flits around the lobby, where we’ve all gathered. “I’m responsible because I was the reason Ric was evicted.”
“That asshole has always been an asshole. That isn’t on you either. Some people are great liars and can fool the world and not show who they truly are. Ric slipped up and showed who he truly was when he laid his hands on you,” I tell her, my eyes on my apartment door, waiting for Peter to exit, he’s been in there for a while, and that has given me hope that Heller has finally fucking answered his cell.
“You’re a good guy Trent, you were made for Michelle. She loves you. Since you’ve come into her life she’s so much happier, she’s finally not keeping us at arm’s length.” She sounds wistful.
“Thanks, I love her too.” My apartment door opens, and Peter’s eyes find mine. He nods to the main door of the complex; time to go.
“Go…find her and bring her home,” Maggie tells me as she lifts Bryson into her arms.
“Find her, big dude,” Bryson says softly. He’s been crying since I got here, probably aware that Michelle’s missing and everyone is worried about her. I give him a salute, and he smiles.
As I reach the door, I turn and study Mrs. Ethington, Maggie, and Bryson, all staring at Peter and me with so much hope in their eyes. There are a lot of people who love Michelle, a lot of people here who would help her and support her.
“Heller’s tracking her now,” Peter informs me as soon as we step out of the complex.
Good, finally something’s being done. I’m utterly useless; my girl is missing and there’s fucking nothing I can do to find her. I have no idea where to even start. I haven’t felt this fucking helpless since I was awaiting trial.
Peter’s cell rings, and he instantly answers it. “Ethington.” He nods as he listens to whatever the person on the other side is saying. “Right, we’ll start driving and meet you there.” He starts walking toward the car, still on the phone, I’m pissed that he’s not informing me of what’s going on.
He is still on the phone when we get into the car, and my patience is wearing thin. “What’s happening?” I ask as soon as he’s off the damn phone.
“Heller has an address for us, and we’ll be meeting him there. He’s also calling the Bar Harbor Police to help assist us and informing them that hostages are involved,” Peter says, focused on the road, his foot down on the accelerator.
“Hostages?” As in more than one?
“She’s at her family home. We both know that she wouldn’t go there willingly.”
Fuck, what the hell is she doing there? I wish he’d hurry the hell up and get us there. I’m not sure who’ll be more of a threat to her. Ric or her mom, that woman is vicious as hell.
Peter’s cell rings, and he passes it to me, he’s doing over a hundred right now, hoping to make the journey as quickly as possible, yet it feels as though we’re not going fast enough.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Trent, the Bar Harbor police are less than enthusiastic about helping us and will only be sending a few uniformed officers, fuckers are protecting one of their own.” Heller bites out, his eyes wild with anger.
“Fucking assholes.” Peter glances at me, and I answer his unasked question. “Fucking cops aren’t helping, they’re sending a few uniformed officers.”
“Bastards, and no doubt it will be a fucking few too. I knew we should have called for backup from other departments.” Peter sighs as he focuses on driving.
“Also, I’ve been doing a full check on Riccardo Montoya. Exactly how much do you know about him?” That question has me on edge. “How well does Michelle know him?”
“Not much, other than he was forced to switch police departments, hell switch fucking states as he’s an asshole,” I fire back, waiting for whatever the hell it is Heller found out. It’s nothing good that’s for damn sure.
“Trent, Mr. Montoya is the son of Eddie Boyne. I don’t believe in coincidences, and this is too fucking big to be one anyway,” Heller tells me, and then he is yelling to someone in the background.
My heart stops as I realize just what he’s saying. Michelle’s with the son of the man that raped her, the man that she killed. Fuck.
“Drive faster,” I tell Peter, I’m barely holding on right now, I have no idea what the hell is happening to Michelle and now that I’m aware the fucker is the son of a rapist, I’m scared. I’m scared that I could be too late to stop it from happening again.
“I’ll be there in ten, I have my men with me, that fucker will not survive if he tries to put up a fight.” Heller ends the call on that bombshell.
“Heller’s bringing his men,” I inform Peter.
His hands tighten around the steering wheel.
“Riccardo is Eddie’s son.” I don’t need to tell him who Eddie is, with him being around the same age as Dustin.
“Fucking son of a fucking bitch! How the hell did we not know this?”
“I have no idea, when Michelle’s home I’ll be having Heller run a thorough background check on all tenants. Ric getting that close to her is something that should never have happened. I want to make sure there are no other surprises.” I can’t believe that asshole, he knew all along who Michelle was. Fuck, I just hope he never finds out that she killed his father.
“Trent, do you think he knows that it was Michelle that pulled the trigger?” He asks casually, and I am stunned into silence. Peter lets out a chuckle.
“There’s nothing to laugh about,” I snap, God, if Peter knows that Michelle killed Eddie, then odds are so does Ric.
“I’m laughing because you actually think I’m stupid. Trent, when I heard about what had happened, something about it didn’t sit right. Why would a man drunkenly shoot his friend? Then when I went over the crime scene footage, they went through the entire house documenting everything. That’s when I spotted that the drawer in Shelly’s dresser was open, that along with the rumpled sheets. It didn’t take a genius to realize that something happened.” He doesn’t sound as though he’s judging her. He’s a cop, though, and he may charge her for the crime. It’s best not to say anything. I’m not telling him a thing. I won’t be the reason that Michelle gets sent down.
“I’ve known since her dad was sentenced, before that even, and I haven’t said anything, and I won’t say anything. Shelly has been through enough, and going to prison for killing a raping asshole wouldn’t be justice, it would only make that girl worse.” He glances at me, like he’s trying to search for an answer. “Mom told me about the suicide attempts, May thought I could find someone who could help Michelle. No one told me what she had gone through but from the crime scene I could guess.”
“What do you think happened?” I don’t respond to anything he’s said, wanting to assess his take on things.
“I think that Eddie Boyne made Shelly’s life a misery. Mom told me that he had molested her and that fucking thing she has the unfortunate of calling a mother told her to stop lying. Mom was only wanting to help by seeing if there was anything I could do. I was stupid. I should have filed a report. I should have spoken to someone, anyone to get someone to check on her. But I didn’t, and I have to live with the fact that I could have stopped Eddie Boyne.” He’s not said how he became convinced that Michelle was the one to pull the trigger.
“What makes you think that it was Michelle who pulled that trigger?”
He smirks. “You know her father, Trent. How tall is he?”
I frown, wondering where the hell this line of questioning is leading. “Six-four. Dustin’s about the same height as me, give or take an inch.
“Eddie Boyne was five-eleven. Now if Mr. Small had been the one to shoot Eddie, he would have shot a hell of a lot higher than his gut. Whereas Shelly at the age of sixteen was about five-four, five-five the most. She was the perfect height to be the one to shoot him.” He sounds pleased with himself, and even though he says he’s not going to say anything, he’s still a cop and they can’t be fully trusted.
“That’s quite a theory you have there, if that is the case, then it’s a good thing that you weren’t a detective working the case.” I keep my voice neutral, not giving anything away.
“It shows that some cops miss even the most vital pieces of evidence. Some come to a scene and their mind are already made up. A good cop would have investigated that scene and come to the same conclusion I did. Thankfully, back then the Bar Harbor Police Department didn’t have a good cop, otherwise Shelly would be where Mr. Small is.” He smirks, and that smirk shows me that even though he’s a cop, a damned good one at that, he’s a decent guy. We’re never going to be best friends, but I have some respect for the man.
“How much longer?” It seems like we’ve been driving for hours when in fact it’s only been twenty minutes. The farther out of the town of Bar Harbor, the bigger the houses are getting. Dustin did well for himself or should I say May did, seeing as she bought everything for her son and grandkids.
“We’re almost there.” That isn’t a fucking acceptable answer, and he damn well knows it, sighing. “About five minutes, Heller should be there soon.”
Heller better be there when we get there, that man has made us wait long enough to try to find her, he better not keep us waiting when we finally get there otherwise I’ll be going in without him. My legs bounce as we draw closer, that fucking asshole had better not have hurt her, I’ll kill him if he has.
Peter drives up to a fancy ass house, I instantly see Michelle’s BMW parked outside. At least we’re at the right place, there’s just one thing wrong. “Where the fuck is Heller?” I ask getting fucking pissed that the man isn’t here yet.
“Trent, you need to calm down and get your head in the game. Any wrong move could result in Michelle getting hurt, we need you to remain calm. Don’t lose your head at whatever you see inside,” Peter says as Heller’s Rolls pulls up outside, followed by four blacked out Escalades.
Damn, when he said he brought his boys he wasn’t lying. At least twenty men jump out of the Escalades, wearing full tactical gear and huge guns in their hands. They mean business. Heller sure associates with some diverse people, and he fits in well with each group. Right now, he looks as though he was born a fucking marine, whereas last week he fitted the image of an underboss for the mob. He’s a fucking chameleon.
Jumping out of the car, I’m agitated. I have no idea what state Michelle is in, and I need to make sure that she’s okay.
“Okay, we’re storming the house. We think it’ll be the safest option,” one of the men Heller brought with him says. He seems to be in charge of the other men as they all stand quiet watching him.
“That’s fine by me, as I’m apparently the only police presence here, I’ll be leading,” Peter commands, and each man stands a little taller, instantly giving him respect. I’m not in the slightest bit surprised that Bar Harbor Police aren’t here.
“Everyone gear up,” the man in charge says, and the guys stand in line checking their weapons as Peter goes to the trunk of the car and pulls out two bullet-proof vests then hands me one before he puts his on. I quickly put it on as the guys make their way around the house, surrounding it as they do.
“You’re at the back,” Peter tells me, and just as I’m about to protest he keeps talking. “Look around you Trent. We’re walking into an unknown situation, one that could be hostile. You have no training and no weapon. You stay at the back while we’re securing the house, and then you’ll go to Shelly. She’ll need you.”
“Fine, can we get this show on the road?” I ask, resigned to the fact that even in this situation I’m fucking useless.
“Yep, let’s go get Shelly.” He walks over to the front door, and motions for the guys with a flick of his finger. Two guys come up to the front door with a battering ram. It feels like we’ve been here too long already and we’ve not even gained entry into the house. After five goes at trying to bring that door down, they manage to do it. Fucking finally.
Peter yells at Ric to put his weapon down.
Of course the fucker has a weapon; he couldn’t make this easy and come with his hands up?
I swallow hard at the thought of Michelle being hurt. There’s yelling again instantly followed by a hail of gunfire. Fuck. Entering the house, my heart drops when frightened, tortured screams fill the air—they’re coming from Michelle. I rush into the sitting room and almost stumble over Ric, who’s lying on the floor, blood seeping out of his chest, his eyes wide. He’s dead, his body riddled with bullet holes; he was never making it out of here alive. Couldn’t have happened to a more deserving person.
My eyes instantly find Michelle. She’s sobbing but the cries are muffled and her face is scrunched as though she is in pain. Her whole body is tense. When I walk over to her and put my hand on her shoulder, she flinches.
“Baby,” I say softly, but she recoils away as though I’ve burned her. “Baby, it’s me,” I whisper into her ear.
Slowly she calms down, but I don’t touch her. She’s frightened right now, and touching her could send her spiraling.
“Baby, you’re okay, he’s gone. You’re safe.”
“Someone call an ambulance,” Peter yells, and I turn to my right to see him standing over a woman, she doesn’t look good. She’s sweating like crazy, her face
is a deathly gray color. God, that’s Michelle’s mom.
“Mrs. Small, it’s going to be okay. The ambulance is on route,” Peter tells her, as everyone present gathers around her.
“Baby, talk to me,” I beg Michelle in a hushed tone, I don’t want to spook her any more than she already is, and finally, fucking finally, she tentatively reaches out and touches my hand. “Look at me baby,” I plead, and blind hot rage enters me when she turns and I see her face. The cut just under her eye. “Oh baby, what did he do?” Her hands claw at mine, and I lift her from her seat and into my arms, holding her close.
“I’m okay. Is Seb okay? His face is beaten pretty bad,” she says weakly, and I notice that her breathing is labored.
My hand touches her stomach, and she flinches, this time it’s in pain. “Baby, I need to get you to a hospital.” That fucker, I’m glad he’s dead, if he wasn’t. I’d beat him so bad, that he wouldn’t be recognizable.
“Seb,” she whispers; she’s worried about him.
Sirens wail in the distance and relief hits me, thank fuck. As I lift her a bit higher, she cries out in pain. “Baby, what did he do?”
“He stomped on her,” the disgusted voice tells me, and I glance down at the sofa and see a young boy sitting there. I’m guessing this is Seb; he doesn’t look eighteen. Then again, he’s in pretty bad shape. He too has a cut on the right side of his face, it starts at his eyebrow and goes all the way down to his chin. His is so much worse than Michelle’s. “She’s in pain, a lot of it, but she’s stubborn and won’t let on.” He definitely knows his sister.
“We’re going to get you all to the hospital. You look like you need stitches.” Commotion from behind me tells me that the paramedics are here. God knows what happened here tonight, but whatever it was, it was bad.
Just walking into the sitting room takes it out of me, I need to sit down. I have three cracked ribs along with a bruised kneecap. Ric really did a number on not just me but on all of my family. Seb is acting as though nothing happened, and Mom is still in the hospital. I’ve been home two days, and it’s like it was just yesterday that Ric tried to kill us, but at the same time, it’s as though it happened weeks ago. Especially with the way everyone’s brushing it under the rug and pretending that everything is A-okay when in fact it isn’t.
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