by Callie Rae
“Yes, Mr. Marcus has a . . . a temper,” she says.
I half-chuckle, half-snort as I roll my eyes and respond. “Yes. Yes, he does.”
She stares at me wearily, still holding her supplies. I stare back. Then something in her mind clicks, and she inches one tiny foot towards me. “You’re her, aren’t you?”
“Who?” I ask as I tilt my head.
“Mr. Marcus, is always going on about a girl. It was almost like he was obsessed with her. I always assumed he made her up but, well, here you are. You’re her.” She waves a rag at me to emphasize her point.
I look to her and then to the dingy, curtain-covered window. “Yeah, I’m her.”
I look at her cart and nod towards it, “Do you have anything on that cart that could help me get out of this?” I ask as I hold up the hand cuffed to the bed.
Her eyes widen even larger than they were before, which I didn’t think could be possible. “Oh no, miss. I can’t. He would kill me. Mr. Marcus asks that we not meddle. We are supposed to keep our eyes down and ears closed. I shouldn’t even be talking to you.”
I sigh. I don’t blame her. Marcus is psycho—that much we know.
“Can you tell me your name?” I ask her. It’s clear she’s not going to help me escape, but maybe she can help some other way.
“I’m sorry, miss. I cannot,” she mumbles from the bathroom.
“Well can you tell me anything? Anything at all? Do you have a family?” I ask her. She doesn’t respond right away so I try again. “Look, I’ve been here for I don’t know how many days. The only person I’ve seen is Marcus. He’s not exactly a good conversationalist.”
I hear her chuckle, and it’s actually nice to hear genuine laughter in such a fucked up place. “Can you tell me about your family? It could be a story. It’s just nice to pretend I’m normal, in a normal situation.”
She again is silent, but then she starts talking, “I have two sons. Each one devilish in their own way. Smart, too . . .”
She tells me about her sons and her friends. She tells me about the home she grew up in and inherited from her parents. She tells me about her Hispanic heritage. She continues talking until she finishes cleaning the bathroom and changing the sheets. I just listen the entire time. I pretend I am her, in her shoes. Anywhere but here.
But when she is finally finished and has to leave, she can’t hide the pity in her eyes. She looks back at her cart then to me again. She reaches down into her pocket and walks towards me.
“I don’t know how you ended up here, and I’m sorry I can’t be brave. But maybe this will help you find some peace in all of this,” she says as she places something in my hand. It’s a necklace with a pendant.
“It’s a Saint Jude medal. I don’t know if you pray, but I hope maybe this will help you as it has helped me.” She pats her hand on mine a few times before she goes back to her cart, pushes it out the doorway, and closes the door quietly behind her. Once again, I’m plunged back into a reality that is bleak and dark. But I don’t need a saint to pray to in order to find peace. I just need Jesse.
Cason and Jade haven’t spoken to me since I told them about the deal I made with Satan, A.K.A. my father. They didn’t speak as I passed them on the way out the door to come to this meeting. They were both sitting in the living room looking grim. Cason was openly drinking. That’s how I know things are getting rough for him. Cason loves Mom and generally respects her rules, including the one about no drinking in her house, and he always toes the line when she’s home. I get it—they’re worried. But they don’t understand I’m worried too. Worried about what the world would be like without Fallon in it. That’s not something I can let happen or ever experience again.
My father and I ride in silence as he drives us to the meeting. I have nothing to say; I’m just here to play the game and get my girl back. Well, at least make sure she’s safe. Because I know the fight won’t end when she’s back in my arms; it will only begin. The difference is we’ll be fighting blood, but at least it will be together. I don’t plan on letting her go ever again.
We’re meeting on neutral ground—some fancy restaurant that my dad frequents. We pull into the valet parking, keeping up appearances. Playing the game of who has the most. James is in a suit, and I’ve got a dress shirt and slacks on. I guess I better get used to the feel of these clothes. If this goes as planned, I’ll be spending more time in outfits like this. I pull at the collar of my shirt before going through the doors held open for us. I gladly walk through them because they lead to the one person who can help Fallon.
“Don’t let them see you sweat,” my father mumbles. “Vic can smell weakness from a mile away. It’s his game.”
We enter the restaurant and are greeted by an overly snooty host. His posh attitude makes me cringe. This is not my kind of place.
“Name?” he asks.
“Callaway. Have our guests arrived yet?” My father asks. His haughty tone matches that of the host. I’m sure he thinks it makes him sound important, but I just think it makes him sound like a dick.
The host reviews the clipboard in his hand. “Yes, they arrived a few moments ago. Follow me.”
We follow him across the restaurant, passing all the people paying for an overly expensive meal just for fucking bragging rights. He escorts us to the farthest corner where a small, private dining area is blocked off from any inquisitive eyes in the main dining area. When we enter, Victor and Jax are already sitting at the only table in the room. The table is big enough to fit at least ten people but will only host four today. My father would call it luxury. To me, it’s just excessive.
Jax eyes me warily as we enter the room. He looks awkward in his button-down with his tattoos peeking out through his collar, but it’s no more awkward than I feel. We are both being forced to enter the world our fathers have created, but neither one of us fit. How ironic that the men groomed us to fit, yet we both turned out as far from what they wanted as possible . . . At least Jax’s morals match theirs.
“Victor, Jax, good to see you,” James says with his schmoozing voice well in place. He shakes Victors hand, and I take my place at the table, effectively ignoring Victor when he reaches out to me. I don’t do pleasantries. Something about pretending that I give a shit about these people when my girl’s life is on the line doesn’t sit well with me. I’m doing my best not to pin the man against the wall as it is. He can deal with the rebuff.
I nod at Jax who surprisingly returns it without any malice. He doesn’t want to be here any more than I do—that much is obvious by the annoyed side-eye he gives his father. I’m sure his dad forced him to keep up the happy father and son image even though we all know that Jax and Victor never really see eye to eye. Even when we were friends, Jax hated his father. And his father was always griping about how Jax needed to clean up his act. Funny how a man can judge his son’s character when his own is so fucking shitty.
“Jesse, how is school going? Turning out better than Jax’s school experience, I hope,” Victor says. The rumor is that Jax only graduated because of a hefty donation made to the school to build the new gym. Jax went to public school after being kicked out of Cherry Creek High. I hazard a glace to Jax, who is staring at the wall behind us as his jaw ticks away at the jab his father couldn’t withhold.
“He’s our star player—” James starts boasting as he claps his hand on my shoulder. Like we’re fucking best buddies or some shit.
“I’m sure you don’t really care about my grades or basketball stats and, in all honesty, I don’t really care to tell you. So we can do away with all the fucking pleasantries and talk about the real reason we’re all here pretending we give a shit about each other. You have something of mine. I have something you want. Let’s talk about how we are going to fix this situation.” The anger I’m just barely holding in check is slowly overriding the logic in my brain telling me to play the game for Fallon. This game is a delicate balance, and the person who holds mo
re weight wins.
Victor meets and holds my stare for a few moments. I can see the wheels turning. He’s not a dumb man; he knows what we’re offering. A smirk slowly forms on his face. “I can see what all the fuss is about. You’re a smart kid. Still, I can’t help but wonder why we’re finally all here together over a silly little girl.”
Victor lifts his drink and takes a slow sip of the amber liquid before continuing. “Jax has filled me in on some of the details of the situation. It seems my nephew and this girl have disappeared together.”
“If you mean your psycho nephew kidnapped her and is holding her against her will, then yes, that is exactly why we are here,” I growl. I grip the edge of the table as I lean forward to meet Victor’s eyes.
“Jesse.” James’s warning does nothing to rein in my anger, but I control myself enough to bite my tongue. Satisfied for the moment, he turns back to Victor. “Let’s stick to the facts. They are together under questionable circumstances, and we want her back. You’re capable of making that happen.”
“I might be able to make that happen. For a price, of course,” Victor says. The urge to punch the evil smirk off of his face is strong—so strong, in fact, that the grip I have on the table might just slip. Into his face. Hell, I’d even let Jax get a punch in.
“Of course,” James says as he slides a folder across the table to Victor. Victor opens it up and scans the paper slowly. He already knows the value of our trade. The fact that he is slowly scanning the paper just means he’s trying to maintain some kind of control of the table. It’s a classic power play, but I couldn’t care less about this fucker and his games. I just want my girl.
Jax leans in over his father’s shoulder. He scans the paper and snaps his head up when he reaches the line that gives all rights to the Depot to Victor. “You’re giving up the Depot? For her?”
“Shut up, son,” Victor snaps. He scans the paper for a second longer and looks back to my father. “What makes you think I want your son’s playground? Why would I want a dirt track with adolescents hanging out all over it? It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”
“Cut the crap. We both know what the worth of that property is. The mineral royalties sitting under that dirt alone are worth millions. I also know that business has been . . . slow. This solves almost all of your problems, except for the shady side business your son has been running. You should really keep a tab on that kid of yours,” James says.
“Woah, man. I ain’t none of your business. You got that?” Jax pushes his chair back and stands up. He leans over the table staring down my father.
“Jax, Shut. Up. And sit down.” Victor’s tone is exasperated at best, and I watch as he wrinkles his nose up at Jax in annoyance or disgust—maybe both. It’s not exactly the strong father-son dynamic you would expect to see at a meeting like this.
Victor looks at the paperwork again. His fingers tap on the table as he pretends to mull it over. We all know he’s taking it; he has no choice. Without it, he’ll be bankrupt in six months.
“Even trade? The Depot for the girl?” He looks at me instead of my father.
“The Depot for the girl,” I repeat, holding his gaze. He doesn’t scare me. He’s a slimy piece of shit just like his nephew.
“Okay. We have a deal. Noon tomorrow, at the warehouses. Bring the deed, and I’ll have the girl. I’m sure you remember where to go—you always were a little overly-familiar with the place,” Victor says to my father with slight malice. My mind is preoccupied with getting my girl back, but I file that snide remark away so I can question my father about it later.
“My lawyers are working on the paperwork as we speak,” James says with an answering smirk. He doesn’t take the bait from Victor, which means whatever Vic insinuated wasn’t worth enough for James to bite.
Victor tosses his drink back and swallows the remaining liquid in his glass. “Jax, let’s go find the girl that has just saved the day by opening her legs.”
I hold my breath. Don’t hurt him, Jesse . . . Don’t hurt him. He’s your only hope, the fucker.
Jax rolls his eyes as he stands with his father and mumbles, “Like you don’t already know where they are.”
“Well, good doing business with you. I almost feel guilty—after all, the whore will likely bounce to the next poor soul once she’s done with you.”
He just went too fucking far. I start to push off my chair to charge this fucker when I feel my father’s hand slam me back down in place, his grip steady. I honestly didn’t know he had it in him.
“Don’t,” he growls.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Jax warns just before he turns and follows his father out of the room.
Fuck, I hope so too.
Marcus’s phone hasn’t stopped ringing all day. Whoever keeps calling him has set him on edge. He refuses to answer it, and he’s become even more unstable. I’ve been sitting in the corner for most of the afternoon, fiddling quietly with the cuffs dangling off my wrist and watching him pace. He’s been pulling at his hair and talking to himself. Maybe he’s talking to me, but given how much he’s been rambling I honestly have no idea. I’ve considered trying to calm him down for my own sake because I really need to pee, but I was afraid leaving the room would just set him off. But it’s now urgent enough that I need to do something.
I slowly stand up with my back to the corner. I move carefully, quietly, along the edge of the bed, almost as if I was approaching a wild animal.
“Marcus?” I ask gently. When he doesn’t look up, I ask again a little louder. “Marcus? Is everything okay?”
He continues to pace, so I inch a little closer. “Marcus, whatever it is I’m sure—”
Marcus grabs me by the throat and slams me into the wall. “He wants you. I know it! But he can’t have you. None of them can. You’re mine. Do you hear me? You’ll always be mine!”
“Marcus, I can’t . . . breathe . . .” I hiss out as I bring my hand up to tap on his hand. “Please.”
He looks from my face to my throat and back to my face. When his phone starts ringing again, he releases me with a shove, crosses the room to the table where the phone is sitting and picks it up. He stares at the screen for a moment . . . and then roars his anger as he hurls the phone at the wall. The table goes flying, and I run for the bathroom. I hide between the toilet and the shower as he continues to wreck the room. The sound of things crashing into the walls and floor goes on for a while. Eventually, it stops altogether but I stay next to the toilet. At this point, anything will set him off—and I don’t want it to be me.
Just when I thought Marcus has possibly fallen asleep, I hear banging again. It almost sounds like it’s someone at the door, but I know that’s not possible. No one is going to find us out here. The banging stops for a moment, then starts again. This time I’m certain it’s coming from the door. I hear the shuffling of Marcus’s feet and then the sound of the door banging against the wall so hard it makes the walls rattle. I move quickly to the door and press my ear against it, hoping to hear more of whatever is happening out in the room.
“What?” Marcus yells.
“We need you and the girl to come with us. He wants a meeting,” a gravelly male voice says.
“We aren’t going anywhere with you. Now leave,” Marcus says.
I hear a metallic click, and then a different male voice says, “We’ve been instructed to take you with force if you refuse to go with us.”
“The fuck? Who do you think you work for? Get the fuck out of here,” Marcus growls.
“Can’t do that. Big boss’s orders,” the first voice says.
“Yeah, well, you can tell Vic I said to fuck off. If I wanted to meet with him, I’d have answered when he called the first 30 fucking times,” Marcus says. I hear the door swing shut and then the sounds of Marcus pacing again.
A minute later a huge crash reverberates through the walls. This sounds way too big to be Marcus throwing shit.
“The fuck you thinking?” Marcus yells. “Get your fucking hands off of me, you fucking asshole. I’ll have your asses for this.”
“Where’s the girl?” the second voice asks.
“I ain’t telling you shit fuckface. You’re fucking dead, do you hear me?” Marcus screams.
“Check the bathroom,” the first voice says.
The moment I hear this, I sink back to the floor to try to hide. I know I can’t really conceal myself in this bathroom, but the terrified little girl inside me still needs to try.
And I do. A large man dressed in all black steps into the doorway of the bathroom and doesn’t see me right away. I peek through a small space between the toilet and the cabinet as he walks in further.
“Find her?” the first voice hollers.
The guy in black responds just as loudly. “Nah, I’m still looking.”
“Hurry up. I won’t be able to hold him like this for long,” the other guy yells back.
“Let me go. She isn’t here. Leave her alone,” Marcus yells.
He leans in and looks under the cabinets. I lift myself up just a little bit more to watch where he’s going. I grab onto the back of the toilet to support myself but my hand slides down the slick porcelain and the lid slams shut.
I throw my arms over my head like it will make me invisible to this guy. I close my eyes and stop breathing. I listen for footsteps, for anything to let me know the man has moved towards me, but I hear nothing.
Suddenly I’m being dragged out from the small space behind the toilet by my feet. As soon as I’m free, I look up at the man and start kicking.
As soon as I can, I scream. It’s one thing to deal with Marcus’s craziness; it’s another to deal with a random stranger with a shiny black Glock in his hand. I don’t know who these men are or where they came from, but I do know I don’t want to be anywhere near them.
“Fuck! Little bitch,” the man sneers when I kick again and nail him in the knee. He drops to one knee just as I jump to my feet. My ankle still isn’t healed but it doesn’t hurt as badly as it did, so I push the man and try to jump past him. His arm snakes around my shoulders just as I land, and he lifts me in the air. I buck and squirm to loosen his grip, but it does no good. He’s far too strong for me to escape.