Toxic

by Nicole Blanchard

  “You’re going to want to leave her alone,” Gracin says with forced calm. “Put a hand on her, and I’m gonna have to put my hands on you, only I won’t be as nice. All I wanted was a few answers.”

  “I’ve got one,” Desmond says, “fuck you.”

  Gracin sighs like he’s dealing with a roomful of children instead of a couple of grown men armed with knives. He pulls the gun from its holster and points it at the man on my right, who pales considerably.

  “Step away from her,” he growls.

  “Don’t you fucking dare,” Desmond snarls as he pulls out a phone. “Shoot one of us, but you won’t be able to get us all, and the second you try anything, one of these boys is gonna have a knife to your girl. Don’t fuckin’ push me.”

  “You think so?” Gracin asks, and I shouldn’t be surprised he’s so calm.

  “You’re damn right I do,” Desmond says.

  I pull out the gun Gracin had given me and train it on the man on my right and then the knife I kept in my pocket goes to the throat of the man on my left.

  “You really think so?” I say and smirk.

  While Desmond is staring at me dumbfounded, Gracin lunges with his characteristic feline grace and smashes the gun against Desmond’s head. The two on either side of me are too stunned to move for a second, so Gracin advances on Jasper, this time hitting the man with his fist. Gracin gets the same result, and the man crumples to the floor next to his buddy. The third moves faster than Gracin expects and has me in his arms, his knife slicing right through my shirt and into the meat of my upper arm.

  I cry out, and Gracin shouts, stunning the third guy enough that I can drop to the floor and out of his reach without getting hurt. By the time I scramble away and climb back to my feet, Gracin has him in a chokehold. The man bucks, trying to get free, but it’s almost laughable. A moment later, he joins his friends in la-la land.

  “Fuck,” Gracin says as he takes in the shallow slice in my arm. I start to protest when he takes off his outer shirt to press it against my wound, but I’m cut short. “Fuck, baby, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine. I’m okay.”

  “I shouldn’t have let you come,” he says.

  “Gracin!” I say sharply. When he looks at me, I admonish, “I’m fine. Let’s finish what we came here to do, okay?”

  “Keep pressure on the wound, and I’ll take care of these guys and bring the car around back. Don’t move anywhere.” He turns and takes two steps before thinking better of it and coming back to my side. “I fucking mean it. Don’t move from this spot or I swear to God . . .”

  As soon as he leaves, I slump against the chair behind me, feeling woozy and punch drunk. The men at my feet twitch, but they don’t rouse. I keep the gun in my hand just in case, but no one wakes.

  Gracin comes through the back door and helps me down the short hallway to the exit before tucking me in the front seat of his SUV and disappearing back inside. Yes, I can walk perfectly fine on my own, but again, I keep my mouth shut. I’m not sure what he does with two of the guys, but when he comes back out, he is dragging Desmond behind him.

  Once the Danny look-alike is tied up and tucked into the back of the SUV, Gracin tears out of the parking lot, and I grip the oh shit handle to keep from falling into his lap.

  “We’re fine,” I say. “We got what we wanted.”

  He isn’t listening to me, of course. Instead, he has his cell phone pressed to his ear. “Get Doctor Haversham. I don’t care if he’s on call for the goddamn Pope, I want him at the house in an hour, or he’ll be hearing from me personally.” He slams the phone into the cup holder, and I try to keep from smiling.

  “You realize I’m a nurse,” I say to him. “I can probably take care of this by myself. It’s really not that deep at all. Just a couple stitches.”

  “We’re going to have the doctor look at it, end of discussion,” he says, his tone implacable.

  “Fine, but I want to know whenever you get any information out of frat boy here.” I jerk my finger over my shoulder to Desmond, who’s still out cold.

  Gracin grunts.

  “Seriously, Gracin. I’m fine.”

  “I’ll believe that when Haversham gives you the all-clear.”

  Both of his hands are clutching the steering wheel for dear life, and sympathy cuts through my frustration at his insistence that I see a doctor. I press a hand to his arm like I wanted to do when we were driving earlier.

  “Gracin,” I say tentatively.

  “Don’t . . . just don’t.”

  I sigh and sit back in the seat. It’s going to be a long drive back.

  As soon as we pull into his garage, two men stride to the SUV to deal with Desmond and Gracin hustles me up to my room where Haversham is already waiting.

  “I told him it wasn’t a big deal,” I say to Doctor Haversham.

  The doctor glances from Gracin to me, and I know he won’t be on my side on the matter. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Shouldn’t be more than a few stitches.”

  I shoot Gracin a look that says I told you so, and he scowls.

  The doctor cleans the cut on my bicep, which is only a couple of inches long and not very deep. He numbs it with a local and begins stitching with efficient movements. I ache to ask Gracin what he’s done with Desmond, but I assume what I have to say is better left until the doc is gone.

  Fifteen minutes later, Gracin shakes the doctor’s hand. “Thank you so much for coming at such short notice.”

  Dr. Haversham gives Gracin a small smile. “Anytime, Mr. Kingsley. I hope not to see you for a while, though.” With that, the doctor closes the door behind him, leaving me alone with Gracin.

  “You should get some rest.”

  “Rest?” I’m disappointed that he doesn’t want to stay. “What about Desmond?”

  The soft expression on his face hardens. “I’ll handle him.”

  “And what am I supposed to do now?”

  “Rest,” he repeats and guides me back to the bed. “I’ll come get you if I learn anything from Desmond.”

  I do as he says only because the wound in my arm is throbbing so much it makes it hard to concentrate on anything other than lying still.

  The next morning when I wake, it’s to the sound of Vic’s voice.

  Immediately, I shrink back into the pillows, not realizing where I am or what’s going on. All I know is the man who abused me is near, and I have to do everything I can to get away. I stumble out of bed and fall into a crouch, paying no mind to the pain in my arm. I only have enough focus for the fear coursing through me.

  A cold sweat dots my brow, and it takes agonizing seconds for me to realize Vic isn’t in the room with me. I wipe a hand across my face and strain to hear the sound again.

  The room and hallway beyond the yawning door are dark except for the thinnest glow of light coming from the far end. I listen to the sound again, and my heart stops beating right there in my chest.

  “Mrs. Victor Emerson! How about that, ladies and gentlemen? Isn’t she beautiful? Tell me she isn’t the most beautiful woman in the world. I’m a lucky man, I tell you.” The background is garbled, but I’d recognize the voice anywhere.

  Confused, still thrumming with panic and disoriented from sleep, I stumble into the hallway and follow the sound of my dead husband’s voice. I wonder if maybe I’m having some sort of dream induced by the adrenaline from earlier because I can’t feel a thing, and the world around me wavers.

  The light is coming from under the door across the hall from the monitor room. The door opens easily, revealing a set of stairs that descend to what I can only assume is the basement. I move down them as silent as I can and freeze at the bottom when the voice comes again.

  “Come here, sweetie. Let’s show you off!”

  I’m breathing too fast, and sweat is streaming down my face. Blood drips from the wound on my arm, but I don’t care. I turn the corner and stagger to a stop. The basement is essentially bare save for a small table with a box plac
ed on top. The box whirrs and snaps and then light shoots out and spills onto a figure strapped to a chair. But it isn’t the bound man facing away from the wall who captures my attention. It’s the video splashing across the crisp white drywall behind him.

  Vic, who is dressed in a sleek tuxedo, holds up his hand, and the crowd around him cheers. Dazedly, my eyes travel to the person next to him. Me. This is my and Vic’s wedding video. I can’t tear my eyes away from the replica of his face. As I watch us move into the crowd at the small reception I find myself shaking, my teeth chattering.

  I’d been so different then. You can see it in my carefree smile and my adoring glances at Vic as he parades me around the restaurant. I don’t know how long I watch, entranced and unable to tear myself away. I watch until the video comes to an end and the screen goes black, which shocks me out of my stupor.

  As the projector starts the video over from the beginning, I shake my head to clear it. Vic’s voice fills my ears again, and I try to block it out by focusing on my surroundings. I take a few hesitant steps toward the shadowed figure. He’s strapped to a chair in front of the projector and has a black silk bag fastened over his head. When I’m close enough to reach him, I extend a hand and snag the material with the tips of my fingers, partially fearing I’ll find Vic’s face underneath. I can’t help but feel like this is some sort of fucked-up gift as I pull it off to reveal the man beneath.

  As his face comes into view, the black hood drops to the floor, and I take several rapid steps backward, my mouth gaping open in horror. It’s not Vic underneath, but it is another man who stars in my frequent nightmares. Andrew, Danny’s right-hand man from the warehouse. Only he looks nothing like the man from my memory. If he’d stuck his face in a blender, it would be an improvement. The skin on one-half droops in bloody, matted ribbons and the other half is so swollen his lips have cracked from the strain. If I hadn’t spent the past few weeks replaying what he did to me in the warehouse, I wouldn’t have recognized him.

  I backpedal to get as far away as I can, and I slam into a hard wall behind me. I turn, hands up and ready to defend myself as I dry heave. When I see it’s Gracin behind me and not an actual wall, despite what we’ve been through together, the fear I’ve been suffering through since I woke up to Vic’s voice dissolves, and I relax.

  “What’s going on?” I ask him, but he doesn’t answer. He just raises the tumbler of scotch he’s holding and takes a sip. “How did he get here?”

  “Gracin?” I fight the tremors attempting to consume me. Again, the glass lifts to his lips, but this time, he drains it and then moves to pour himself more. I brush the hair out of my face and try to piece together what’s happening. Apparently, Desmond talked. I don’t want to think about how Gracin got him to spill Andrew’s location, but he must have nabbed Andrew and brought him here while I was sleeping.

  “What the fuck?” Andrew says, and I spin in time to see him open his eyes. He squints against the bright lights, and then his face dawns with clarity. “Fucking shit,” he whispers before struggling against his restraints. His voice is warbled from the severe beating and his swollen lips making it hard for him to speak. “Let me go.”

  I turn, expecting Gracin to answer him, but he merely keeps his eyes on me, takes a long drink from the tumbler of scotch, and shifts just enough to reveal the table next to him. The man in the chair must notice it too because he starts struggling more violently.

  I’m back in the warehouse. My arms burn with phantom pain and vicious needle pricks ignite in my arm. My legs burn, and my stomach cramps.

  There are knives, a torch like the one they used on me, rubber mallets, whips, a baseball bat, and even a gun. It’s all laid out in a neat line, waiting for someone to pick their poison.

  “What is all this?” I ask Gracin, trying to keep my response calm.

  Again, with the silence as he takes a seat in the chair off in the corner of the room. I pick up the knife, intending to cut the guy free if only so he’ll shut the fuck up until I can figure out what the hell Gracin’s game is.

  “Please let me go, please. We never intended to hurt you. We were just supposed to rough you up a little until you talked. Just cut me loose, and I won’t say anything to Sal, I promise. Not a fuckin’ word. Just let me go.”

  I start in Andrew’s direction, and then the wedding video stops and restarts again, and Vic’s face flashes over the wall. I doubt it’s a coincidence that Vic’s image aligns exactly with the man who beat me bloody. The knife falls to the floor, and my body goes cold. Memories from the night they beat me and ghosts from my life with Vic flood my thoughts so violently that I have to squeeze my eyes shut to keep from crying out in shock from the maelstrom of emotions.

  “Shit, lady. Are you fuckin’ crazy? Please just let me loose. Just kick the knife over here before he does something crazy. Please.”

  Over Andrew’s shouts, I hear Vic inside my head.

  “I don’t want you associating with that inmate again, do you hear me? McNair and Summers couldn’t stop smirking at me when they found me. You humiliated me.”

  Tears track down my cheeks, and I clap my hands over my ears for a buffer against the noise, but it doesn’t drown out the whisper of Vic’s voice inside my head. If anything, it makes it loud enough that I want to claw at my ears.

  I give a passing thought to Gracin, but I don’t doubt he did this for a reason, however fucked up that reason may be. I’ve stopped trying to understand him. All I need to do is get the guy on the chair out of here, and then I can leave. Isn’t that what Gracin promised, after all? Once everything is over with I can leave.

  With that in mind, I reach for the knife and straighten, blocking out the sound of Vic from the projector as best I can. A quick look shows Gracin still lounging in his chaise, watching, waiting. What the hell for? I don’t even know, but I ignore him, too. Knife in hand, I cross to the man in the chair and kneel to undo his feet.

  I’m doing fine, I get both feet undone, and then I get a closer look at his face. That’s when everything goes to hell. I freeze right beside him with the knife in my hand. I remember his face staring down at me while he, Danny, and the others brutalized me.

  I must take too long to work through the rush of hate and fury because a second later, he shouts, “Untie me, you fucking slut, or I’m gonna beat you so fucking bloody, I’ll have to wash what’s left down the drain like I did your fucking baby!”

  I lose my fucking mind.

  With an inhuman scream, I shove at the plain wooden chair, and it topples over. The guy emits a horse shout and bucks against the concrete as he tries to right himself before I get to him. I stalk back to the table, setting the knife down on the floor out of Andrew’s reach, and take the baseball bat. He releases a choking noise that cuts off in the middle as I use the bat like a golf club and hit him as hard as I can in the stomach. I crouch down as he wheezes to regain his breath.

  “How do you like that, you fucking slut? Does it feel good? Maybe I should keep you here for a couple of days. Make you piss yourself so you can see what it's like, hmm? Maybe I’ll beat you unconscious and watch what’s left of you go down the drain for a change.”

  Mindless, head full of screams and horror, blood and death, I drop the bat on the floor next to the knife and stand. My eyes fall on the rubber mallet. When I return to the man’s side, I swing my hand back and begin pummeling his upper body, completely unaware of his screams and pleads. I go to the place in my head where they beat me, where those memories have been locked since the day Gracin rescued me. I go to the place where Vic brutalized me repeatedly until I can’t differentiate one from the other.

  “Why did you hurt me like this, Vic?” I scream. “Why did you take our baby away from me?”

  When he’s no longer screaming and I’m out of breath, the mallet falls to the side, and I drop to my knees. I sit there for a few seconds, numb and emotionally wrecked, my head bowed as I try to drag my scattered soul back from the brink. I take a deep b
reath, intending to get to my feet, go to Gracin, and leave the no-name bastard to whatever fate he deserves. The man next to me delivers a swift kick to my side, knocking me over. My head bounces off the concrete floor, and while I’m disoriented, he manages to get the knife and free himself from the remaining restraints.

  I dodge as he swipes it through the air and miss it’s hissing edge by mere centimeters. There’s a swipe of a chair as I hear Gracin get to his feet, but I don’t have time to worry about what he’s doing. My fingers brush against the mallet, and I pick it up, swinging it in front of my face without thought for its destination. It strikes flesh and bone with an echoing crunch, and the man falls to the floor, silent and still and I crumble to the ground in a heap of desolation.

  I want to cry, but my insides are hollow. I want to scream, but I no longer have a voice. I want to rage and rage against the man who orchestrated my demise, but there is no anger on his behalf. There is only a sense of peace. An exorcism of demons. The projector shuts off, leaving me in darkness, and then Gracin’s arms are around me, soft and hard and warm and cold at the same time. Somehow, he is everything I need, even if it’s contradictory.

  “Do you want this?” he asks. When he said he’d handle Desmond, I never thought he meant he’d use him to start tracking down the men who hurt me. At least, not with this in mind.

  A sob bursts from my lips. “What?” Why in God’s name would I want this?

  “Tell me. Do you want this?” He brushes the hair away from my face and tucks it behind my ears. “This is what my life is like, Tessa. It’s brutal. It’s bloody. Just like me. I’m a monster in disguise, little mouse. Is that what you want?”

  “Gracin, please, I can’t.”

  His lips take mine in a violent kiss, and I lean into him, needing his steadiness to assuage the broken parts of me. My hands go to his shoulders, and I whimper against the brutal thrust of his tongue.

  “You can. Now tell me.”

  “Yes,” I shout. “Yes, I want you. I hate you, but I love you. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the day we met. You’re in my dreams. I see you everywhere when you’re not around. Despite everything you’ve done to me, I want you, damn it. Does that make you happy? Why did you make me do this? Why did you bring him here? Did you know I’d hurt him?”