by Kara Parker
“I have it,” Hardell said with a bite in his tone. He threw back the shot and slammed it on the table. “To show my good faith, I’ll even shoot him for you. Blood’ll be on my hands.”
I wondered who they were talking about. It was a man, but I wasn’t sure who. Had someone in Hardell’s gang messed up and he was going to shoot him? Too fast, the drinks were poured and I was making my way back to the table.
A hand slapped my ass as I set down drinks, but I was used to it. Hardell’s guys had done it to me a few times, but it was what the gang leader said that chilled me. He said one word, “Later.”
One word. My hand shook, as I placed the last two glasses then went back around the bar. Maybe it wasn’t just my imagination that the men were all looking at me like I was dessert. But, Hardell had never messed with me. He needed my bar. Would he really let these men rape me?
The conversation continued, and I listened intently but didn’t hear anymore references to me. They were talking about some get together tonight. From the way they were talking, I had a feeling someone was going to die. A part of me wanted to call the police, but I’d done that before, and they’d been less than no help. They’d flat out ignored me and told me never to call about Hardell again.
Tick. Tick. Tick. I wiped the counter a dozen times, looked over the liquor to make sure everything was filled, and cleaned behind the bar twice. However, every millisecond that passed seemed to turn my internal notch up a little higher and draw out that tick a little more.
It couldn’t have been more than 15 minutes before I heard the chairs shuffle and Hardell speak, “We’ve waited long enough.”
Waited for what? I wanted so desperately to ask.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
“Seems you boys are done,” I let the words sail out smooth, putting every bit of southern charm I had into them. “Now don’t be a stranger, Hardell.”
The leader smiled at me and came to lean against my pristine counter. “Well, aren’t you just the sweetest little thing,” he mocked in falsetto.
My mask cracked, but I maintained that damn smile. “Something wrong?”
He shrugged, the move deceptively careless. “I told you I was a fair man, Chels. I didn’t lie.” He leaned away, and I was suddenly rushed on both sides of the bar by two men. One of them twisted my arms in the back, and the other clamped his palm over my mouth. “I didn’t lie.”
I was dragged out to the back of the bar. Hardell turned off the lights but kept the flood lights in the back on. He stepped out into one of the pools of light, lit a cigarette, and blew out a line of smoke into the darkness. “Come on out, Bryant. I know you’re there.”
He took another drag then looked over his shoulder at me. I glared with pure hate. I would have screamed and called him every horrible name in the book, but a hand was still over my mouth. He smiled at me.
“I got your girl here. Such a pretty thing. I’d be a shame if anything happened to her.”
The men surrounding me laughed, and I cringed. Was this what he’d meant? Was Garrison going to be the main event with me as the after dinner snack? I didn’t care about myself. I could drift off if it came to that. However, I didn’t know how I’d be able to bear Garrison getting hurt. I sent up a prayer that he wouldn’t come.
But, of course, he did.
Hands up, gun in his holster. He was in full black, and his face was grim. “I’m here, Hardell.”
“Wonderful.” Hardell clapped his hands and put out his cigarette. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
CHAPTER NINE
Atlanta, Georgia
Five Years in the Past
Brenda sighed as she plucked the orange off the rim of her mimosa and sucked out the juice. “James wants kids, but I just don’t know if I’m ready yet. We’ve only been married for three months.” She turned to me, eyes flashing to the bruise on my neck that I knew I wasn’t hiding well enough with my necklace. Brenda forced a smile, “What do you think, Chelsie? You’ve been married to Yannik for almost a year. Any kids on the horizon?”
I stared through the tuft of strawberry blonde hair that always fell over my eyes. It was time to get a haircut. “Well... I’m pregnant.”
All three women around the brunch table gasped, surprising our waiter who came back to ask if anyone wanted refills. They ordered, but I stuck with water. It was hard enough choking the liquid down while trying to avoid the worried gazes of my friends.
No one talked about the bruises on my body, barely hidden by jewelry and clothes. I didn’t even talk about it, and now that I was pregnant, I knew I never would.
Jasmine, a childhood friend that stayed with me more out of obligation than anything, bit her lip and looked down uncomfortably. “Are you going to get an abortion?” she asked quietly.
None of my friends spoke, they just waited for my response. I turned and cupped my chin in my palm, staring out at the busy street. It was a hot day in Atlanta, sweltering really. The air was scented with gasoline, fried foods, sugar, and magnolias. Always magnolias.
“I’ve been thinkin’ about it,” I answered honestly, people-watching because I was too ashamed to turn back to the women, “but the child’s done nothing wrong, and I can’t think of a good enough reason to abort it.”
Yannik being abusive just wasn’t reason enough because somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that when it got bad, I’d leave. I was a smart girl, raised by a good family. I’d made the wrong choice and married the wrong man, but I was coping with that choice. When I couldn’t take it anymore I’d leave. Break all the clocks in the house that ticked down to Yannik coming home and hitting me, then go far away.
“There’s always adoption,” Jemma offered in the same mousy tone as Jasmine.
I knew the women meant well, knew that it was just the way we were raised that kept us from speaking up about the real underlying issues. We were home bred, educated, southern women who’d never directly dealt with domestic violence. Even now, when I was in the thick of it, I still didn’t know what to do. I was a bystander in my life, transporting myself out of my body whenever Yannik decided to hit me. I didn’t know what to do, or how to talk about what I was going through. Sure I’d learned about it, heard stories, but it was completely different when I was experiencing it.
I shook my head and drew back to the conversation. I turned and looked at the women around me. They were my closest friends, but over the past few months, I’d felt us growing apart. I didn’t know why that was, but I was sure it had something to do with my husband wanting to control all of my life. At nineteen, when I’d married him, I hadn’t thought twice about it. But now, at twenty-three, I was starting to notice a problem. Though maybe I was too tired to deal with it, too used to everything to realize how bad it was.
“No,” I spoke softly, “Blood takes care of blood. I’m having this child and raising it.”
“Just—” Jasmine broke off, glanced at my neck, winced, and quickly looked away.
I got the message. She didn’t want what was happening to me to happen to my child. I grimaced, but swore to myself that it never would. I’d do everything in my power to protect the ones I loved, even at my own risk.
CHAPTER TEN
Mountain Grove, Connecticut
Present Day
Ever since my baby girl died, I’ve heard the tick… tick… tick of a clock. I heard it before she was born, too, but it was never as loud as it was after her death. That ticking sound always preceded some awful event, like an alarm telling me to run for my life. Yet, I always found a way to convince myself nothing was ever that bad. And the ticking wasn’t a time bomb, but my insecurities and fears getting the best of me.
Time and time again I heard it.
Time and time again I ignored it.
If only I’d listened to the ticking and taken note of all the ‘Do not go any further’ signs, then maybe I wouldn’t be watching a man I was in love with walk to his death. Maybe I wouldn’t be held prisoner by a ruthless, dr
ug-dealing biker after a horrible attempt to catch him in the act of selling drugs for money went wrong.
I’d heard that clock but, just like I did in every other terrible situation, I ignored it.
Now I had to watch the only person I’d had feelings for, since my ex-husband had killed my daughter, walk to his executioner, and yet again, I could do nothing. I was smart, resourceful, and strong, but I lacked the courage, the ability to believe in myself and do anything. I thought I’d been getting that back when I’d helped FBI agent Garrison plant recording devices in my bar, but that was gone now.
I bit my lip bloody and forced myself not to cry. I wouldn’t give Hardell the satisfaction of seeing me cower, or Garrison another reason to hate me with his dying breath. There was no way we were going to get out of this situation, but damned if I was going to die like a whiny coward.
But that’s what you’re being right now, anyway, a voice whispered insipidly in my head. I didn’t need my inner-self reminding me I was screwing up the same way I’d screwed up three years ago. I could see the writing on the wall, but that didn’t mean I could do a damn thing about them.
Fine, the voice growled, accept how weak and pathetic you are. Acknowledge that you have the capability to do something but you can’t because you don’t want to.
I desperately wanted the voice out of my head, wanted to stop hearing the damn ticking of the clock. I wanted to go back in time, save my daughter, never marry Yannik, and lead a happy life.
The barrel of Hardell’s gun pushed into my side as tears I valiantly held back until then, streamed down my face. Nothing had changed, and whatever lessons I learned still hadn’t sunk in.
I was just letting things happen, realizing that I had the power to stop them, but forgiving myself because I didn’t have the power. I always did this.
I sunk deeper into my hole, blaming myself for everything that had happened. Until suddenly, I stopped. Stopped blaming myself, and over analyzing. Stopped seeing Garrison as already dead. Stopped seeing the negative in everything because my life wasn’t a negative. If my family had taught me anything it was that life wasn’t perfect, it was messy and gritty and tough, but it was also beautiful and worthwhile. I'd been living my life like I was dead, and I didn’t want to live that way anymore.
Hardell’s grip tightened around my neck as if he could feel the shift in me. Steel fused with my blood and I felt strong, powerful. This was my life! My fucking life. I wasn’t going to let anyone take it anymore.
In that moment, I stopped blaming myself. Let my daughter’s death slip from my shoulders, and my husband’s abuse melt away. My past wouldn’t define my future any longer.
I looked at Hardell’s gun and glanced at the other gang members. They all had their guns drawn and pointed at Garrison. I needed them to focus on me. Focus on me so Garrison could get his gun.
I’d taken self-defense classes, learned how to shoot almost as soon as I’d started walking. I’d make it out of this. No. Matter. What.
My body moved faster than my mind. My legs turned to jelly, and I slipped out of Hardell’s hold. I pushed back with my butt, forcing him to lose balance. I sprang up, twisted and kicked his stomach as I reached for his gun, yanking it out of his grasp. Too late, however. He pulled the trigger, and I missed the bullet by a hairbreadth.
Maybe I was a little lucky.
Moves that my coach and daddy had taught me had me turning the gun on Hardell and shooting out both his knee caps faster than he could blink. At the first sound of the gun, all the gang members had turned to Hardell and me, and with the round I fired off, their bullets started toward me.
I dropped, rolled, and stopped when their rounds ended and shot back. The grunts and cries I heard made me smile. I wasn’t weak. I wasn’t a woman to be bullied or threatened. Not again.
I rubbed at the dirt in my eyes as I scrambled to my feet and dashed around the corner of my building. Less than a second later I heard men shouting, more bullets sprayed in the night, and the sounds of hard, heavy things hitting dirt. I tried not the think about Garrison. He was safe. He had to be. I’d given him plenty of opportunities to grab his gun or run and hide.
My chest hurt as I drew in labored breaths that I tried to stifle. I pushed further into the wall until I was sure I bruised my spine. The gun felt hot and heavy in my hand, fingers aching as they rhythmically tightened.
A gloved hand clamped over my mouth before I could decide what to do next. I immediately started to fight even as the body pressed me closer into the wall. I wouldn’t die! I wouldn’t!
“Calm down,” the man bit out. “I’m agent Carter with the FBI. I’m going to get you out of here.”
Oh. My nerves started to calm before I realized it could be a trick. Maybe he wasn’t FBI, though I couldn’t remember any of the thugs having gloves. Still, I wasn’t taking any chances. I remained still, stopped fighting him, and he drew his hand back. “Are you calm now?” the man asked with a slight inflection that made me think he wasn’t American.
I nodded while I surveyed the side of the building. I knew there was a stream about three hundred feet in front of me, and a cave upstream behind the small waterfall that fed into the body of water.
I planned out my escape, and the second Carter released me, I took off. He cursed and gave chase. It wasn’t more than a few seconds, but that was all it took for a booming voice to cut through the darkness and stop me in my tracks. “FBI! Put down your weapons. Get down on your knees with your hands behind your head.
Carter barreled into me, and I tripped and fell. “I’m trying to help you here lady. Garrison would rip me a new one if you got hurt.”
My heart jumped to my throat. Garrison. My voice came out just above a whisper. “He’s alive?”
Carter dragged me up with an arm at my bicep. “Last time I saw him, yeah.” The agent began dragging me toward the front of my bar. “Now come on, my boss wants to meet you.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It was four hours of sitting and following FBI protocol before I saw Garrison again. Harrell’s men had dragged him away in the skirmish, and a task force had been sent out to find the men. Four hours later, the Hardell gang was still at large, but some of the biggest second-hand men of crime bosses were in custody. The FBI hadn’t assumed they would get the big cheeses, but having these men in custody helped them.
I was happy to be a part of putting the guys away, though another dread settled in my stomach. What if the men came after me? Together with the FBI I’d taken down one of their operations. I couldn’t see myself getting off clean with all that weighing on my shoulders.
I slumped in the back of the ambulance as an EMT took my blood pressure for the fifth time. I felt shocked, stoned into place. I knew I’d have to move, get a new identity. But would I ever be able to go far enough?
“Chelsie,” a voice like the hot sun on a perfect Georgia day, made me turn my head.
“Garrison.” He looked bad. Blood and dirt smeared, avenged by the day's events. But he also looked proud, satisfied with his work. The tired smile he displayed was infectious, and I couldn’t help but smile wanly back and give a thumbs up. “We got the bad guys.”
His blue eyes darkened to sapphires. “We wouldn’t have if you hadn’t pulled that stunt.” His voice was a deep growl, and I barely distinguished one word from the next. “What were you thinking, Sugar?”
I didn’t hesitate as he lifted me from the back of the ambulance and wrapped two strong arms around me. Before, a man’s touch used to make me shudder and remember every time Yannik had touched me, but in Garrison’s arms there was no hesitation or fear. His arms closed around my body, sticky with blood and sweat, but I didn’t care. I loved this man.
“I thought that I had to live.” His arms tightened around me. “I needed to distract them so you could get your gun.”
I felt his heated breath against my nape as he covered me with his strong body, folding me in until my lips touched his clavicle. “Don’t ever
scare me like that again. I’m happy your safe, but don’t ever put yourself in jeopardy like that again.”
I laughed as the tears I hadn’t known I’d been holding back let loose. “I can’t make promises.”
***
It was a long car ride to the airport and a short plane ride before we arrived in Washington D.C. at the FBI’s headquarters. Dawn had broken hours ago, and the sun was lazy in the sky, warming the chilly morning. Garrison ushered me into the Eisenhower building with a gentle but firm hand at the small of my back. I was silent on the elevator ride up and the short walk to the assistant director’s office. Never had I thought busting Hardell and his ring of drug dealing cronies would be this big. Now I knew that Hardell’s gang wasn’t just a mash of bad bikers, but a serious problem.
“It’s going to be fine, Chels,” Garrison soothed as we passed a room filled with mostly empty cubicles and walked into a large room with a large oak desk, two uncomfortable looking plethora chairs, and a couch against a wall. Pictures of monuments and past presidents, and a short man in a smart black suit stood by a set of floor to ceiling glass windows looking out.