by Wendy Rosnau
Joey glanced at his watch, calculated the time. If Stud had Rhea, and there was a good chance that he did, she had been with him for over two hours. Ten minutes with her bastard ex-husband was too long, he mused.
“Do we have a deal, boys?”
“Si,” Joey said. “We have a deal.”
Vito looked at Lucky. “Do you agree with your fratello, Tomas?”
“Si, old man. We have a deal.”
* * *
Rhea felt as if a nail had been driven through her skull. She shouldn’t have fought him, but she had reacted on instinct. Instinct and fear.
It was painful to open her eyes, but she made an effort. She squinted, fighting the light overhead that was causing her to see black dots and hazy colors.
She was lying flat on her back. On a bed, she thought. Her arms were stretched over her head, and her wrists were bound and tied to something sturdy. She could barely lift her head, it hurt so bad. Still she gritted her teeth and twisted her neck to see that her wrists had been tied to the iron frame of the bed with a leather belt.
“It’s been a long time, honey. Too long.”
The voice made Rhea shudder. She heard movement, a chair creak, and then her ex-husband was standing beside the bed, staring down at her.
“Stud? I thought…”
“I was behind bars? Nothing can keep me from you, honey. You should know that by now. You’re what I live for.”
Rhea studied her ex-husband. He was dressed all in black like a bodyguard. That’s why she hadn’t recognized him, she decided. He’d fooled her into thinking he was one of Joey’s men.
His blue eyes looked bloodshot, which meant he was drinking. Had been for a while. She glanced at his blond hair, thinking the military short cut made him look even more frightening than before.
He reached out and brushed her hair out of her eyes. “You look good, honey. Real good.”
His hand drifted to her cheek, and she tried to turn her face away, but his rough fingers dug in and pinched hard.
Rhea gasped and closed her eyes.
“I could snap your neck,” he threatened, then bent forward and brushed his lips over her mouth. “But you know I won’t.”
Suddenly he let go of her cheek, leaving behind a pulsing ache. Rhea drew in a shaky breath and exhaled slowly, and that’s when he struck again, closing one hand over her nose and the other over her mouth.
The sick game slammed Rhea back into the nightmares of her past, and her eyes widened out of fear and the knowledge of what was coming next. She knew better than to struggle, but her lungs were almost out of air. She started to panic, to twist on the bed and raise her legs to kick at him. But like always, he was too strong, and too determined to have his fun.
Just when Rhea thought she would pass out, he let go of her and stepped back. Dizzy, she gulped air, desperate to feed her starved lungs.
“You’re out of practice, honey. You used to be able to last longer.”
Rhea refused to cry. She wanted to, but tears only fed Stud’s sickness. He loved the games, loved it when he could completely break her—when she was shattered both physically and emotionally.
It always started this way, the pinching and choking. What followed after that… Rhea didn’t want to think about. It was all part of Stud’s own special recipe for terror.
Suddenly he was back, leaning over her, pinching her mouth together, squeezing hard enough to force Rhea to whimper.
“I know why you ran off. I know about your kid. About Joey Masado. That kid should have been mine.” Abruptly he let her go. “It’s too bad I wasn’t able to get my hands on the little bastard at the cemetery. I had planned to bring him along so he could watch us play our games.”
Rhea groaned. The very idea of Nicci being subjected to Stud’s insanity made her sick. She rolled her head to the side and saw a bottle of whiskey on the nightstand.
He was so predictable. He would drink now. Sit and brood, and let the rage build inside him until it forced him into another outburst.
Rhea tried not to think about the next time, and turned her thoughts to Nicci and Joey, praying that they were safe. “I’m going to teach you a lesson, honey,” he taunted from his chair. “This time I’m going to make it clear just who owns you. You’re my wife. Mine! I plan on beating that fact into you so you never forget it.”
Rhea turned to see Stud raise the whiskey bottle to his lips. Seconds later, he said, “We’re going to take a little trip, honey.”
Trip. Rhea’s instincts screamed, No! But then, traveling would keep Stud’s hands busy, and as long as she could stay healthy, there was a small chance she might be able to escape.
“We’re starting over, honey … you and me. You’re going to give me what you gave Masado.” Suddenly he was again standing by the bed, one hand moving to cover her nose and the other reaching for her throat. “I’ll have a son who looks like me. Me! Not that black-haired Sicilian. For better or worse, Rhea. That’s what you promised. That’s what I promised, too.”
* * *
Vito’s pilot landed the helicopter at the Waukegan Airport. Vincent D’Lano’s cabin was less than ten miles away, and the reed-thin pilot led them to a black Blazer. They climbed in, and as the driver cruised the back roads as if he were still flying, Jackson discussed strategy, Lucky checked their ammo and Joey chain-smoked and stared out the window.
Fifteen minutes later they parked by the side of the road and got out of the car. It was obvious the cabin was empty. But it was also clear that it had been used recently—there was evidence that someone had been restrained on the bed in the back bedroom.
Joey turned away, sick at the sight of the rumpled bedding and the leather belt left dangling from the iron headboard. He heard Lucky swear behind him, then heard the front door slam as his brother left the cabin.
After searching the grounds, Jackson said, “I called Hank Mallory. He says a silver Lexus was reported stolen in the vicinity of Rosewood Cemetery this afternoon. He says the car was sighted on I-94, headed toward Milwaukee about thirty minutes ago, but the driver managed to avoid their blockade and they haven’t seen him since.”
As they piled back into the black Blazer, Lucky took the wheel, telling Vito’s driver, “I’ll take it from here, Slim. You damn near rolled us on that S-turn five miles back.”
Six small towns and two hours later, and gambling on a hunch, Joey spotted the silver Lexus parked in front of room four at the Sleepy Hollow Motel in Sternsberg, Wisconsin.
Lucky said, “How do you want to do this, fratello? We going in quiet, or noisy?”
Joey had had fifty miles to contemplate how he was going to rip Stud Williams’s head off. There would be no warnings, no wasted minutes contemplating the situation. Too much time had gone by already. He checked his watch.
“Rhea’s been in Williams’s hands for almost six hours. There’s a chance she’s hurt. We go in noisy.”
“Noisy it is.” Jackson pulled his Diamondback from his back pocket, while Lucky reached for the lupara that sat between the seats.
Joey leapt from the Blazer. “On three,” he said. “I’ll fire a shot to get things started.” Then he slipped out of sight.
* * *
They had played the suffocation game twice in the motel. Rhea had passed out the second time. Now awake, she assessed her surroundings.
As much as she tried to stay alert, Stud’s games were slowly draining her. The only good thing she could see in all of this was that they were moving farther away from Chicago, and that meant Stud wouldn’t be able to hurt Nicci.
She was on the bed again, only this time Stud hadn’t tied her. Not yet, anyway. She could hear the TV, and smell the old room’s stale air mixed with the sweet odor of whiskey.
She willed her body not to move—not even a muscle. If she could fool Stud into thinking that she was still unconscious, she would have time to regain some of her strength.
At first she had thought that if she lived through the night, tomo
rrow she would attempt to escape. But now, untied, all she had to do was wait for Stud to fall asleep, then run.
It was while Rhea was lying as still as death and praying for Stud to fall asleep, that an explosion outside rocked the motel. She wasn’t sure where it came from, or what it was. But it had been close—close enough to rattle the windows.
She heard Stud curse, and she raised her head in time to see him scramble to his feet. His eyes were puffy, his shirt unbuttoned and his pants half unzipped. He looked confused but aware that something was definitely wrong.
She rolled to her side and sat up just as another explosion, more violent than the first, shook the motel’s foundation. Then suddenly the three-foot-square window next to the bed shattered.
For an instant Rhea thought it had shattered from the explosion, but then a body came sailing through the opening cloaked in a leather coat, and she understood.
Joey had come for her.
She glanced at Stud, saw him reach for the gun on the table, and she cried out as she scrambled off the bed. Seconds later, the front door flew off its hinges and Lucky came through, followed by Jackson Ward.
Rhea glanced back to Joey, who was already on Stud. She heard him roar like a raging bull, heard Stud howl in pain as Joey sent his fist into his face, the force lifting Stud off his feet.
She backed up against the wall as Stud dragged himself back to his feet. He still had his gun, but not for long. Joey raised his leg and kicked out, sending Stud flying into the table. Stud let go of the gun as he squealed in pain, and this time he didn’t get up.
It was all over within minutes. Joey spun around, searching for Rhea. When he found her against the wall, the question in his eyes was obvious.
In a raspy voice, Rhea said, “I’m all right. Nicci … where is he? Is he—”
“He’s safe at home.”
“Dammit, Joey!”
The angry voice was Lucky’s, and it sent Rhea’s attention to the doorway, where Joey’s brother stood with his hands on his hips, his lupara slung over his shoulder. He was eyeing the situation with a scowl on his face. Finally, he said, “I thought we agreed to go in on the count of three.”
Joey shrugged. “One. Two. Three… What difference does it make?”
“The difference is he could have drilled you coming through the window.”
Lucky stepped inside, and as he passed Stud he gave the man a solid kick to his midsection to ensure he stayed down, then retrieved the .38 on the floor and pocketed it.
Behind him, Jackson entered the room with jaw set and eyes narrowed. It was a fact—he had as good a reason as anyone to hate Stud Williams. Stud had killed Jackson‘s partner three years ago, and a few weeks back, he’d terrorized Sunni and almost killed her. Still, believing in the old adage Never hit a man when he’s down, Jackson waited until Stud got to his knees before he sent him to the floor again with a hard-driving right that broke the man’s jaw.
Rhea watched Joey come toward her, his eyes fixed on her bruised neck and the cut on her temple. He said, “Do you need a doctor?”
She shook her head, then said, “No. I’m not seriously hurt.”
He reached out and gently touched the bruise on her cheek. Rhea angled her head and closed her eyes, needing to feel his contained strength. Softly, she whispered, “I’m all right. He never … touched me.”
Behind them, Lucky said, “I told Slim to get you a motel room at the Pink Peacock. It’s across the street. Take a few hours. We’ll clean up this mess.”
Joey pulled Rhea close and wrapped his arm around her, and they headed to the door. Rhea caught Lucky staring at her, and she read guilt in his eyes. She stopped, slipped away from Joey and walked straight to Lucky. Sliding her arms around his hard waist, she hugged him, and when his arms came around her and hugged her back, she said, “Nicci’s home safe. That might not have been the case if you hadn’t gone to him and Joey. Thank you for that, mio fratello.” Then on tiptoes she kissed both of his cheeks.
Behind her, Jackson draped her coat around her shoulders, and then she went out the door with Joey.
The air was cold and it made Rhea shiver. Suddenly Joey lifted her into his arms, and as she tucked her face into the warm curve of his neck, he crossed the street, ignoring the crowd that had gathered.
Rhea hadn’t shed a tear in five hours, but now the tears flowed freely, wetting Joey’s shirt.
Close to her ear, he said, “You sure you don’t need a doctor, darlin’?”
“No,” she sobbed softly. “All I need is you.”
* * *
Chapter 12
« ^ »
Twelve hours had passed since Joey had rescued Rhea from the Sleepy Hollow Motel and her ex-husband’s mania. As he and Lucky entered the back room of the Stardust, he saw that Jackson and Police Chief Hank Mallory were already there waiting for them.
Taking a seat at the circular table, Joey nodded to Jackson, then said to Hank Mallory, “Did you get him? Did you get Carlo Talupa?”
“No. There’s still no sign of him yet. It’s like he just vanished,” Hank conceded. “That’s a concern, so my advice for you and Lucky is to lay low for a while until we’ve got him in custody.”
Joey swore.
Lucky said nothing.
“Stud Williams is being held in the county jail until he can be transferred back to Joliet. Jackson‘s agreed to work with me on gathering what we need to make an arrest on Vincent D’Lano and his daughter, Sophia. As soon as we can confirm their involvement in Williams’s prison break we’ll pick them up.”
“That’ll be sooner than you think, Joe,” Jackson added. “Two days at the most is my guess.”
Hank stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray in front of him. His thirty years of experience with the Chicago Police Department showed in the age lines surrounding his blue eyes and his receding gray hair. Leaning forward in his dark suit and white shirt, his gaze moved from Joey to Lucky. “Now that Talupa’s made some serious mistakes, and we’re in a better position to benefit from them, things are going to move faster from here on out.”
“Maybe. Then again, maybe not,” Joey interrupted. “We’ll have to wait and see. You haven’t got Carlo yet.”
“That sounds like you’re having second thoughts. If we’re going to have any success in our joint coalition, you two, as undercover informants, are going to need to be with me and Jackson on this a hundred percent. I’d need to know right now if that poses a problem for either of you.”
Joey eyed his brother. “Lucky?”
Lucky leaned back in his chair, his scarred hand turning a pencil over and over between two of his long fingers. Finally, he said, “We made a deal a few days ago, Mallory. I don’t usually make deals with cops. That should tell you that I didn’t make this one lightly, or without considering its outcome. Joey and I agreed to this, and we intend to stick by our decision. If you want to call us undercover informants, that’s your choice. Only that’s not who we are, or what this is about for us. It’s not about squealing on our amigos. We want to nail men like Carlo and the other fat dogs who have forgotten what it means to be a true soldato in the brotherhood. It’s about another kind of justice for us, Mallory.”
“I respect your view on it, Lucky. I know this deal wasn’t easy for either of you to make. I understand why you did it and I know I’m asking for a lot here. Betraying friends—”
“We’re not betraying anyone. As I said, the fat dogs have become gluttons. They taint our honor and blacken our respect. On Sicilian soil such a man would lose his head for being a venduto. They are the traitors and betrayers. Not my fratello, or myself.”
Joey shoved his chair away from the table and stood. Slowly he moved to stand behind Lucky. Resting his hands on his brother’s shoulders, he said, “We are in this together.” His gaze found Jackson. “My brothers, and I.”
His meaning clear, Mallory nodded. “Good. Then we can move forward.”
Joey said, “You have done what you said you
would do for us, and we are grateful. That gratitude will be proven as soon as you find Carlo. Keep him behind bars long enough, and we will get you what you need to keep him there. Only then will our coalition move forward.”
“We’ll stay in touch.” Flank Mallory checked his watch, then stood. “It’s almost noon, and I’ve got another meeting at one.” He glanced at Jackson. “How about having lunch with me out front? Then you can tell me more about this wedding date you and Sunni have set. Why anyone would want to get married on New Year’s Day is beyond me.”
Jackson climbed out of his chair. To Joey and Lucky, he said, “If it were me, I’d take a little trip. A week should do it.”
“We’re already ahead of you, Jacky,” Joey said. “We’ll be gone by morning.”
After Jackson and Mallory left, Joey said to Lucky, “I never thanked you for what you did last night.”
Lucky arched a black brow. “I need no thanks. Joey.”
Joey eyed the vivid bruise on Lucky’s cheek. “I lost my head. I turned into—”
“A hailstorm on wheels, I think are the words you’re looking for.” Lucky stared at this brother for a long time. Then he snapped the pencil in two and handed Joey one of the pieces. “You and me, we’re two halves of the same creation, fratello. What Frank taught you, he taught me, too. Make no mistake, Joey, we think alike, and sometimes even act very much alike. If roles had been reversed yesterday, and the woman that I loved had been taken from me, I would have done the same as you did.” He touched his discolored cheek, then grinned. “Then again, maybe I wouldn’t have stopped after just one punch. Capiche?”
* * *
“I don’t understand,” Rhea said. “We’re taking a trip?”
Joey had just told her that they were flying to Santa Palazzo. That they were going to disappear for a few days.
“I thought it was too dangerous to fly there. What if someone follows us? What if—”