Freedom

by S. A. Wolfe

  “Okay, but the deal is, you stick by my side. This place is going to be packed. We go in, shake some hands and pretend to kiss asses and then we leave early and come back here. I want a night with you without all the extra noise and people and all the fucking drama they bring with them. Deal?”

  “Yes, sir.” I splay my hands on his hard chest and zero in on his lips for another kiss.

  “Emma, I’ll share something with you... I’ve had pretty bad insomnia for over a decade—never really got a solid night’s sleep before—but I sleep really well when we’re in the same bed. You’re like a magic pillow.”

  I laugh. “You can do better than that.”

  He rolls on top of me, keeping his weight on his forearms so he doesn’t crush me.

  “I want to be with you all the time. This can’t end. We can’t end, ever.”

  Twenty-Three

  Dylan

  When Emma comes out of our hotel bathroom dressed in a short, body-hugging, strapless red dress, I want to throw my leather jacket over her shoulders or keep her in for the night. It is hard enough watching over her in crowds without her calling attention to herself in a flashy, sexy dress.

  I am practically entranced as she sits on the bed with a compact mirror and puts on make-up, outlining her eyes with a dark pencil before she glances at me.

  “This takes work; it doesn’t just happen,” she remarks.

  “What?”

  “Getting sexy.”

  “You’re already sexy, even without make-up. You’re beautiful.”

  “You are very sweet, but this takes skill. If you’re going to wear a dress like this, you walk a fine line between looking like a sex goddess and looking like a hooker. Make-up and hair are the deciding factor.”

  “Really?” I look at her long, dark hair that has been straightened with some kind of medieval hair iron contraption, and her meticulously applied red lipstick. I don’t give two shits about her labor-intensive process; the end product is making my dick twitch in appreciation.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she says, brushing something on her cheeks.

  “Like what?”

  “Like you think women are ridiculous with all the time we spend on grooming.”

  “I wasn’t thinking that at all. I was thinking that I’d like to eat you up. You look fucking amazing. You always do, and if you were mine, I wouldn’t let you spend all this time worrying about looking a certain way for a bunch of strangers.”

  She closes the compact and regards me with either amusement or surprise.

  Yes, I said if she was mine because I still don’t know where I stand. She is either very fond of me, or she gets that I am serious about us, and hopefully, she feels the same way.

  “Nice sentiment. I’m sure you didn’t intend to imply that you’d dictate whether or not I wear make-up or how I dress.”

  “You know I didn’t mean it like that. Shit. You’ve done it again. Skipped over the good part I was telling you.”

  “I do know what you said.” She puts her make-up in a little bag and zips it closed. “Thank you.”

  “You don’t have to thank me for saying the obvious, it’s what you deserve to hear.”

  ***

  Mercer is about money and flash, throwing impressive parties. We enter to a massive mob scene at the Natural History Museum, which has been rented out for the evening. As I walk Emma through the crowds of Mercer’s wholesale and special retail customers and scores of models and TV celebrities, I zero in on the bars and food stations that are set up around the perimeter. The giant hall is pumped up with loud dance music and flashing purple and pink lighting, making the historic museum look like a funky nightclub.

  “Let’s get some drinks,” I say, looking for an entry into the crowded bar.

  “I see some of the Mercer people. I’m going over there. Bring me a glass of wine.”

  Under the hanging, life-size Blue Whale sculpture, I see Steve Mercer holding court with his admirers.

  “Okay, but if Steve so much as touches your elbow, I expect you to put him in a headlock.”

  Emma pinches my cheek and laughs before walking off to meet the group. As if I’m joking. We’re finally in a good place, and I have to waste my precious Emma time schmoozing with a few hundred well-dressed drunks who care more about finding a good lay for the night than anything else.

  I push my way through the bodies squeezed together around the bar and then signal the attention of a female bartender who ignores the group of women next to me. She delivers my seltzer and wine with a flirty remark about dancing with me later. It has been a while since I played that game with a strange woman—the pick-up lines and sexual innuendoes. I think back to Emma’s first day at work and how I treated her, but at the time, I wasn’t making a play for her. Sure, all that time I was attracted to her, but I waited for her to make the moves. At least I think I did. I may have forgotten what it’s like for a woman to hit on me, and I am fine with that. I’m only interested in getting back to Emma.

  I smile and tip the bartender, giving a smile to the women next to me who are commenting about my “sexy scars.” Jesus, uncensored drunks. The old me would have jumped at this opportunity; the new me is very uncomfortable.

  As I weave my way through the growing mass of people, I can’t find Emma and the group. They were directly underneath the massive Blue Whale’s mouth, the lowest point of the hanging sculpture. As I look across the sea of heads, trying to spot Emma’s red dress, that nasty old enemy—Dread—begins building in me.

  As I turn towards the two-tiered staircase where we entered, I see her on the top level by the entrance, speaking to some suit who has his back to me. They are at least a hundred yards from me and I am going to have to go back up the stairs and nudge my way through more people. Something about Emma’s animated posture as she speaks to the guy alarms me. I pick up my pace and am less polite to people as I shove my way through to the stairs.

  Just then, I see the profile of the guy. Robert. How the fuck?

  I slam the drinks on the banister and bolt up the stairs, but not before Robert leads Emma through the diorama hallways. I lose them and start running, backtracking the way we came in. I fly out the front doors where several hundred partygoers are milling around, scanning each one of them frantically. In an unlit area off to the side of the building along 77th Street, I spot Emma and Robert. He’s holding her arms by the elbows and it looks like she’s arguing with him.

  What did I tell her about fucking elbows!

  I throw off my suit coat and take off in a full sprint, my brain screaming for that guy to get his hands off my woman. I have no coherent thoughts as sheer brute force takes over and I body check Robert to the ground. Emma screams in surprise, yet even that gives me no inclination to speak and inquire about their conversation, as any normal adult would do.

  My fists pummel Robert’s face and gut. He is strong and agile, giving back good, splitting my lip and sending a searing pain against my side.

  In my peripheral vision, I see flashes of Emma’s red dress as she tries to grab our arms and separate us. I block out her protests for us to stop. We’re nothing but flying fists as we roll across the grass.

  “I was just talking to her, shithead,” Robert yells angrily as I wrestle him onto his chest and press all my weight against him, pinning his arms behind his back.

  “She only has room for one lunatic in her life and that’s me! I’m the one that loves her, and you’re just the fucking loser that takes advantage of her generosity,” I shout back.

  My seething anger is only gratified by the fact that I can out-power this dick. He’s a fucking bloody mess, pinned against the ground in his shredded designer suit. Emma is still pleading for us to stop, but her words are drowned out by the rage screaming in my brain.

  When I think I have this guy where I want him, I realize my ribs are killing me and my mouth is throbbing where the blood runs out of my cut, swollen l
ip. I turn to look for Emma. After all, she has to be on my side here; I am only protecting her from an asshole that keeps dragging her back into his fucked up world.

  When I turn to speak to her, however, she’s gone.

  “Get the fuck off me now,” Robert hisses.

  I push myself off his back and look around frantically again for Emma. I can’t fucking believe my shitty luck. As I spot her, Cooper is ushering her onto the back of his Harley. She is wearing his helmet and her red dress is hiked up so she can straddle his bike.

  “What the fuck?” I shout as I take off running towards them. I watch as they peal out on 77th Street and head towards Columbus Avenue.

  I make it to the curb, looking up and down the busy street, panicking even more when I can’t spot them. My head is spinning with how I can get to Emma. Why the hell is Cooper even here? And how did he and Robert both happen to show up at the same time? I check back to where I’ve left Robert sprawled on the grass, but he’s gone.

  And Emma’s gone with Cooper.

  I don’t have a car here, and our hotel is about fifty blocks south of this place. I don’t know if she’s going there or someplace else with Cooper. Panic and anxiety are strangling me.

  Find Emma.

  I run out into the middle of traffic and stop a cab that is pulling over to pick up waiting customers on the other side of the street. I jump in before they can and shout an address to the stunned cabbie who accepts the hundred dollar bill I shove through the plexiglass window to him.

  Going on nothing, I try to formulate a plan to make me feel like I am taking action. I will go to the hotel, get the car, call Carson—

  My cell phone goes off.

  “Dylan, get everything out of the hotel room and drive out to the address I am going to text you,” Cooper’s voice says calmly.

  “Where is Emma?” I shout into the phone.

  The cabbie glances nervously at me in the rearview mirror.

  “She’s with me. She’s safe. You exposed her, buddy. She doesn’t need that shit. I got her out of there for her own good. We’re at a red light, so I only have a few seconds to talk. I’m taking her out of town to some place safer. Pack your things in the car and meet us. I’ll text the address. Room 110. Remember that. I’ll explain everything when you get there.” With that said, Cooper ends the call.

  I look at the blank screen on my phone and estimate how fast I can get to the room and get the car from the valet. It’s going to slow me down, I think, panicking. The cab is stuck in a traffic clog near Times Square, and since there is nothing I can do to physically move thousands of people and vehicles out of my way, I concentrate on calming down, breathing deeply and silently, counting to twenty each time.

  “That’s good, slow breaths, relax.” My driver nods his head as he watches me in the rearview mirror.

  I grip my knees, breathing, counting each street we pass by as we get closer to the hotel. When the cabbie finally pulls in front, the valet reaches for my door, but I am out of the car before he can grab the handle. I fly through the lobby and see that both elevator cars are on higher floors. I don’t want to wait, so I head for the enclosed staircase and run up sixteen flights of stairs to get to our room.

  I throw everything into our bags, jamming items wherever they’ll fit without bothering to change out of my filthy clothes that are stained with Robert’s blood—my suit jacket is back at the museum. I don’t see any point in packing—I want to get to Emma—however Cooper has sounded very sure of himself, so I will follow his instructions if it means I can get to her.

  I keep checking my phone, but there’s still no text from Cooper.

  I load our bags and computer gear on both shoulders and hoof it down the stairs back to the lobby. For a pretty boy, Robert packs a powerful punch; my head and chest are beginning to ache even more. The same valet sees me barreling through the hotel entrance again, and recognizing my need for speed, takes my valet ticket and races to retrieve my car from the garage a few blocks away.

  While I wait, I un-tuck my shirt, using the bottom hem to wipe the blood streaked across my face. I must look menacing.

  The valet returns with my car and quickly dispatches the bags from my arms, loading them in the passenger seat as I direct. I hand out another hundred-dollar bill since that is all I am carrying and get into the car when my phone pings with a text from Cooper. It is an address for a hotel in Tarrytown, about twenty-five miles from here.

  I break every traffic law getting there.

  ***

  When I stride quickly through the lobby, the receptionist looks uncomfortable with my bloody, disheveled appearance, but I have luggage and give the impression with a fake friendly smile that I am just another guest heading to my room. She is busy checking in other people, so I whiz by the front desk and head for room 110.

  When I give the door three hard kicks, Cooper opens it. I glare at him, drop the bags and storm into the room.

  Emma is at the far side by the window, wrapped in a hotel blanket. I rush to her and take her into my arms.

  “Jesus, Emma. What the hell happened? I thought I lost you,” I say with my mouth pressed against her hair. A sudden wave of relief washes over me. I have her.

  “I’m okay. I was scared for you. Did you kill Robert?” she jokes and sniffles into my chest.

  “No, we fucked each other up. He’s worse off than me, though.”

  “I thought so.” She snakes her arms around my waist.

  “She needed to be out of there,” another male voice says.

  I turn to see Sean sitting in a corner armchair. I didn’t notice him when I came in; all I could think about and see was Emma.

  “What the hell is going on?” I look at Sean and then Cooper.

  “I’ll explain, but you’re going to want to sit down for this one,” Cooper replies.

  I stare at him. My anger over him taking her is still fresh and a series of new images—namely me laying my fist into his face—crosses my mind. But I’m not that guy anymore. I can handle this, I convince myself. My jumpy nerves aren’t about to sit down like a good student, but for Emma’s sake, I force my tense body and her to sit on the edge of the bed facing Sean. I put my arm around her shoulders while my other hand holds hers in my lap.

  “Start talking,” I say evenly.

  Cooper leans his back against the window and faces me with an apologetic expression. This is not the goof-off Cooper I have seen at work. He is different, and I suspect that I am about to find out more than I want to know.

  “In case you don’t trust us, Carson knows all about this. After the information I gave him, he wanted me to come get both of you. It happened to be bad timing with the party and all, and Robert showing up.”

  Cooper’s calmness is unnerving to me.

  “You said I exposed her. What did you mean and how the hell do you two know each other?” I ask, looking from Sean to Cooper.

  Sean is quiet. He looks like a giant side of muscled beef wedged into the chair.

  “It’s not a coincidence that Carson hired me,” Cooper explains. “I used to be an agent for the bureau where I worked undercover following the Marchetto operation.”

  “You were an FBI agent?” I ask, incredulous at the thought of our office jokester being in law enforcement.

  “Agent Cooper Griffin MacKenzie,” he replies with a faint smile.

  Emma scoffs and shakes her head. Cooper dismisses our disbelief.

  “What were you and Robert arguing about?” he addresses Emma.

  “He said I have to be careful, that people close to me are lying.” She looks up at me with her scared, doe-like eyes.

  “Me? He said you can’t trust me?” I ask.

  “Not you. He didn’t say. First we were arguing about him asking me to talk outside where it was quieter, then he said someone I trust is not who I think he is. Then you jumped him and Cooper showed up. It all happened so fast. I didn’t know who to believe.
Cooper seemed like a safe bet.”

  “Thanks.” Cooper smiles.

  “Shit, what is going on?” I ask Cooper since Sean is patiently waiting for him to fill us in.

  “Okay, here’s the story. I was undercover, and at the time, we thought Robert was a key player in the drug ring from two years ago.”

  “I remember that. Robert and I watched the news about the round-up and arrests on TV, and he mentioned it again when we met him at Rupert’s.”

  “Right,” Cooper explains. “It’s been really hard to nail his dad for anything. He’s very good at using other guys and covering his tracks. After a few years of this bullshit, I resigned from the bureau a few months ago. I wanted to get out of law enforcement all together, but my friends still working in the system gave me the heads up on some shit that Marchetto could implicate himself in.”

  Cooper turns to Sean and fires a finger gun at him with a click of his tongue.

  “We’ve known each other for a few years,” Sean adds. “Even while I was tailing you and Robert for your dad.”

  “Go on,” she says in a sharp tone.

  “When I got wind that Vinnie was willing to frame his own kid, I knew Robert would do something drastic. I’ve followed him for enough years to figure out that he really didn’t want any part of his dad’s dirty business, though.”

  “That’s true,” Emma interjects.

  “So why is he after Emma?” I ask.

  “He isn’t after her. He’s warning her,” Cooper replies.

  “You mean threatening her over whether she talks about something he may have done while she was with him?” I am the loudest guy in the room. Sean signals me with his palm to hold off and wait for the explanation.

  “He’s not threatening her. I was pretty sure she was never in danger,” Cooper says. “Robert was smart enough to get some of his conversations recorded on his phone. He went to some people I worked with in the past and basically gave them all the info on his father’s set up in the drug operation. How they were moving the product, to which campuses, to which distributors, and where the cash was funneled. Vinnie has audio and video of Robert in one incident.”