by Hamel, B. B.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” he said. “And don’t leave the house.”
“There’s nowhere for me to go, remember?”
He nodded. “Good. Don’t forget it.”
I stared at him and gestured at the door. “Well, go ahead. Leave, if that’s what you’re doing.”
He lingered another moment, and I could tell he wanted more from me. I don’t know if he wanted to kiss me, or pin me against the wall again, or if he wanted to yell at me. I think he wanted all three, and if I was being honest with myself, I wanted it all too.
But he turned and stalked away. He went to the front door, opened it, and hesitated. The rain was coming down hard. He looked back at me then shook his head and plunged outside, slamming the door behind him.
I stood alone in the house for a long moment. I heard his car start and drive off, but I could hardly believe it.
I was free.
I could do anything I wanted. I could run away, go outside, go anywhere in the house without him watching. For the first time since he took me, I could do anything.
I touched my shoulder where the bandage still covered my bullet wound then walked to the front door. I opened it and looked outside, just staring at the water cascading down the street toward the drains. I could step out there, splash in the puddles, run on the sidewalk.
Instead, I shut the door and turned away.
The stairs creaked as I climbed them. I held the smooth wood railing as I kept going up to the third floor, then to the back of the house where his room was tucked away. I lingered outside of the door then pulled it open and stood just inside the doorway.
His bed was king sized and took up most of the room. The sheets were gray and white. His nightstand was simple and wooden, mid-century modern in style with pointed legs and two drawers. He had a simple Timex clock with red-glowing numbers. There was a bureau that matched the nightstand and some black and white photographs of landscapes on the walls. I lingered there before stepping inside, the hardwood floor creaking under my weight.
I started with the nightstand. I rifled through it and found nothing important. There was a pack of cards, a bible, some condoms toward the back, some loose socks. He had a few watches, some cash in rolls of twenties, and a small handgun in the bottom drawer. I tried the other nightstand, but that was even more empty, just a few notepads and pens in the top drawer, and more loose socks in the bottom.
His bureau was even less interesting. Socks and underwear in the top drawer, shirts and gym shorts in the next. I went through it all, hoping to find something interesting, but came up empty.
I tried the closet last. It wasn’t particularly large, but he had his suits and shirts and jeans hanging up. There were shoes in boxes at the bottom, and a few more shoeboxes at the top. I pulled one down at random and took off the lid.
Old pictures overflowed the top. I put it down on the floor and sat cross legged in front of it. I went through the pictures and recognized him in more than a few. They were from when he was young, probably not even a teenager yet if I had to guess. There were other people, a tan man with a mustache that looked a little like Steven, probably his dad. An older woman, wrinkled face, hard dark brown eyes, puff of white hair, probably his grandmother. I found several pictures of Steven with younger boys, and one particular boy kept appearing over and over. I guessed that was Dante, but I wasn’t sure.
It was strange, seeing Steven looking so young. It was odd thinking about Steven as a person outside of the mafia. I wanted to keep thinking of him as a monster, as some self-centered killer that only cared about murdering the Irish mob as a way to make himself more money. But he was a young kid once, with parents and a grandmother. That kid grew up into the man he is now, and I wished I could’ve known him back then, at least so I could understand how he became what he is today.
I put the pictures away and went into his bathroom. It was neat and orderly. I opened the cabinet under his sink first and found toilet paper rolls, some cleaning supplies, and some extra soap and shampoo. I opened the medicine cabinet, pushed aside some Tylenol bottles, a razor, some shaving cream, and sucked in a little gasp.
Sitting behind some old band aids was my phone.
“Jackpot,” I said, grabbing it and slamming the medicine cabinet. I knocked the toilet seat down with a loud bang and a clatter then sat on top of it and pressed the power button.
It booted up. I nearly cried as the Apple logo appeared and the phone turned on. I unlocked it and an avalanche of missed calls, texts, and emails began to chime and ping, my phone vibrating like crazy.
I stared at it for a long moment.
It was my link to the outside world. I could call for help or tell someone where Steven was keeping me. I could even call the police if I wanted, or just make some Facebook post that would lead them to me.
But there was no point.
I could walk out the front door right now and be gone before he got back. I could grab a taxi, have it take me to the airport, and I could buy a plane ticket. There was cash back in that other drawer, and I could use that to run away.
That’s not what I wanted.
I thought of my father, alone and scared, held captive by his own brother.
No, I didn’t want to run.
What I wanted was revenge.
I pulled up iMessages and found Tracy. She’d sent me a ton of texts, going from goofy and normal to downright terrified. The last message she sent made my spine tremble.
Tracy: Colleen, I don’t know where you are or what’s going on, but I hope you’re okay, I love you, I miss you, and I’m really scared for you. I tried to talk to your dad, but he’s gone too, so I hope you guys are together. And safe. And alive.
I chewed on my cheek for a second then began to type.
Me: Tracy, honey, sweetie, I love you too. I’m alive, I’m okay, but I can’t talk and I won’t be around for a little while. Just know that I’m okay. Seriously I know this seems totally random and weird, but I’m really fine.
I hit send. The message went through. I was about to turn it off again when my phone began to ring.
Tracy was calling.
I knew I should ignore it, but a wave of emotion grabbed hold and I couldn’t help myself. I hit answer and held the phone to my ear.
“Colleen?” She sounded panicked, afraid. “Colleen, is that you?”
“Hey, it’s me.”
“Oh my god,” she said and the relief was so plain that it hurt. It felt good to know that at least one person really cared. “Where have you been? There was a shooting in your neighborhood, then you disappeared, and I didn’t know if you were dead or alive, and your dad’s missing now too, and I was so scared.”
“I’m okay,” I said. “Seriously, I’m fine.”
“Where are you? I can come to you right now if you need me.”
“Honestly, I’m okay,” I said. “I know it’s weird. I’m with a friend right now, and he… he really needs my help, okay?”
“You’re with a friend?” She sounded skeptical. “What friend?”
“You don’t know him. Just some guy from before.”
“You know this is insane, right? Just tell me where you are, Colleen. I’m really worried.”
“I can’t,” I said. “He’d be really pissed. Just trust me, okay?”
“Is your dad with you? I tried to go over to his place, but nobody answered. I tried a few times, and I just keep getting nothing.”
“My dad is…” I tried off and choked back my anger and tears. “He’s okay too,” I managed. “He’s with my uncle.”
Tracy was quiet. I’d told her about my uncle a few times, never in much detail, but she knew what he did for a living. She knew my uncle was a dangerous man.
“If you’re in danger, say the word potato,” she said.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Honestly. Look, I have to go. I’ll try and text you again tomorrow, okay?”
She was quiet for a second. “Okay,” she said. “Please just keep me updated, I gu
ess. And please come home soon.”
“I will.”
I hung up the phone before I could lose it completely. I turned the phone off and put it away, closing the medicine cabinet.
I stood there in Steven’s bathroom taking deep breaths to steady myself.
Hearing Tracy’s voice again had sent a spike through my chest. The desire to run away hit me all over again, and I knew Tracy would take me in if I asked her to. She’d do it in a heartbeat, regardless of the danger. Or at the very least she’d give me some money, or let me borrow some clothes, or use her car, or do anything for me.
I had a friend out there, and she was terrified for me. I could hear it in her voice.
But no, I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t go anywhere. Even if I left, I’d never be able to stop running and I’d never be able to live with myself. I can’t leave my father behind, leave him in my uncle’s clutches. My father will die, and I’ll forever be the daughter that abandoned him.
No, as much as I hate myself and hate Steven for putting me in this position, I still can’t go anywhere.
I turn and leave the bathroom. I linger in his room for a moment, staring at the bed, before slipping back into the hallway. I walk downstairs, sit down on the couch, and stare at the TV.
I wasn’t going anywhere. It was time to accept it. I couldn’t keep resenting and hating Steven, not if I was going to work with him to free my father.
No, I wouldn’t forget what he did to me. But I’d start moving toward the future instead of lingering in this purgatory.
13
Steven
The car idled at the end of the block as Colleen put her feet up on the dash. I thought about telling her to cut that shit out, but I knew that was just nerves talking.
We were parked down the block from one of the addresses she’d scribbled on a notepad. I didn’t know what we were going to find in that house, but Colleen insisted that she’d seen multiple Club guys go in and out of that house over the years, always leaving in little groups, always carrying black trash bags.
It had to be a stash house. They were probably too stupid to move the stash around, too arrogant to think it mattered. Colleen looked at her fingernails as the light from the single functioning streetlight made its way in through the windshield, and she frowned as she picked at a cuticle.
“When are we going in?” she asked.
“We aren’t going anywhere,” I said. “You’re staying here. I’m going in with Luca and the boys soon.” I checked my watch and saw it was just after midnight.
“I think I should come,” she said. “What if you need me? I know the Club better than you do.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But then again, your father’s been out of it for over a decade.”
She grimaced. “I still lived here,” she said. “They were still part of my family. All my friends were in the Club or knew someone that was. I’ve been living with them for years, watching them, thinking about them. I wasn’t a part of the Club, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t around it all the time.”
I shrugged. “Fair enough. Like I said, you know it better than I do. But it’s still too dangerous.”
She let out a breath. “I already got shot once.”
“And you shouldn’t want to do it again.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue the point.
I leaned forward and scanned the block. It was a nondescript street, some trash bags over by the corner, a few rundown houses, but mostly they were intact and decent. The neighborhood wasn’t great, but it wasn’t terrible either, and there were some new buildings coming up and some old ones being renovated on a few blocks. I guessed the Club was pumping money into the area now that the Russians were gone and they could expand some more.
I watched the target house for a few minutes. It had a brick facade with a black door and a red awning. The awning had gone pink with age, weathered from years of neglect. There was a small concrete porch beneath it with a single metal chair and a single metal table. I saw an ashtray sat on top of it, and I wondered if there were ashes inside it.
Still, I was sure someone lived there, or at least someone was inside. There was a light on the third floor, the front right room. I was betting we’d find whatever we were looking for in there.
“Don’t kill anyone,” she said abruptly. She stopped looking at her nails and stared at me. Her hair was up in a tight bun again, and she wore a black button down shirt and black jeans tucked into high, brown, heavy looking combat boots.
“I can’t promise that,” I said. “But I don’t want it to go that way.”
“Just try,” she said and reached up to take her hair out of the bun. She let it fall down before gathering it up and tying it back into place.
“All right,” I said. “I’ll try.”
She nodded once and looked back out the window. I reached out and touched her leg, not sure what I was doing. She turned back to me, a little surprise in her eyes, as I leaned toward her.
“You don’t have to worry,” I said.
“I’m not.” She tilted her head but didn’t move my hand from her thigh.
“You keep fidgeting,” I said. “Looking at your nails. Fixing your hair.”
“I’m worried you’ll hurt someone I know,” she said.
“You sure about that?” I asked. “I doubt you know that many people in the Club. Did you know the three guys I killed?”
She hesitated. “No,” she said.
“I think you’re worried about me.”
She laughed. “No, not at all.”
“I think you are,” I said, head tilted. “But don’t worry, little Colleen. I’ll be back to take care of you when this is all over. I wonder if the smell of fresh money and gunpowder will turn you on.”
She brushed my hand away. “You’re not funny,” she said. “And you’re a dick.”
I stretched then leaned past her to open the glove box. I let it fall then pulled my black Glock out. I checked the magazine and chambered a round.
“I’m not joking,” I said. “I think you’re worried about me, but I’m telling you I’ll be fine. And when I get back, I’ll give you what you’ve been thinking about.”
Her breath came in a little faster, her chest rising and falling. “Yeah? What’s that?” she asked.
“That day up on the roof deck,” I said. “My lips and tongue between your legs. You’ve been wondering what else I can do.”
“Stop,” she said, but her eyes were wide and her voice was soft.
“You’ve been wondering what it would feel like to give yourself to me, and I think you hate it. But you can’t stop. Isn’t that right?”
She looked away and bit her nail. “Go away,” she said. “I just wish you’d leave me alone.”
I laughed gently. “You think I’m trying to torture you. But I’m just telling you what you need to hear.” I grabbed the handle to the door and opened it. I left the keys in the ignition and the engine running.
If she wanted to run, she would’ve done it last night when I left her alone. Instead, I came back to find her sitting on the couch and watching TV. When I walked in the door, still dripping with water, she only gave me a flat stare then got up and went to bed.
“I want my phone back,” she said just before I stepped out of the car.
I looked back at her. She stared at me, her face hard and angry.
“You think I can trust you with that?” I asked.
“People are starting to worry about me, Steven. You know I’m not going anywhere.”
I smiled a little and tilted my head. “Yeah, you won’t run. But I can’t trust you yet and you know it.”
“I haven’t done anything—” she started, but I cut her off.
“Did you enjoy my family photos?”
She shut her mouth and glared at me. But her expression slowly softened.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” she said.
“No, you shouldn’t have.” There was motion down at the far end
of the block. I recognized Luca in a dark track suit walking along with his hands behind his back, looking bored, but his eyes roaming along the front of our target house.
“Please,” she said.
“All right,” I said. “You be good, and when we get home, I’ll let you have your phone back.”
She let out a breath. “Thanks,” she said.
I nodded once. “Stay here, keep the engine running. I’ll be back soon.”
I shut the door and walked off. I crossed the street and angled toward the building, just as Luca picked up his pace. Simon, Alex, and Davide came toward us from the right side of the block, walking fast. Simon wore dark jeans and a black shirt, while Alex and Davide both had on jeans and black hooded sweatshirts.
I joined their group as we headed toward Luca, all of us converging on the house. Nobody spoke, but I could taste the tension in the air.
Luca reached up and banged on the door. I waited, hung in suspension, staring ahead with my hand tight on the gun. Luca knocked again, three hard bangs. He stood off to one side as Davide stepped forward. He pulled up his sweatshirt and took out a sawed-off shotgun, the end cut down so that it was shorter and easier to hide. He glanced at me and I gave him a slight nod.
He pressed the gun between the doorknob and the frame and pulled the trigger.
The shotgun bucked in his hands and blasted the door. It leapt inward, wood splintering, but was caught on a deadbolt. I pushed Davide aside and brought my boot up, slamming it hard into the door, breaking more wood and sending more splinters flying into the room. The door blasted open, slamming against the far wall, and Luca barreled in first with his gun raised.
I followed and moved into a short, dark hallway. Just ahead, a guy with a shaved head stood shocked like he was coming to answer the knocks. He wore a gray polo shirt and baggy dark jeans. Luca slammed the butt of his gun into his head and knocked him sideways, his head slamming against the wall with a dull thud.
“Grab him,” I said. “Bring him in”
Luca grabbed the guy as Davide and Simon split off and took the staircase on the left. They moved fast and I heard Davide reload his shotgun with a loud clunk.