Always Angel (The List #4)

by N. K. Love

  I try to subtly look around the kitchen, figuring out my nearest potential weapons. My peripheral vision targets the knife rack on the side. There’s also a—

  “Saucepan on the stove? Not a good choice, sweetie. You’ll take two in the head by the time you swing that back… Awww. Come on, please don’t cry.” Through blurry vision, I see her vindictive smirk. “Of course, I don’t actually care if you cry—just try to keep it down. I cannot abide the sound of sniveling.” I dash my tears away and inhale deeply, composing myself. “Ahhh, there, you see! Much better. So you can be obedient. Perhaps that’s what he sees in you.” Carmel puts the gun on the side and flexes her fingers whilst regarding me with her lips curled in disdain. “Okay, so here’s how this is going to work. I’m going to kill you at some point tomorrow—I’d rather do it now, but Jaxson is going to call at some point and he’ll get suspicious if you’re not available. I’m not ready to have him stupidly jumping on the next bloody flight back. Not just yet, anyway.”

  Aside from the fact that she’s talking of murder as though she’s trying to fit a wax into her schedule, all I can do is cling onto the hope that she’s planning on letting me speak to Jax. I need him so much. I need to hear his voice, to take strength from it.

  My heart’s still thumping and my palms are cold and clammy. I’ve got until tomorrow to either escape or convince her otherwise… Or kill her myself. Jesus, when did I become this way? She is threatening my life and I’m completely comfortable with adopting a ‘kill or be killed’ attitude—maybe even eager!

  “Do you work for Samara?”

  She cackles again, shaking her head.

  “Do I work for Samara? Darling, please! Let’s just say I’m an opportunist. I simply capitalised on a potentially hazardous situation.”

  “He and his gang aren’t after me then?” She shakes her smug face at me, seemingly proud of her accomplishments. “Oh my God. Those were your men, weren’t they?! You set this whole thing up to get him out of the country so that you could get to me.”

  “Now you’re getting there. Well done… I contracted two very bloody expensive men to do that job for me and they both ended up dead! Do you know how difficult it is to find reliable hitters who are willing to kill women? At least I didn’t have to pay them I suppose.” She shrugs. “Something else you messed up! What were you even doing with Jack’s number anyway? Mind you, he should’ve swapped his phone over by then… I’m surrounded by incompetent fools. Now I have to pick up the pieces and do the job myself. It’s a good job I’m so adaptable… Never send a man to do a woman’s job!”

  Carmel shakes a couple of tablets out of an orange bottle from off the windowsill and throws them back with a swig of vodka from the bottle. She barely takes her eyes off me though. I’m reminded of the first time I saw her popping pills. It was the night I met her at Jax’s. Since being with her here, she seems to take them haphazardly; no schedule and no idea of how many she’s consuming. I already know they’re antidepressants because I read the label yesterday.

  “Is it really as easy as that, Carmel? I’m in the way so you either kill me, or have me killed?”

  “Erm… Yes. Pretty much. Just ask Dean, when you see him. Actually, ignore that, you won’t be seeing him—he’s definitely in hell! You my little ‘Angel’, with your squeaky clean life, are no doubt going to heaven. I bet you’ve never crossed a line in your life—”

  “Hold on a minute… Your fiancé is dead?”

  She nods with a sigh and I don’t bother asking her if she did it because I already know the answer. She is a fucking psychopath! I’m still waiting for my brain and body to kick into action. I must be in denial. The catalogue of bizarre revelations are making everything seem hazy.

  Carmel stares at me and sneers with a sinister motive behind her eyes.

  “Okay. That’s enough chatter. Let’s get you restrained for the night.”

  8:45pm

  My knees are spread apart, with the tops of my calves bound to the kitchen table legs by cable ties. She’s used the same ties to secure my hands behind me, attaching them to the spindles of the wooden chair. My limbs feel numb and tingly, but I’m not in any pain—either that, or I’m still somehow blocking it out.

  Even though she has a whole bag of cable ties, she didn’t cut me loose to go to the toilet. Instead, she tugged down my pants and shoved a small bowl beneath me. Then she flushed it away and threw the bowl in the bin outside.

  Denial still seems to be my only coping mechanism. Yes, I’ve had moments of panic and fought to hold back the tears, but I’ve mostly managed to keep a level head. Maybe that’s something to do with the fact that Carmel is so casual with the way she has spoken about killing me. Or maybe it’s because an impossible part of me believes that Jax will magically appear and save me all over again.

  “Right then, let’s have a drink. That will help us both get some sleep. We’ve got to go to another location tomorrow, so we need some rest.”

  Carmel takes a small bottle of water from the fridge and empties it down the sink. I hear her pouring out hefty glugs of vodka. When she twists the cap back on the vodka, I see hers is in a glass and mine’s in the plastic bottle, which is now almost half full. She puts a straw into the bottle and sets in down in front of me.

  “Thank you.”

  The thought of drinking vodka through a straw automatically makes me think of Wills and I smile. If I don’t smile, I’ll cry and if I cry, I don’t think I’ll be able to come back from it. I’m hanging on by a frayed thread here.

  “Something funny?”

  “No, sorry… Carmel, why do we have to leave?”

  She tuts and rolls her eyes at me.

  “Because, darling, this property is in my name. Do you really think I want a murder investigation under my own roof? I’d have the police sniffing around for weeks…! Anyway, cheers!”

  She raises her tall glass. God knows what she’s toasting to! As she sips her drink, I lean forward and suck hard on the straw. My mouth was dry so the wetness of the vodka is pleasant. I fill my mouth and gulp it down, welcoming the harsh sting in my throat.

  “You can’t possibly think that you’re going to get away with this. Even if you evade the police, you can’t avoid Jax. He’ll know it’s you.”

  “Right now, Bethany, I’m the close friend that he can depend on. I’m the person who came to the rescue to protect his ‘Angel’. He and I trust each other unequivocally. We would never lie to each other, so Jaxson will believe whatever I tell him… He’ll never know that I used his conflict with Samara as smoke and mirrors. If you’d been killed at his house the other night, Jaxson would’ve blamed himself—under the pretense that it was payback for his actions. That will still happen.”

  Motherfucking conniving bitch has got it all planned.

  Necking back the rest of her drink, she helps herself to another large vodka, but this time she pops a couple of pills along with it.

  “And that’s what you want, is it? Jax will be miserable again. He is beginning to remember who he is now—”

  “You have no idea who he is!” She hisses, insulted. “That man has more passion in his little finger than you do in your whole body. The guilt of your tragic death will weigh heavy enough on his conscience, thus fuelling his drive. He will come running back to me, back to the darkness where we are happy and safe. Jaxson will want help resurrecting the Unit and I will be right there, alongside him, doing everything I can to support him… He deserves to head up the Unit. Whomever my father entrusted with that job, obviously wasn’t worthy. Jaxson, however, is! We will make the perfect partnership!”

  I’d forgotten she doesn’t know he was the boss and it was his decision to pull the plug! That shocking information would certainly spoil her flawed plans, pissing her off in the process. I’m not sure which side of her is more lethal; the smiling maniac or the angry bitch. For now, I’m going to try and appeal to the smiling maniac.

  “Maybe that could still happen, without an
y bloodshed. You don’t need to kill me just to get the Unit back. You don’t need to hurt Jax to get what you want… I could convince him. From what he told me, the Unit was a positive influence on his life. He’ll soon see that it’s the right choice…”

  Carmel’s straight-face hides behind her glass as she rolls it from side to side across her forehead. What is she thinking?

  “Sorry, poppet. You may think you’re the queen of manipulation—but that won’t work on me!” She scoffs. “My plan is bulletproof. I don’t require any assistance and certainly not from you!”

  Feeling defeated and zapped of energy, I haven’t the strength to persevere tonight.

  “You’re right. He’d never change his mind. Maybe if you let me—”

  “The only thing I want you to do is shut up and drink up, you’ll need it if you’re going to get any sleep tonight in that position.”

  “Could you maybe untie my hands at least? I’m attached to this table so I can’t go anywhere…”

  “No.”

  “One hand?”

  “Okay. One hand!” She grabs a small knife out of the rack by its blade and expertly spins it in the air, catching it by the handle. “It’s pointless trying anything so don’t even bother.” She cuts my right hand free and I start to rotate my wrist, encouraging my circulation. “Just know that I’m happy to kill you at any time. I’d just prefer you to buy us some time with Jack and Jaxson first. Plus it’d be so much easier if I didn’t have a dead body to shift around—but it’s not like I haven’t done it before so feel free, the choice is yours… If you want a quick, fairly pain free exit, just keep doing as you’re told. The more you piss me off, the slower and more painful your death will become… Simple!”

  “You must really hate me, Carmel… You’re unbelievable. You got me good though. I thought I’d gotten to know the real Carmel since we went for that drink. I actually started liking you. But, it was all deception. This whole weekend, you’ve been playing me.”

  Carmel shrugs unapologetically.

  “You’re right and my God it was tedious, listening to your girly drivel for hours on end. I must say though, I don’t hate you, Bethany. I’d have to care about you to feel that type of emotion. Don’t take it personal. I do what I need to do, so that I can do what I want to do. And I need to get rid of you.”

  “You don’t. I’m not a threat to you.”

  “Put it this way, you started off as an obstacle, when I first saw you, at his place. But the second you clung on too tightly and started sticking your freckled little nose where it didn’t belong, you became a target, which simply bodes disaster for you, sweetie.”

  “Jax wants me, not you.”

  “Bloody hell… You still don’t get it, Bethany. Jax simply tolerates you, sweetie. You’ve tried to persuade him that the dismal life you can offer him is what he needs and it seems you’ve pulled the wool over his eyes—but never mine. Nobody can ever offer him what I can. He needs danger. He thrives off it. If you don’t live life on the edge, you’re taking up too much room and you, my dear, are taking up far too much room… So I’ll be throwing you over the edge myself… He may not know it yet, but he wants me.”

  “If he wanted you—”

  “Stop. Talking… It’s simple. This is the way it is meant to be. You seem to forget that I have known him a lot longer than you. Our connection and our trust is stronger than anything you think you and he have. Maybe if you understood that, this would make more sense to you.”

  “He could never love you.”

  “Oh shut up! Just shut up! You know nothing about what Jaxson needs… You’re boring me now. Not another word or else I’ll cover the floor with the plastic sheets that are on standby in my car and I’ll shoot you in your pretty face right here. I could even arrange for you to send him some gruesome selfies from your phone—as a goodbye keepsake!”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Monday 15th June 2015

  4:37am

  Beth

  We sat in suffocating silence. I finished my vodka and embraced the sluggish feeling into my bloodstream. Long after I’d rested my head on the table, Carmel drank and refilled her glass, occasionally mumbling something to herself.

  Sleep finally blessed me by dragging me away from the sickening circumstances that have once again become my latest reality. The vodka probably wasn’t a good idea, but the desire for my mind to disappear into a world of fuzz was too tempting.

  I’ve no idea what time it is, but I do know that my head is throbbing. She must’ve smacked me harder than I realised.

  I can’t feel my toes and my left hand is numb, but the important fact is, Carmel passed out on the table opposite me before she restrained my right hand again. The light from the hallway helps me to see that the bottle of vodka has nearly all gone. Knowing that she’s got a lot of alcohol in her system, along with the pills, gives me a chunk of courage and, dare I say it, a slice of hope.

  Quietly, I look around to see what’s within reaching distance. My heart sinks when there’s absolutely nothing except a goddam hand towel. I stare at the knife she used to free my hand and stupidly will for it to move six inches forward, to the edge of the kitchen work surface. My plastic bottle and straw are of no use to me. After a few more minutes, I come to the conclusion that my only, semi-feasible option is to smash the glass she’s holding.

  I stretch over as far as I can. The creak of the chair breaks the eerie silence, spiking my pulse further. I manage to pinch the towel between the tips of my two fingers, pulling it over and into my lap. Laying it out, I’m grateful to find it’s thick.

  Carefully reaching out in front of me, I take hold of the rim of the glass and slowly pull it up, twisting left and right at the same time. She doesn’t move a muscle. Only the faint rise and fall of her back confirms that she’s still alive—unfortunately. Thankfully her grip is weak and after a few more twists, the glass slides out fairly easily.

  Placing it on top of the towel in my lap, I gather the four corners together in my fist. I try to ease myself up off the seat, like I did when she put the bowl beneath me. My feet don’t comply. They don’t even feel like they belong to my body anymore. Instead, I lean my chest onto the tabletop and let that take my weight.

  My left arm is dragged into an awkward position. I persevere, gradually placing the wrapped up glass under my bottom. I close my eyes, saying a quick silent prayer before slowly placing all of my weight firmly down.

  With a crack and a crunch the glass gives way and the sound is cushioned by the towel. I remain still. Contemplating my next move. If she catches me, she’ll shoot me. Do I make a run for it or try and get to her gun before she does? Whatever I do, it’s got to be fast.

  Gathering the towel at the corners again, I remove it, making sure not to spill out any of the contents. Laying it out on the table in front of me, the sound of the pieces touching each other causes Carmel to stir. I hold my breath and wait.

  Rather than shattering into lots of small pieces, the glass has broken perfectly at its weakest point, near the rim. Once I determine that she’s not about to wake, I select a large piece and place it inside my bra. Facing the curve of the glass outwards makes sure that the sharp sides stick into my bra and not my skin.

  Grabbing a long slither, I quickly set to work, snagging the tie on one of my legs first. My firm grip digs the glass into my fingers with each slice, but the flimsy material of Carmel’s leggings protects my leg enough. I can’t see clearly in this dim light. When I run my thumb over the plastic, the jagged edges show me where I’ve made progress. I make a few more determined cuts and then tug and twist the final millimetre apart.

  One down, two to go. Let’s do this.

  Ignoring the soreness inside my knuckles, I use the same technique and make quick work of the second cable tie. Soon enough my lower half is free and my stomach cartwheels in relief. I drag my sluggish legs together and try wiggling my toes. I thought I’d be able to stand, to make it easier to cut my wrist fre
e, but I can’t waste time waiting for my circulation to sort itself out. So, I reach around my back and set to work on the final restraint.

  The adrenalin is pumping around my body causing my hand to make clumsy mistakes. Working blind makes it so much more difficult and I’m scratching the fuck out of my left wrist. Finally I manage to yank the last part open and bring my arm around to my front. Breathing a sigh of relief, I rub away at my wrist, which smears blood from my right hand into the new scratches.

  I’ve no idea where she put my phone and I can’t see her gun. I’m not about to risk waking her by fumbling around in her waistband to retrieve it. Instead, I’m going to grab a knife from the rack, in case I need to defend myself and then get the hell away from here.

  After taking a few deep breaths, I try to stand up, but my body still won’t obey my brain. The listless feeling hasn’t subsided so I grab the back of my knees, one at a time, swinging them around to the side of the chair. Using the table, I hoist myself up, trying to step forward. My movements are disjointed. My knees feel strange, as though they can’t be trusted to take the weight of my upper body. They buckle quickly and I fall forward, grabbing hold of the kitchen surface, stopping myself from clattering to the floor.