Well, Lucas has a death wish. He pulls on her hair roughly, pulling her head back and forcing a squeal from her throat. And he smiles like a sick fuck when he does it. I want nothing more than to kill them all, starting with him. Put a bullet right between his eyes for hurting Grace, but I need to bide my time. If we’re both to survive, I have to wait until the precise right moment. Otherwise, it’s game over.
I swallow harshly, trying to hold my anger in as one of the men pulls a corn sack over her head. I know what’s coming next, and don’t even flinch when the man behind me does the same to me. My hands are tied behind my back, and I know the same is being done to Grace at this very moment.
The next thing I hear is a sliding metal door before I’m being thrown into the back of what smells like my own car. I wait, sick with dread, until I feel another body being pushed in next to me. Straining to hear, I finally detect her short, choppy breathing.
Grace.
Thank god they aren’t going to separate us. I want to talk to her, want to tell her that everything is going to be fine. To tell her to be brave and I will get us out of this, but I don’t say a word. I’m hoping she’s wise enough to know to do the same.
I’m saying plenty, though. I’m cursing at myself and cursing at Bennett. It’s clear to me at this point that the fucking weasel ratted me out to Phil. I make myself a mental note to put a bullet between his eyes too for betraying me. There’s no other way Phil’s men could have known I would be at the chop shop. Sad part is, I was ready for them. Had it all worked out if things panned out that way. I’d already gotten one of Phil’s goons to leave the room and was about to test my theory and then Grace had showed up knocking shit over and sending everything into a state of pandemonium.
Fucking Bennett.
I push away my thoughts of revenge, deciding that it’s more important to focus on the issue at hand. It’s hard not to notice Grace’s erratic and harsh breathing, and again, I wish I could comfort her but I don’t want to let them know how much I care for her, if at all, so I say nothing.
Instead, I simply maneuver my hand to caress her arm softly. It seems to do the trick as her breathing becomes less intense and quieter. When she’s finally calmed down enough for my head to focus, I begin trying to figure out a plan.
They’ve already taken my Glock, so I’m without arms. I’ll need to get creative with the tools at my disposal and be ready for any opening they give me. Most likely, there’ll only be one.
The men in front are talking, but not about anything important. They’re probably seasoned pros and know better than to say anything useful in the presence of the enemy. They just yammer on and on about some new gangster film in theaters. Wannabe gangsters are precisely what they are. And soon, they’re going to realize they’re way out of their fucking league.
I’m going to make them regret touching my woman.
22
Grace
He probably hates me right now, and it’s not like I could blame him. I hate myself too. I’m literally scared shitless in the back of this car, and he hasn’t said a word to me. And I’ve been too afraid to say anything at all.
I thought I felt him caressing me, but it could have just been wishful thinking because it was gone only moments after it came.
When the vehicle comes to a stop, my palms are slick with sweat and the men force me outside. I assume they’re forcing Jack as well. They drag me forward along what feels like blacktop beneath my feet. Next thing I know, I’m being thrown forward and landing hard against a hard surface. The familiar dinging of an elevator lets me know that we’re either going up or going down. I know nothing of the location we’ve found ourselves in, but imagine it to be a filthy warehouse or something of the sort.
I hate not being able to see. I hate not being able to yell out for Jack to see if he’s okay, but I know that would only make things worse.
I say a little prayer under my breath.
A bell dings, and the doors slide open. A hand against my back pushes me forward and out of the elevator. Then, the bag is being ripped over my head. The first thing I do is inhale sharply, taking refuge in being able to breathe properly.
My vision is blurry as it adjusts from pitch-black darkness, but a few blinks later, I realize that we’re not in an abandoned warehouse. We’re in nothing of the sort. Instead, I’m blinded by gold-plated walls in an obnoxious penthouse with a view to die for. Almost everything is gold, and animal heads adorn the walls. Animal fur is used as rugs spread throughout the open space, and ceremonial swords hang from the walls.
Funny enough, given the circumstances, the place looks like it was designed by a rejected Game of Thrones set designer.
I’m so blinded by the obnoxious setting I’ve found myself in that it takes a while to realize there’s a man sitting on a chair in front of me, and in front of him are two more chairs.
The man looks oddly familiar, but I couldn’t place a name to the face if I tried. Maybe he just has one of those faces; obnoxious and evil for the sake of being evil. Well-coifed hair combed and parted, and a severe jawline like a model out of Moscow.
“Both of you need to take a seat,” he says, his voice echoing off the gold walls with menace. His voice definitely doesn’t fit his face. “Now,” he snaps icily.
I swallow harshly, but do as told. For the first time, my eyes peel left to get a glimpse of Jack. He looks just the same as the last time I saw him, pale and haunted. I’ve never taken him for someone who listens to orders, but he doesn’t miss a beat in taking a seat beside me.
Villain Dude gestures with his hand towards the three men who kidnapped us. “You two, guard the door and make sure no one followed you. You,” he gestures to the biggest of the three men, “stay here.”
The goon takes residence next to his chair, folding his arms over his barrel chest.
From behind me, I hear the elevator ding as the doors sling open. And when it closes again, I know that it’s now two versus two. Oh, who the hell am I kidding? It’s one versus two, and with me being a severe handicap, the odds are still not looking like they’re in our favor.
Villain Guy stares intently at me, his golden eyes—Jesus, even his eyes are made of precious metals—leering at me. Then, his eyes twitch to Jack. “You, I know.” He points a finger squarely at me. “But who the fuck is she?”
My gaze shoots to the corner, because I’m almost just as interested in the answer to that question as the guy who’s about to kill us. If I’m going to die, I’d at least like to know what I am to Jack first.
Without missing a beat, Jack says, “She’s just some random slut I was banging who got dick-whipped. Now she’s attached to my fucking hip like some kind of wounded puppy.”
His words sting. No, worse. A knife in my fucking heart. But there’s no time worrying about that, because it won’t hurt for long. We’re probably about to die anyway.
“This is between you and me, Phil,” Jack says, perking my attention. The villain before us now has a name, and more importantly, Jack and him clearly know each other. “Let the kid go.”
Kid? It was another blow to the chest and tears well up in my eyes.
“Interesting,” Phil purrs as he braces his palms against his knees and stands, not a crease to be seen in his black pants. He steps towards me and then behind me. Jack’s eyes chase him around the room, and then stop on me as Phil twists his fingers into my hair. Pain shoots up my scalp and I wince.
“She’s a pretty girl, Jack.” He drops his hand from my hair and caresses my right cheek before pinching me gently. “You know if she doesn’t turn out to be a junky whore, she could earn much more than she ever did.” Phil cackles maniacally, more than proud of himself. “What was her name? That’s right, Scarlet. What a beautiful name. What a beautiful girl.”
I can hear Jack’s intake of breath from a mile away, and notice how furious he becomes, his dark eyes gleaming with anger and a hint of sorrow. All the pieces fall into place.
Jack is a vig
ilante after all, and it looks like his vengeance is personal.
Scarlet…his wife? His lover?
My stomach clenches at the pain in Jack’s face and I want to lash out at this bastard more than I want my next breath.
“I remember the first time I saw her on tape,” Phil purrs as his fingers tangle with my hair again in short, slow strokes as if he’s getting off on reminiscing. Saliva pools in my mouth as I try not to puke. “She fought so hard the first time she was raped, and eventually the drugs helped her, and in the end she was begging for it.”
I drop my head, opting to stare at the floor so Phil can’t see the tears raining down my cheeks, though the guttural sounds escaping my throat are probably enough of an indication that I’m sobbing profusely. I can’t imagine what Jack has been through, and how losing the woman he loved has affected him. I’m so sad for him, so sad that I momentarily forget that I’m probably about to die.
My mind races, trying to think of some way to help but all I can think about is poor Scarlet, whoever she might have been…
Suddenly, I feel a tap on my finger. When I twist my eyes, I see that it’s Jack. Somehow he’s managed to free a hand from the binds and he’s trying to tell me something with his fingers. I don’t know where Phil is, only that he’s somewhere out of view.
I crane my head over my shoulder to see Phil circling us, coming up on my right now. I look back to Jack, trying to stay hyper aware of his body language as Phil continues in the background.
“You know, Jack, I can’t let this go unpunished and your death just isn’t enough. You owe me for those girls at the warehouse.”
“Yeah,” Jack finally says something, his eyes tangled with mine as he speaks and offers me another tap on my hand. “I’m sorry about that, Phil.”
“You’re not sorry,” Phil snaps back, a cold grin spreading his lips. “Not yet. But you will be.”
Phil steps to the side of the room and points to the man who first bound me. “Make me a drink. Something fancy. Something with gold in it.”
The man doesn’t hesitate, moving to do the other man’s bidding like a trained monkey, always at Phil’s beck and call.
Phil steps to his desk situated just behind the gold chair he was sitting in earlier. He leans against the desk and glares at the both of us. “I haven’t quite figured out how you’re going to pay me, Jack.” His eyes shift to mine. “But I have a few ideas.”
Jack once again taps my hand, this time with more force and urgency. He’s about to make a move. I just don’t know what it is. My heart begins to race again, terrified that something’s about to go wrong. But I understand he has to make a move, or we’ll face certain death.
Suddenly, I feel a push against my chair as I’m thrown to the ground. Pain wrenches up my shoulder as I crane my neck to see what’s happening. With the speed of lightning, Jack jumps to his feet and lunges in front of me towards a display table to my right. It’s a flash as he grabs a pair of ceremonial daggers from the display and launches them one after another towards the thug mixing Phil a drink.
He’s too preoccupied to know what’s coming. He drops his crystal decanter as a knife juts out of his chest. The shattering glass explodes as Jack turns to aim the next at Phil, but the side door is thrown open. A tall man wielding a gun barrels in, firing off a shot.
Jack launches the second dagger straight into the gunman’s throat. The gun drops to the ground with a clatter just before the body.
I catch a quick glimpse of Jack in action and notice that he’s been shot in the leg with the bullet, but he’s already up on his feet, and sprinting to the steel door to lock it.
Phil lumbers to his feet after having taken refuge behind his desk. He digs for a pistol at his waist just as Jack snags the fallen thug’s pistol and has it aimed squarely at Phil.
I’m in shock.
I’m in awe.
Jack looks like a fucking lethal superhero, and I cannot believe he just did that. He stares Phil down, his glare not breaking for even a split second as he tears my bindings away, even as he says to me, “Call the police, Grace.”
Okay.
I nod, still unable to speak. As soon as my hands are free, I lunge for the golden phone and dial 911 and urge them to hurry up and to send an ambulance.
The whole time, Jack is dead-focused on Phil. He could kill him, maybe he should kill him. But he doesn’t. I can see he’s shaking with the effort of not squeezing the trigger.
“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice thin and reedy.
I’m worried about Jack and his leg. Sick with guilt and remorse. But at the same time, I can already feel him pulling away from me. Why wouldn’t he? I showed up and ruined whatever he was doing and nearly got him killed. I stay silent, counting my blessings that we are both alive for now and wait until, minutes later, the police enter into the penthouse from the elevator.
The commotion that follows is a jumble in my mind, but as they load Jack into the ambulance a few minutes later and I take his keys that the police have recovered to follow behind, I can’t help but wonder if this will be the last time I ever see him and my heart cracks in two.
23
Jack
Once all the cops have left the hospital, it’s super-late and well into the next morning. I kick my feet over the edge of the bed and tie the laces of my boots. I grunt out in pain and begin to regret my decision to deny any pain medications.
I’ve been that way since Scarlet first got hooked on drugs. It’s too easy to get addicted so I avoid those pills at all costs. I hate not being alert but I hate the thought of becoming dependent even worse. The doctors did a good enough job of sewing me up and cleaning me out. And the police did their jobs too, before they left the hospital. They wanted to make sure no stone was left unturned as they questioned me, and I can only hope they bought what I was selling.
I leave my hospital clothes on the bed as I exit my room, only to find Grace sitting in a wooden chair outside my room. I’ve seen her over the course of the night, but only in passing as the door between us opened and closed. She looks pale and still terrified. Who could blame her?
Nausea swamps my stomach and I tense.
“Let’s get you home,” I say. She moves to protest, because maybe she thinks that I shouldn’t be driving with an injured leg, but it’s the least I can do for her. “I’m not taking no for an answer. I don’t want you driving right now with your nerves.”
“What about your leg?” she questions softly as she rises to stand, her black hoodie folded over her arms.
“Flesh wound through and through. It’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” I grind out as I take a measured step forth. It hurts like hell, but pain is a part of living. And compared to the ache in my chest at having almost been forced to watch Grace get killed in front of me or worse?
It’s a scratch.
Grace follows me out of the hospital silently and with her head bowed down.
Neither of us says a word except her giving me short directions to where she parked her car near the chop shop. Finally, as we arrive, I put the car in park and I glance her way.
My throat is tight because I’m so fucking grateful I didn’t get her killed, but I also know it was a close thing.
Too close.
“Grace, there’s something I need to explain—” I begin, but she cuts in…
“I’m sorry for everything,” she begins, her voice sobbing but her eyes dry. “None of this was any of my business and I’m sorry.” Her lips quiver as her eyes meet mine. “Please, Jack. Can you forgive me?”
“No, Grace.”
She retreats as far away from me as she can in the limited space of my car. “Jack, please. I never meant—”
“No, Grace.” I shake and bow my head. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I never should’ve gotten involved with you because my life is dangerous.” I look to her again. “Everything should be okay for you now. Everything that happened was in self-defense. And you did nothing wr
ong.”
“What about you?” she asks, her face still full of despair.
“Unless Phil decides to rat on me for murdering those men back at the warehouse, and therefore admitting his own guilt in the matter and adding another twenty-five years to his soon-to-be life sentence, then I’ll be fine.” I force a grim smile that hurts my face. “This should all go away soon and you can forget about it. Go back to having a normal life.”
She swallows nervously and reaches a palm out to rest on my thigh. “But I don’t want to forget about it.” She shifts in her seat slightly, turning to face me more completely, but I realize I’d made a terrible miscalculation. I’d assumed she’d be totally on board. Ready to get as far away from me as she could. Now I know better and I realize with a sickening thud that nothing good is going to come of this conversation.
“You don’t have a choice,” I say, not able to look at her.
“Why, Jack?” she questions, her voice on the edge of tears. “Can’t we at least talk it all through? I still have questions and…things to say.”
I could see the things she had to say shining in her eyes, and hearing them would only cut deeper.
“Talking will only make it harder for both of us.” I catch a glance of myself in the dark rearview mirror. I’m ice and stone cold, but that’s the way I have to be. It’s the way I’ve always been and I can’t afford to change now. “I made a terrible mistake. I thought when you followed me you might be working with Donny or Phil. I was wrong and I nearly got you killed. But now we need a clean break so you can do those healthy things you were doing before we ever met.” I turn to her, but I’m not looking at her. I can’t. “Go on spring break. Have fun. Get trashed with your friends and meet a nice boy—”
“I don’t want any of that.” She shakes her head and reaches for my hand, but I brush her away. “Please don’t do this, Jack. At least listen for a second. We can… We can—”
Saving Grace: A bad-boy virgin romance Page 15