WANTED: A Bad Boy Crime Romance
Page 19
“Don’t,” Eva says, quickly. “It’ll be too messy.”
Henry holds the gun in place, his eyes narrowed like he’s still trying to decide what to do. With a shrug, he puts the gun down, and takes another swig of champagne.
“We need more champagne,” he says, shaking the bottle. “Please, excuse me, ladies.” He gives Eva a sharp look. “Watch her.”
With Henry gone, Amber focuses her gaze on Eva, concentrating all of her energy on her. Eva continues to avoid her. She stares at the floor, her arms hugged tightly around herself. Amber thinks that this might be her chance to escape. But Eva might be armed. Or, she could call for Henry. And besides, Amber has more questions that need answers.
“Was everything you told me a lie?” Amber asks, her voice flat.
Eva looks up at her briefly, then back at the floor. “No.”
Amber’s breath catches in her chest. She makes sure to keep her voice low. “Were you really raped?”
“Yes,” Eva says, with a hiss at the end.
“Was Jack there?”
Eva darts her head towards the door Henry just went through. “Jack was there.”
“Did he-“
Eva gives a quick, slight shake of her head. Amber exhales with relief. She knew Jack wasn’t capable of that, but she wanted to hear Eva say it. Amber squares her body towards Eva, and speaks gently.
“So, the guy who raped you, that you had a relationship with, was that-“
Amber’s interrupted by Henry violently swinging the door open. He hurls a full bottle of champagne at the wall. The glass shatters, and fizzing liquid slides down the wall to the carpet.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Henry’s voice is calm in contrast to his intense face. He stalks over to Eva. “You shouldn’t discuss our private matters with others, dear.” He backs her up against the wall, then grasps both of her arms. Eva’s face twists in pain.
Amber knows exactly what’s going on here. Murderers have massive egos, and when the image they've cultivated begins to shatter, they can become unhinged. Right now, with his lies and misdeeds unraveling around him, Henry’s like a wild animal backed into a corner.
Eva straightens her back defiantly, which makes Amber’s heart fall. Now’s not the time to grow a backbone, Amber thinks. You’ll only push him farther.
But Eva’s face twists in anger. She rears her head back, then spits right in Henry’s face. He backs away, wiping his eyes. He shakes his head slowly.
“After all I’ve done for you,” Henry says.
Amber silently pleads with Eva to stay quiet, but something is overcoming Eva. All innocence is washed from her face. Eva grits her teeth, clenching her hands into tight fists.
“All you’ve done for me? You mean like raping me?”
“Are you on that again?” Henry asks. “How many times do I have to tell you, it was a misunderstanding? You need to drop that, although I know you love throwing it in my face.”
Eva glances at Amber, defiance blazing in her eyes.
“It was rape,” Eva says. “Then you manipulated me afterwards. You introduced me to drugs, made me your willing slave.”
“And here I thought I saw something in you.” Henry shakes his head with disappointment. He looks down at the gun in his hand, considering it. “You know what happens to people I don’t have a use for.”
Eva looks at the gun and laughs. “You’ll get caught. It’s over for you, Henry. You can’t clean this up, not without me.”
Henry doesn’t flinch, he just hardens his gaze. “Which is why I need to go out in a blaze of blood and bullets.”
“Yes,” Amber says, her voice rising up strong and bright. “Fucking epic.”
Henry turns to her, his eyes narrowed into slits. “What?”
Amber straightens her spine, the neural pathways of her brain lighting up with inspiration. If she can help repair Henry’s tattered ego, if only temporarily, he’ll calm down.
“Why do you think I hooked up with Jack?” Amber asks, coyly. “I’m into murderers. I love that shit.”
Henry turns to her with a self-satisfied smile. Eva steps away from him.
“Are you fucking serious?” he asks. “How sick are you?”
Amber sees the flicker in his eyes. She can tell he’s getting off on this. She’ll have to keep up the adulations.
“I was planning on writing a book about all this, about Jack,” Amber says. “But it turns out, Jack’s not the star here. You are.”
Henry arches an eyebrow. “A book? But you’ll just make me a villain.”
“Villain’s get the most notoriety. They get romanticized, obsessed over. Movies are made about their lives. Think Jesse James or Al Capone. There are even pockets of people on the internet who idolize the Columbine shooters.”
Henry takes a step towards her, swaying on his feet. Amber can tell he’s been into much more than the champagne.
“That’s very intriguing,” Henry says.
Amber’s curiosity begins to bubble up again, and she can’t stop it. “There’s just one thing I’m confused about. Why didn’t you have Jack killed that night? Why go to all the trouble to set him up?”
Henry scratches his temple with the barrel of his gun. His casual body language tells Amber that he’s opening up to her, he’s beginning to trust her.
“Don’t put this in your book, okay?” Henry says. “I mean, if I let you live. I don’t want my badass image tarnished.” He plops into a chair with a sigh. “But I do want Jack to know. I didn’t want him to be killed. I told the hitman to kill Jack if he had to, only if he had to. Your man didn’t put up a fight. He was so fucked up he didn’t know what was going on. Jack just sat back and drank scotch.” Henry laughs sharply. “I hate I had to set him up, but it was the only way. I think, maybe, Jack’s the only person I ever really cared about.”
And look what you put him through.
The words are on the tip of Amber’s tongue, but she bites them back. She pauses for a moment, deciding on her next move, when she sees Eva approaching Henry from behind. Eva’s holding a heavy brass candlestick above her head.
Yes, do it, Amber thinks with excitement.
Eva starts to swing the candlestick down. At the last moment, Henry turns to look at her. The candlestick whacks against his shoulder, accompanied by a crunching sound that makes Amber cringe. Henry screams in pain. Eva throws the candlestick heavily to the ground, then grabs Amber’s hand.
“Come on,” Eva whispers fiercely.
They run. Amber looks back to see Henry lumbering to his feet, cradling his shoulder. His face is red with anger.
“You bitch,” he yells, saliva splattering on his lips.
Henry raises the gun, and shoots haphazardly. It must have a silencer on it, because it barely makes a sound, just sharp zinging. Amber barrels forward, holding tightly to Eva’s hand, but Eva stumbles to her knees. She’s been shot in the back of her calf. It’s bleeding profusely. Amber rushes to help her to her feet. Eva must be numb with shock, because the pain doesn’t seem to register. They are both preoccupied with getting out of there, and nothing else matters. They burst through doors of the ballroom out into another darkened hallway.
*
“Henry must have gotten to Amber, somehow,” Jack says. He’s slouched forward in the front seat of Joel’s car. “That’s why she left. There’s no other explanation.”
Simon makes a humph noise in the backseat. Jack glares back at him, making the white-haired detective start to sweat.
“Where should we look first?” Jack asks. “Henry’s apartment. His office?”
Joel shakes his head. “I think I know where he is.”
Joel drives downtown to a block that’s cluttered with expensive hotels, and parks in front of the one that’s dark and deserted. It gives Jack an ominous feeling. He hasn’t been here since that night, though the shattered memories haunt him whether he’s awake or asleep.
“Do you really think Henry would take her here
?” Jack asks. His stomach twists at the thought of what Henry planned to do with Amber.
“We’ll see,” Joel says.
Being back in the ballroom is a surreal experience. It’s not unfamiliar to Jack. He sees it most nights in his dreams, though his subconscious turns the room into a fractured version of itself. It’s dark, besides the small amount of streetlight filtering in through the windows. The chairs and tables are in disarray, just as they always were.
Joel, Jack, and Simon search everywhere. They walk around the perimeter of the vast room, checking under every table, and in every dark corner.
“No one’s here,” Joel says. “I got it wrong. We should check his apartment. We might not have much time.”
We might not have any time, Jack thinks. She might already be dead.
*
Eva’s lost a lot of blood, and she’s growing weaker. She can barely walk on her own, leaving Amber to practically drag her down the hallway. There are no windows, and it’s pitch dark. Amber feels her way along the walls, grappling for a door or handle, anything to grab on to. Finally, she feels a doorknob. She grasps it desperately, like it’s her only lifeline, praying that it’s not locked.
It’s not. A door swings open. Amber rushes inside, helping Eva along. They find themselves in a supply closet. Amber helps Eva sit against the wall. She can’t see what’s going on with her leg, but she can feel the blood pouring out, soaking her hand.
“It’s going to be okay,” Amber whispers. “We’re going to get you to a hospital.”
Eva takes a shallow breath. “Why are you helping me?”
Amber blinks, shaking her head. “I don’t know. I really don’t, Eva.” She presses her finger to Eva’s lips, telling her to be quiet.
Amber holds her breath, listening. She can hear Henry’s staggering footsteps. He has to be injured. The candlestick Eva whacked him with was so heavy, he must have a broken collarbone.
It’s dark, he’s in pain. Maybe he’ll go away, Amber thinks, hopefully.
Suddenly, there’s an electric buzz. Light pours in through the cracks of the closet door. Henry’s sick laugh rings through the air, adding to Amber’s dread.
“You dumb bitches,” Henry says. “You left a trail of blood.”
The footsteps become louder, more sure, and lead straight to the closet door. Amber and Eva huddle together, shaking in terror. When Henry opens the door, Amber’s momentarily blinded by the bright light. Without much ceremony, Henry lifts the gun, and pulls the trigger. Amber holds her breath, expecting to be shot, but it’s Eva who’s thrown back from the blast. Amber scans her own body for bleeding wounds, and finds none. Eva is on the ground. Her left eye is missing, and so is part of her cheek. Blood drains profusely from her head.
Amber has the immediate urge to vomit. It’s terrifyingly unreal to see how thin the barrier between life and death really is. Just one movement of Henry’s trigger finger, just one bullet, is enough to put Eva down for good. Amber clasps her hand over her mouth, struggling to breathe while she trembles violently.
“That was hardly satisfying,” Henry says. He steps towards Eva, and kicks her limp body. “It was too quick. Barely any suffering.” He levels his cold gaze at Amber. “That’s the first time I’ve killed someone by my own hand. How disappointing.” He steps towards her, cornering Amber against the wall. “I want a do over.”
“No, don’t,” Amber says. “What about my book? Who will write your story?”
Henry strokes his chin pensively. “That’s a good point. But you’ll probably just make me look like an asshole.” He tosses the gun on the floor next to Eva’s body, then wraps both of his hands around Amber’s throat. She feels her windpipe crush under his ruthless grip. “I’d rather kill you. And don't worry, I'll take my time. That’s what life’s all about, right? Savoring the moment.”
*
“Come on, Jack, lets go,” Joel says. Joel stands near the hallway that leads to the exit, ready to go.
Jack picks up a brass candlestick that’s lying on the ground. He turns it over in his hands, studying it. He feels helpless, inert. If Amber isn’t here, where could she be? And will he ever find her? He doesn’t want to rush to another location, only to find she’s not there, but he can’t stay here twiddling his thumbs.
He lets go of the candlestick, letting it drop with a heavy thunk to the ground. He nods at Joel, then steps forward, but something stops him.
Jack’s shoe sinks into the carpet, squishing into something wet. His mind travels back to his father’s office, the thick puddle of blood partially absorbed by the carpet. The carpet here is dark red, and with the lack of light, he couldn’t see the stain until now. He drops to his knees, grasping the puddle of dark liquid. There’s the unmistakable scent of iron.
“Joel,” Jack shouts, holding up his blood smeared hand. He squints his eyes, studying the floral pattern in the carpet, and the wet dots leading away from the puddle. “There’s a trail.”
Joel rushes over to Jack’s side, and shouts back to Simon, “Call for backup.”
The two of them follow the trail of blood to the double doors that lead deeper into the hotel. Jack throws the doors open. The hallways are pitch dark and labyrinthian. But there’s light coming from somewhere in the distance. Jack can see the dim glow. He walks towards it with visions of his father’s body invading his mind. If he finds Amber like that, that will be the end of it. He won’t have any reason to live.
*
How long can a person survive without air? One minute, two minutes?
Amber can’t remember, but it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t know how long she’s been deprived of oxygen. Henry’s hands are a tight vice around her neck, squeezing her windpipe completely shut. His callous eyes stare directly into hers. The corners of his mouth are upturned a little, showing that he’s enjoying taking her life.
Amber struggles ferociously at first, trying to pry his fingers off of her throat, and punching at his chest. She’s desperate for air. Her chest constricts, causing pressure to build behind her eyes.
Then, suddenly and all at once, the discomfort is gone. Her body becomes weightless. A warmth overcomes her, wrapping her in comfort. She closes her eyes, feeling herself slip away, and she doesn’t resist it.
Amber sees a dark tunnel. Her vision is wavy, like she’s underwater. In the distance, she sees a figure, a woman, with dark wavy hair, just like Amber’s.
It’s her mother. But not the wilted, cancer ravaged figure from the last few years of her life. It’s the beautiful, vibrant, healthy mother Amber remembers from her childhood. A feeling of cool, serene peace washes over Amber, making her feel clean. She rushes towards the figure, her arms outstretched. Her mother gives her a beatific smile before wrapping Amber in her arms. Amber squeezes her greedily, breathing in the vanilla scent that always lingered in her hair. In later years, that warm scent would be replaced by sharp antiseptics, and the rotting smell of death.
“I miss you,” Amber breathes against her neck. “I need you.”
Her mother cups her cheeks and looks her in the eyes. She is angelic, more beautiful than she ever was in life. She’s without pain, and at peace. Her mouth doesn’t open, but Amber hears the words.
Go back to him.
Amber senses the pressure releasing around her neck. Air rushes into her burning lungs. The vision melts away, leaving only the blackness behind her eyelids. Her eyes fly open. She’s back in the closet with Henry. His hands are still around her neck, though not as tight. Her windpipe is opened just a little, letting in a thin stream of oxygen.
Henry’s looking towards the closet door, preoccupied with something. Amber regains her senses enough to hear the commotion in the hallway. She immediately knows it’s Jack.
This isn’t what Mom would want for me, to be strangled in a closet.
Before Henry turns back to her, she closes her eyes, letting her body go limp. She takes slow, controlled breaths so it doesn’t look like she's breathing.
Out of the slits of her eyelids, Amber sees Henry peeking out of the closet door. Every ounce of confidence and charisma has drained from him, leaving a pathetic shell of a terrible person. She watches as Henry raises the gun to his temple. He closes his eyes, trembling, but quickly chickens out, dropping his hand to his side.
*
Jack finds the lit hallway and barrels down it. The carpet is stained with blood. Jack knows that whoever was injured must be in bad shape. With his head down, he keeps his eyes trained on the red droplets, and they lead him to a closet.
Without hesitating, he throws open the closet doors. The first thing he sees is Henry standing there, and then two bodies huddled together on the ground. Amber’s hand is splayed out delicately, her palm facing up. Jack traces his eyes up the creamy pale skin of her arm, to her loose hair covering her face.
“I’m sorry, Jack,” Henry snivels. “She got in the way. I never meant to hurt you.”
Jack knows there’s nothing left for him now. His life is over. Jack doesn’t want to feel the crushing grief that squeezes his ribcage, so he allows the anger to take control. His breath is hot in his chest. His muscles flex, primed and ready to crush Henry.
Jack grabs Henry by the shirt, yanks him out of the closet, and hurls him into the opposite wall. Jack immediately pounces on his cousin. His mind goes blank, and he starts punching, his fist smashing repeatedly into Henry’s face. He feels a wetness as Henry’s blood begins to flow.