He gripped his waist, leaned forward and shook his head, answering, “Ma’am, I’ve been waiting for you a long, long, long time!” He stopped a moment, straightened himself, and added, “You could say that you’ve been a pet-project of mine. I just needed to be patient. And then, to have your daughter show up here, pretending and all. Well, it was the frosting on the cake. I played along, kept her around, even enjoyed her company a bit. But you were the prize.”
“Prize?” I asked. “Why?”
“Like I said, you’re a bit of a celebrity. And I want you to work for us.”
I shifted uncomfortably and let the words sink in while deciding if he was joking. His expression remained unchanged, stoic. He was serious. “I don’t do that anymore,” I told him. “I’m retired”
“Do what?” Snacks asked. Her eyes were dire and emotional. I tried to show her some comfort, tried to talk without saying anything, and tell her not to worry. But I was terrified for her. For us.
“Zip it!” Tommy yelled, pointing his finger at Snacks. He raised his hand to strike her.
“Like I said, I’m retired!” I yelled loud enough to draw his attention back in my direction. It worked.
“Just one little, bitty job?” he asked, wagging his finger at me. “I need you to kill someone, and then you and your daughter can go free. Simple, right? Easy peasy for a pro like you. What do you say?”
“I’m unavailable,” I answered coldly, my patience thinning.
He nodded and went to the door, his hand on Robbins’ shoulder as he yelled, “Boys!”
Within seconds, a handful of the gang members filled the small room, choking the still air with the smell of sweat and road dust. “Take the girl out—use the back office and get a few of the others too . Then fuck her forty ways to Sunday!”
The men didn’t hesitate, their thick arms and gnarled hands pulling on my daughter’s arms and legs like a pack of jackals preying on a helpless animal. “No!” She yelled, her voice tortured. She let out a scream and tried to fight back, but they easily lifted her body into the air like a trophy. There was terror on her face as she wriggled and squirmed. “NO!”
“Wait!” I begged. Tommy raised his hand, stopping the men. “Wait. Please don’t.”
Tommy approached me, knelt down as he’d done before, and asked, “Are you listening now?”
I kept my focus locked on my daughter’s eyes, assuring her I’d make this right. “Yeah,” I hissed. “I’m listening.”
“Put her down boys,” he instructed over his shoulder.
“Parameters,” I began. “I’ll do the job, one job. My daughter goes free. I go free. We walk out of here.”
He shook his head and made a tsk-tsk sound. “I can’t do that. Ya see, she lied to me,” he said. His reluctance had nothing to do with the job, had nothing to do with why I was here. He was playing a sick game. “She came here acting like she was a local girl. Just dumb luck she was your daughter. Or maybe it was fate?”
“She goes free!” I demanded again.
He let out a sigh, and rocked his head back and forth as if considering my demand, “Fine, fine. Your daughter goes free, but only after the job is done. Fair is fair. I trust you know what will happen if you don’t finish the job?” He inched closer until we were nose to nose, staying there until I shook my head. “We’ll keep her here, display her, own her, lend her out as a courtesy. We’ll do whatever we want. She’ll wish she were dead.”
“I understand,” I said, forcing the words through a shudder in my voice. My insides had gone raw, gone blood-red with a vile hate I wasn’t sure I could control. I had to keep it contained though if we had any hopes of getting out of this alive. For the sake of my daughter, I had to. Anything more, and Tommy Wilts would feed off of it. Snacks shook uncontrollably, the exposed skin on her arms and legs had become ghostly white, and her face a morbid pallor, aglow with bruising welts.
“And just so you fully understand—” Wilts pulled a handful of pictures from his back-pocket and scattered them across the floor like a spilled deck of cards. Some pictures fell face down, but some hinted to the full horror of what he’d planned. There were pictures of Michael, pictures of his son, of his wife, of their family and home. When he saw I understood, he added, “And of course, I’ll have to torture them first.”
“I get it!” I screamed, my legs and arms shaking. I began to understand the extent of my past, the damage, the grave mistakes I’d made that led to all of this. I should have never stepped into the White Bear twenty years earlier. “Is this for your father?”
Tommy gave me a slow nod, “Might be. Might not. But he was an ass.” He held up his hand, motioning to Derek Robbins and pointed to the pictures on the floor. “Don’t just stare at them, pick those up.”
Robbins’ brow glinted with light, his skin a sweaty sheen, his hands trembling nervously as if he were trying to figure out why he’d been beckoned. “Yeah. Yeah. Sure thing, boss.”
Boss. He called Tommy Wilts, Boss. Robbins picked up a picture of Michael’s son, pausing before tucking it into his hand.
“Like that, do ya?” Tommy asked. But before Robbins had a chance to answer, Tommy swung his foot like a field-goal kicker, his leg arching wide as he put all of his muscle into the kick. Robbins body lifted off the ground, his lungs emptied, his eyes bulged, and his mouth puckered in a silent whistle as he fell over with a thud. “What did I tell you about fucking with kids!” Tommy yelled, kicking him again.
“I didn’t do it,” Robbins coughed. “Don’t care what the D.A. said. They got it wrong.”
“Got it wrong?” Tommy yelled, bringing his foot up into the air and slamming his heel onto Robbins’ back, flattening him like a bug. “You got the fucking heat on us! Got the other families questioning us too!”
“I’ll make it right,” Robbins tried to say, his words broken by another swing. Tommy’s foot planted against the man’s body with a sickening thud. Snacks let out a scream and then cried quietly, her face cramped, her cheeks wet. “Tommy, I’ll kill the mother fucker who set me up. I promise.”
“Fuck you will,” Tommy answered, hitting him again. Robbins fell onto his side, curling himself up into a sobbing ball. “You’ve done enough. Get your shit together and get out of here. Stick to the plans we talked about. And don’t do anything until you hear from me.”
Robbins wasted no time, his tears suddenly abated as he scrambled to his hands and knees and crawled out of the room.
When he was gone, I asked, “Is he the mark?”
Tommy smiled, his grin stretching across his sweaty face. He pushed his hair back into place, and answered, “He is the reason for the mark. I’d kill the mother fucker myself if I didn’t need him so much. Maybe we could talk about extending your contract? That is, once we’re through with him.”
“The job!” I asked, raising my voice.
“My grandfather. You know, he was more of a father to me than anyone—especially my own,” Tommy exclaimed in short breaths, still winded from the beating he’d given Robbins. An image of Sam Wilts came to me, as did images of the shooting’s aftermath, and of my husband nearly dying.
“Get on with it,” I managed to say.
“Your husband,” Tommy answered, his upper lip in a snarl. He clenched his hands and darted his glare at me and then at Snacks. “I can hardly speak of the man. He took Sam from me. He took our leader and forced our hand. Bad times. Really bad. It nearly killed our clan!”
It was me. I’d been the one who nearly ended his family, but he believed it was Steve. A cold knife seemed to touch my soul and take what little grace I had. I struggled to breathe and glanced over to my daughter and saw her father’s eyes. I wasn’t the type to pray, but suddenly felt the urge. I was terrified by what Tommy Wilts was going to say next. “So, working for you is some kind of retribution against my ex-husband?”
“Could be,” he answered and leaned over to snort something up his nose. His face was sweaty with excitement as his eyes bugged out
of his head. “Your husband’s upcoming election, very big seat to fill, very helpful seat. We put a lot of money behind the guy he’s running against. And our guy can’t win against your husband. That’s where Robbins comes in—he works for us in connection with the guy we backed. But with these latest charges—”
“The job?” I asked impatiently. There was a hitch in my voice and I felt the sting of tears in my eyes. Tommy saw the emotion immediately and lapped it up like a thirsty dog. I was going to be sick. Vomit rose up violently and spilled from my mouth in a warm gush. This couldn’t be happening. This nightmare. He laughed while I shook my head with disbelief.
“Oh yeah! You are definitely getting where I’m going with this,” he said with a roar. He fished a gun from the closet’s darkness and rolled the chamber, emptying the bullets into his hand before placing it on the floor alongside the bullets. “You are going to kill your husband.”
“No,” I struggled to get out and heaved again, ending it with a scream, my mind racked with the torture of what he just asked me to do.
“No!” he yelled, questioning. He reached around me and untied the binding straps that held my hands. My shoulders ached and popped, and my fingers were cold and numb. He took hold of my hand and pried my fingers open to place the gun in my palm. The metal was surprisingly warm and the touch of it sparked a sudden urge to kill. I only needed one bullet. Without thinking, I scurried around him, but my legs were filled with pins and needles, slowing me as I grabbed hold of a bullet. Tommy was young. He was quick, and he threw his elbow into my back, pinning me to the ground. “Just what do you think you’re doing? Don’t be rude. We’re discussing business.”
“Someone is going to die, but it can’t be my husband.”
He needled his elbow between my shoulder blades, pressing until I screamed, my voice quickly turning hoarse. I was sure he was going to break my back. He put his hand on mine and placed his lips up to my ear, “Listen to me. I am going to give you this gun. And I am going to give you these bullets. But trust me when I tell you, if anything happens to me, the four men parked outside of your son’s home will know what to do next.”
As if a light-switch had been tripped, I dropped the gun and the bullet from my fingers. Tommy eased off of his elbow and helped me sit up. I kept my eyes fixed on the gun, unable to comprehend what was asked of me. I found an odd solace in the small details of the weapon—a small thirty-eight special, the barrel and handle marked and scuffed where the serial numbers should have been. Unmarked. Ready to be used. Ready to kill.
The room went quiet, and I wished I could disappear. I wished Wilma was still alive and that I’d died in the prison showers that day. I could almost feel Roxanne’s hands around my neck, squeezing until my spine snapped. Death was better than this. I wished a million wishes, but none of them would change anything. The Wilts gang had given me an ultimatum—to save my family, I’d have to kill Steve.
“That can’t happen,” I said flatly without breaking my stare on the gun. I tried to sound unemotional, but my voice was a lie, my insides were tumbling chaotically.
“On the contrary. It will happen. And very soon too,” he replied, tapping the room’s only lightbulb, putting it into a swing like a pendulum. He went to Snacks’ side and undressed her shoulder in a single motion, the shadow rising and falling like the wake behind a boat. He fixed his eyes on me and kissed her bare skin as he fondled her breasts. My girl’s eyes were like ghoulish charms made of terror, darting to me and then back to Tommy. “And do you know how I know it will happen?”
“Wait!” I begged when the silver flash of steel glinted the rocking light.
“Motivation,” he answered, ignoring my plea as he revealed a knife. He carved into my daughter’s shoulder, causing her to buck up and down, her voice in a screaming shrill that sounded more animal than human.
“Stop!” I screamed. “Enough!”
He stopped and fixed a cold stare on me. “Like I said. You’re going to kill your husband. And then you are going to go to prison for his murder. Consider it karmic payback for my father, and for Sam.”
THIRTY-FOUR
I STUMBLED PASSED THE bar, eying the bartender who’d clubbed me, and made my way outside where I fell to my hands and elbows. I struck the pavement with the sound of flesh slapping a board, the rough surface grating my skin. It was already daylight, or nearing daylight and a row of bikers were parking along the sidewalk, having finished their midnight ride. The first signs of the sun showed a crisp line edging the evening’s stars. My gut spilled like it had earlier, but it was a dry-heave, my insides pinching with a dull ache knifing my side—a going away present from Tommy Wilts, delivered with the tip of his boot.
There were eyes on me, the men and woman dismounting their rides, curious and coming toward me. They chattered a jumble of words, questioning, but I ignored them. I gripped my side and got back to my feet, shaking off the pain and set my eyes on my car. I couldn’t waste a minute and had to get home and figure out what to do. I was only vaguely aware that I was crying, stumbling and swiping at my eyes, annoyed by the uninvited tears.
“You okay Ma’am,” one of the biker’s asked, catching up and offering her hand, her fingers warm and oddly comforting.
“Must have been some party!” another biker yelled and let out a raucous laugh. The other bikers joined him, sending up a roar that roused sleeping birds from their perches.
“Shut the fuck up, Chuck,” the woman shouted. There was immediate silence, the kind that comes with respect. “Can I help you to your car?”
“Frigging Tommy’s sister,” I heard someone mumble.
“Shut the fuck up!” she yelled over her shoulder.
I gazed into the woman’s eyes, finding them familiar. They were green-blue with hazel spires around the pupils. I was staring into the eyes of a Wilts. I recoiled and wanted to put my hands around her neck, and squeeze.
“You should all be dead!” I snapped. She let go at once, her face filled with disgust and confusion. “Exterminated! Like bugs! Your whole family. You are nothing but beetles and mites—bugs feeding on the world.”
A crushing blow came from behind, striking the middle of my back and knocking the wind out of me. The strike threw me off my feet and into the air. I landed on the street with a rocking thud, stars filling my sight.
“Tommy!” the woman yelled, but it came like an echo. “She’s just—”
“She’s just nobody!” he answered sharply.
“Why did you do that?” she scolded, her eyes wide with alarm. “I was walking her to her car.”
“Shut it, Jules,” Tommy barked. “You’ve no idea who that is.”
“Tell me,” she demanded.
“No need.”
“Fuck you,” I grunted, and rolled onto my back while struggling to sit up. Fear struck the gnawing pain in my side like lightning striking an empty field. I shrunk back when he raised his leg and threatened to land another kick. The sensation was alien and I put my hands up in a wave, motioning to my car, motioning I’d leave, spitting up my guts and wetting my chin with a dribble. Tommy and his sister stared for what seemed an eternity. A taste of blood was in my mouth and I couldn’t be sure if something had ruptured inside me or if I’d bitten my tongue. With the fear I found a reserve of energy and got to my hands and knees, crossing the asphalt, scrambling over it like a broken spider.
“You got important business to take care of!” Tommy yelled with a wild-eyed grin. “Ain’t no wasting time!”
Once I was near the safety of my car, I screamed, “Bugs! A scourge that needs to be exterminated!”
“I love that spirit you have. Great vibe!” Tommy laughed. The other bikers joined in, laughing with him, without knowing why. They were lemmings too.
I slipped into my car, found my phone in the glove compartment, thumbed it and brought the car’s dashboard to life. I closed the door, shutting out the sounds of the street and Tommy and his gang. “Computer?”
“Destinat
ion?”
“Home,” I requested. The electric motor whirred, setting the wheels into motion and I fell onto my side where I stayed until I knew I’d travelled at least a few blocks.
The car turned three times before I looked at my phone, glad and relieved to have left it behind before going into the Bear. “At least that’s one thing you did right.”
“Destination change?”
“Ignore,” I squawked, annoyed.
I flipped through the phone’s screens, finding ten messages from Brian—all of them marked urgent. I couldn’t do it. Not yet. I couldn’t call and tell him what had happened. I didn’t know how to fix this. I dropped the phone and cried. The tears came with images of Steve and Michael and Snacks.
“What are you going to do?” I sobbed. The ultimatum given was impossible.
“Time of arrival in thirty minutes.”
“You have to do it,” I mumbled reproachfully.
I said the words, the incomprehensible words, and an idea leapt into my head—a negotiation with myself. I gripped the gun tucked into my belt, and wrapped my fingers around the barrel, working them toward the handle until my finger was on the trigger. “What if I end me?”
The tears stopped and my sobbing eased into shuddering breaths. “What if I kill myself?” I questioned and desperately tried to figure out what the Wilts gang would do next. What would be their next move if I removed myself from their sick game? The Wilts knew more about Team Two than anyone should ever know. “But how?” It didn’t matter. It was what Tommy Wilts did with the information he knew.
“Michael,” I exclaimed. If I killed myself, they’d go after Michael next. And it wouldn’t end with him. The Wilts would move down the line—his wife, son, then Brian, Becky. It would go on and on until Steve was no longer a threat. They could kill him just as easily, but the Wilts wanted more—it had to be someone Steve loved.
“And it has to be death,” I said, repeating Tommy’s final demands. Having Steve bow out of the race would trigger execution to both Snacks and Michael. The Wilts wanted retribution. Another idea came to me. “What if it only looked like he died?”
Grave Mistakes: A Deadly Vigilante Crime Thriller (Affair with Murder Book 3) Page 17