Broken Love

by Ghiselle St. James

  Half an hour later, my phone chirps, this time with a message. I open it to see the outside of Sullivan’s apartment building. I smile, thinking Rachel sweet for sending me this photo. My cell chirps again with another message and I see a picture of a dirty blonde beauty with a message underneath it: Tick-tock. It’s Sullivan, but a slimmer, sadder version. Rachel hadn’t told me she had changed her hair color or that she’d lost so much weight. In the picture she’s smiling, but the smile is one of force, as though smiling through pain.

  I grip the phone tighter against the aching in my chest.

  I’d done this to her – taken something that was beautiful and broken her down with my callous decisions. I won’t take her for granted again. God help me if I get her back, I will work my ass of in proving my worth. She is my light and without her, my world is dark.

  Finally, eleven o’clock. This day has been moving so fucking slowly! I’d called Rachel earlier and she’d told me to meet them at Joélle’s. I am so anxious, my heart is about to beat its way right out of my chest.

  As I sit at my desk, legs crossed up on my large mahogany desk and hands entwined behind my head, I wonder what Sullivan is doing right now. Is she thinking about me? Is she in the shower or taking a bath? Is she touching herself? God, I want to touch that smooth olive skin of hers so much, looking like the sexiest Kardashian. Want to dip my tongue in the cradle of her navel. Want to taste her sweet arousal on my tongue. Want to fist my hands in her hair while I fuck her mouth and listen to her satisfied little moans. Want to have her wide open and fuck her until she calls my name like a siren’s song. Want to tie her up and spank her until she begs for mercy. Ugh, this is getting me too worked up. I need her so bad.

  My palms start sweating and I know I just need to hear her voice. I need the calming sound of it to soothe me; so not being able to resist, I call her.

  One ring turns into two; two into three. I wait. Four rings. I hang up. Why did I think she would’ve answered me? What was I even thinking? What if she had answered and I gave it away that I was meeting her and Rachel for lunch as a little setup to get her to hear me out? I guess it’s a good thing she didn’t answer. I’d have been devastated if I blew this chance.

  Not that I’d give up.

  Before I know it, it is 11:30 and I’m in the Phantom in traffic, heading for Joélles. Based on Rachel’s advice, I bought Sullivan chocolate with peanuts in them and a dozen long-stemmed red roses.

  Even as I near Joélle’s, I am still unsure of what to say. My stomach is in knots, how nervous I am. I have no doubt that she will look amazing, despite the overwhelming sadness that I’ve made her feel over the last few days. I don’t know how I am going to handle seeing the sadness in her eyes, though.

  “It’s fine, Simon. You don’t have to get out,” I say as he pulls up to Joélle’s. “I’ll call you when we’re ready. If all goes well, she’ll be coming home with me.”

  “Good luck, sir,” Simon wishes.

  I know he misses her too. So does Vivian, and she’s only met her once for a few hours. It’s impossible to come into contact with Sullivan and not like her. I can imagine all those guys losing their minds when she’d broke up with them; and I can imagine all those other guys losing their minds because they can never have a chance with her.

  I know, without the shadow of a doubt, that if Matt and I weren’t as close as we are that, brother or not, he would go after her knowing we were broken up. I bet that that fucking Brandon Mayhew would try to get his fucking lawyer hands on her if he knew we were over, too. No way am I going to let that happen. I am going to possess her again; make her mine; show her that I will never leave her ever again. I just need this one chance.

  My cell phone rings as I exit the car and my heart lurches in my throat. It’s Sullivan. It’s already noon so I hope she isn’t calling to say she heard about Rachel’s and my little plan and that she’s backing out. Heart pounding, I answer the phone.

  “Sullivan?”

  I hear no voices on the end of the line, just noise as if someone is driving.

  “Sullivan, please talk to me,” I plead. I just need to hear my sweet girl’s voice.

  “Where are you taking me?” I finally hear her say.

  Confused, I say, “Sullivan, what are you talking about?”

  “Now, if I told you that, it wouldn’t be a surprise, now would it?” a man says in the background.

  “Sullivan, what the fuck is going on?” I shout.

  Has she moved on? Instead of going to lunch with me, is she going out with another man? Brandon Mayhew, perhaps? Why the hell didn’t Rachel tell me?

  I spot Rachel inside and she waves at me, but I glare at her, my anger rising to a boiling point.

  “Sullivan,” I call sternly.

  Does she not realize I am on the other end? Or has she called me just to torture me? I’m having a hard time picturing Sullivan as a bitch, but this phone call is shedding a completely different light. I feel like reaching through the phone, grabbing her and spanking her or grabbing whoever she’s with and pummeling them into the ground.

  Stalking into Joélle’s, I head for Rachel to demand some answers.

  “Why kidnap me, Rick? Why not just kill me?” I hear Sullivan’s trembling voice, halting my fingers from ending the call. Kidnap? Murder?

  My steps falter and I almost crash into a waiter. I steady myself and find a chair to sit in. All color has drained from my face and I feel like passing out again.

  I continue listening.

  “Killing you would be too easy, Delilah. I want to break you,” the man answers menacingly. Oh dear God.

  “Are you okay, sir?” a red-headed waitress asks, but I fan her away irritatingly. I want to pay close attention to what is being said; see if I can recognize the man’s voice.

  “Ben, is something wrong?” Rachel comes to join me at the table I was sitting.

  “Shh,” I quiet her.

  “Tinted black SUV and big bodyguard. You really put some thought into this haven’t you?” Sullivan says.

  “You have no idea,” the man answers.

  Black SUV? Holy shit! The same black SUV that cut us off the night of the gala dinner! They were after Sullivan? Oh, my God.

  “Get me a pen and a paper,” I demand loudly before putting my phone on speaker and recording. “Come on baby, give me a name, coordinates, a description, anything.”

  “What’s going on, Ben?” Rachel persists as she hands me the items I requested.

  “It was you, wasn’t it?” she whispers. “You ran us off the road that night.” Yes, keep him talking, baby.

  I don’t hear anything but cars driving by and horns honking for long moments.

  “Is that Sullivan? Did she find out about the setup?” Rachel asks.

  “Shh,” I shush her again, hoping he hasn’t heard her on Sullivan’s end.

  “Fucking answer me, Ben! I’m not someone you can order…” Rachel trails off as she hears the man’s voice.

  “You know it,” he confirms. “Your man’s lucky he left you when he did. He almost ruined my plans.”

  His words have me gripping the edge of the table in barely restrained anger. Did he just threaten me?

  “Please don’t do this,” I hear my sweet girl cry.

  A painful lump gathers in my throat and I want to cry for her. Someone is taking her away from me, but I have to be strong. I have to pay very close attention right now.

  “I’m going to do this, Delilah, and with the right stimulus, you’ll love it,” the man cajoles.

  Who is he and who’s Delilah? It’s a mistaken identity! The thought flashes to mind quickly. Holy fuck! Sullivan is going to get raped and she’s not the intended target. Pain twists my chest and I grab at it. No!

  “Oh my God,” Rachel whispers, clutching her throat. I can see tears swim in her eyes.

  “Rick, no,” Sullivan protests. That’s my girl. Put up a fight. “Kill me. I don’t want that stuff in me,” she says further.
>
  Then, it dawns on me. She knows the guy. I jot down his name and I look up at Rachel who’s in tears with a horrified look on her face. By the looks of things, she knows this son-of-a-bitch too.

  “It’ll make everything better, baby. It’ll be just like old times. Give me your arm,” he croons. What the fuck?

  “No,” Rachel whispers.

  “What’s going on, Rachel? Do you know this guy?” I demand angrily. All she does is nod.

  There’s a commotion. The man cries out, evidence that he’s either overheard us on the line or that Sullivan must’ve hit him. I hope she has.

  The vehicle screeches and I hear fumbling in the background. Then, the line goes dead. No!

  “Give me your phone,” I demand of Rachel, who shakily hands it over.

  Redialing Sullivan’s number, I put the phone on speaker once more and I hold Rachel’s phone to it, so I can record everything that happens from both phones.

  “You fucking bitch!” the man hisses when the line picks up.

  I hear a thud and Sullivan’s cries of pain. The bastard hit her! Anger boils inside me and my breathing comes out in short, ragged breaths.

  A few moments of silence stretch on before, “She’s mine now, lover boy.” The raspy sound from this guy chills me to the core, sending goose bumps running up and down my body.

  “If you fucking hurt her…”

  But the phone goes dead, cutting me off mid-sentence. Despair grips me as I lower Rachel’s phone and stop the recording.

  Tears spring from my eyes and I let out a roar of anger and desperation. For the first time in my life, I cry.

  My sweet, beautiful girl is…kidnapped. No.

  Chapter Five

  “Who is he, Rachel?” I ask when I’ve finally gotten myself together.

  “S-someone from her past,” she says through sob-clogged vocal chords.

  “Who?” I insist.

  “His name is Rick Mason. They used to date a long, long time ago,” she replies, her voice quavering.

  While she sits there, stunned, I try Sullivan’s phone again. It goes straight to voicemail.

  “Shit!” I exclaim.

  “Excuse me, sir,” the maître d’ says, reminding me that I am in a restaurant. “You are upsetting the rest of the guests,” he informs me. “I have to ask you to tone it down or leave.”

  “I’m sorry. Rachel, let’s go.” I grab everything I have and drag Rachel out the door with me. “Simon, police station,” I command, allowing Rachel to precede me into the car.

  “Police station, sir?” Simon asks confused as he slides into the front seat. “Is everything okay, sir?”

  “Sullivan…” I pause and try to swallow past the lump in my throat. “She’s been kidnapped.”

  Simon reaches Philly P.D. in record time. Panicked, I dash from the car and into the building.

  “I need some assistance. I need to report a kidnapping,” I shout as I burst inside.

  “Sir, please calm down,” a female officer says to me. She has a rounded figure with slightly graying hair and a bored look on her face.

  “Has it been twenty four hours since the person has gone missing?” she asks in a bored tone.

  “Oh for fuck’s sake!” I groan, grabbing my hair. I want to grab this woman and shake her.

  “Kidnapped, lady,” I stress. “Kidnapped, not fucking missing!”

  “Sir, sir,” she halts me, with a palm raised. “Please keep your voice down.”

  “You gotta be fucking kidding me,” I mutter, dragging my hand over my face.

  “Can anybody fucking help in this motherfucker?” I snap, banging a fist on her desk.

  Rachel grabs me and pulls me away and it’s then I see the officers drawing closer to me.

  “Are you gonna fuckin’ help me?” I point at one of them. “Are you?” I point at another, pot-bellied officer.

  “Calm down, Ben,” Rachel begs, worry strong in her voice.

  “Rachel, she’s gone!” I shout, shaking from her hold. The gravity of the situation falls on me like lead weight. “She’s gone.”

  The one chance…I get one shot to win Sullivan back and she is taken from me. This can’t be happening.

  “Come on, son,” I hear a deep gravelly voice say to me. I look up to see a hand extended and a tall officer with more gray than black hair and a kind face staring down at me.

  “Come with me,” he bids. I want to shake him off and yell at him that if he’s not going to help me then he should back off, but I can’t pass up his kindness.

  I pull myself together then follow the officer as he leads us through the station and through large mahogany double doors into another section. We follow the officer to a desk and sit down in the seats he offers us.

  “I’m Sergeant Winston,” he introduces. We introduce ourselves right back. “Tell me about this kidnapping,” he requests.

  I pull my cell out and let him listen to the recordings, his brow furrowing as he does. Afterwards, I speak, rehashing to him the details of what had happened. Then, Rachel vaguely tells him about this Rick guy and gives him a description of how he looks.

  “Would this man have any vendetta against her?” Sergeant Winston asks.

  Rachel doesn’t answer.

  “You have to tell me everything, Miss Welles, or else we won’t be able to help your friend,” he asserts.

  I glare at her. “What else aren’t you telling us, Rachel?”

  “I need to call her, um, lawyer,” she says.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand and fear courses through me. Is this what Sullivan doesn’t want me to know – her past? If she had just let me know more about her, about her past, I could have protected her from this bastard.

  Rachel scrolls through her phone and dials this lawyer’s number. Why she has his number is beyond me, but anything and anyone that will help shed some light on the bastard who took Sullivan, and find her, is a plus.

  “Marshall?” Rachel says nervously. “Yeah, I’m fine. No, she’s not fine,” Rachel answers in response to the man’s supposed questions. She bursts into tears then tells him, “Rick’s got her.”

  After a few long seconds where I wish she’d stop her blubbering and talk to the man – or I’d grab the phone from her and do the talking – she says to him, “Yeah, we’ve reported it. We’re at the precinct right now, actually. You need to get here as soon as possible.”

  “Let me talk to him,” I say, taking the phone from her before she even gives the go ahead.

  “Hello, this is Ben Hayes. I’m Sullivan’s…boyfriend. We need you here ASAP. How far are you? I’ll send my driver for you.”

  “Mr. Hayes, I don’t live in Philadelphia. I live in New York,” Marshall tells me.

  New York? Why would Sullivan have a lawyer who lives in New York? It just doesn’t make sense. The more this whole thing drags on, the more questionable things seem. What are Sullivan and Rachel hiding?

  “If you’d like, I can send my company jet for you, but if you prefer by public plane, I can purchase your ticket, anything that will make this go faster,” I offer.

  “Mr. Hayes, I will get there my own way, thank you. I’ll be there as soon as possible,” he informs me.

  “Thank you,” I say tightly. “Is there a reason Sullivan has a lawyer who lives in New York? Isn’t that inconvenient?” I ask, my interest peaked.

  “This is not a cell phone conversation, Mr. Hayes. Save all your questions for when I arrive. I will keep in contact with Rachel. You both only need to give the officer all the information you have; and do not try to pressure Miss Welles to give you any information.”

  Marshall disconnects the call and I am absolutely thrown and angry. No one hangs up on me. Then again, I like how straight to the point he is.

  We are in the police station for little over two hours going out of our minds. Rachel had to go back to work but came back an hour after she told her bosses what had happened. Other officers had come on board to assist with the ca
se and tried to trace Sullivan’s cell, only to find the signal out on the Schuylkill Expressway. When officers went to check it out, they found only her broken cell phone on the side of the road which they brought back for analysis.

  After digging up information on Rick Mason, we found out that he’d arrived in Philadelphia a week and a half ago. He’s from a rich family in New York, which further boggles my mind. What ties does Sullivan have in New York?

  “For now, we’re at a dead end,” Sergeant Winston says and bleakness settles over me like a dark cloud. “At least until the checks on Miss Beal’s cell phone come back.” That, at least, gives me a small glimmer of hope.

  “We’ve sent out APBs on the vehicle from here to the Delaware River. Even though I doubt they’d have gotten that far,” he continues, “We’ve sent the composite sketch of Rick to police districts across Pennsylvania as well as Miss Beal’s photo, so now we play the waiting game.”

  “I should be helping with the search,” I mutter, feeling helpless.

  “Mr. Hayes, it’s best you stay here in the event he calls,” another officer says to me.

  “He threw her phone away!” I shout. “Does that seem like a man who has any intention of contacting me or anyone else for that matter? Who knows what the fuck he’s doing to her right now? Fuck!” I graze my fingers through my hair and pull the tips painfully.

  Worry tugs at my heart strings and I feel like I’m going out of my mind. This whole thing is maddening; I’ve never felt more powerless in my entire life. Strong, dominant Benjamin Hayes – a powerless, lovesick man.

  I rise up and kick over the chair I’m sitting on and punch the hard wall, startling Rachel.

  “Mr. Hayes, calm down. We’re doing the very best that we can under the circumstances,” Sergeant Winston guarantees.

  “It’s not enough!” I yell and stalk out of the private room they had put us in.

  I can’t reel my anger in. I have never felt this helpless before and it is not a good feeling. I am used to being in control of any given situation. Ripping this control from me is like ripping the safety from beneath me as I fall down a 50-story building. There is no exhilaration to be had from this free fall, just impending death.