Powerless (Power Series Book 1)

by Lauren Cooper

  I’m lead back to my Grandmother’s room and I almost burst into tears at the sight I see. The once bubbly, over enthusiastic and plump old lady has now become a frail, thin and almost grey looking woman. My hand is over my mouth in shock when the nurse beside me rubs my arm in support.

  “Why didn’t anyone tell me she had gotten this bad?” I whisper and turn the nurse. I have a mix of emotions right now. Sadness, anger, confusion and I have no idea what one to deal with first.

  “She was eating well up until last week, we usually give them a few days to see if they’ll come around, but Grace here hasn’t. It’s protocol to call someone once the Doctor assesses them, the doctor is coming by tomorrow. It was the earliest we could get him here.”

  “That’s not good enough” I say through gritted teeth.

  “I know. I am sorry, but the services are stretched thin at the moment. Especially at this time of year. I am sorry Amelia. Let me know if you need anything” with that and a weak smile she turns and leaves me alone with the one woman who means the world to me. I shrug out of my coat and chuck it over the back of the chair next to her bed. She stirs a little but is otherwise out of it. I place my hand in hers and the tears fall freely when I feel how cold she is.

  “I’m so sorry Gran” I whisper, leaning forward and stroking my hand through her now thin hair. I have every scenario possible running through my head, and none of them seem to fit what I need right now. I have no choice but to leave her here. They wouldn’t let me move her when she’s so weak and I have no other option but to fork out the money to that bitch. I know if I do it once, she will keep coming back for more, and I’ll be damned if I ever wanted to do that. But what other choice do I have?

  I take one last look at the frail woman in the bed, the sheets pulled up around her. I wish for nothing more than for her to remember who I am. I hope silently that she will at least open her eyes tomorrow, sighing before turning and grabbing my coat and handbag. I blow her a kiss from the door way before mouthing the words, “I wish I knew what to do Gran” and turning towards the exit.

  I pause in the hallway on the way to the reception, inhaling a lung full of air but I regret it instantly. The smell of antiseptic, sterile and the general odor of old people fills my nostrils, reminding me of the pain I had put Gran through at the hospital when I was sixteen. Her demands for me to tell her what had happened, the way she had tried yelling at me and then talking to me calmly with the hope that I would tell her how I’d got such broken bones and cuts across my whole body. In a sick way, I was glad that I was sixteen and they couldn’t force me to do a rape kit. I don’t think I would have coped with that, and so instead I had lied and said it was a bunch of girls from school. I was in agony for weeks but eventually my internal injuries healed by themselves and I’ve never had a problem since.

  I wish I could go back to the few years I lived with Gran. They were some of the best years of my life, the ones where I plotted and planned for the creation of Bellucci. Where we would sit at the small dining table in the kitchen, and she would pretend that she understood what I was talking about with all the legal jargon. A small laugh escapes my lips at the memory of her nodding along silently, but her face being awash with confusion as to what the hell I was on about. The small comforts of the nursing home remind me of her small two bedroomed flat, the old, slightly faded photo frames hanging on the discolored painted walls. While this place has some of the best facilities for patients with dementia it is slightly behind on the décor. I remember one of the nurses telling me that they kept it this way, as some of the residents found it comforting. I hope they modernize these places by the time I get here.

  Tugging my bag higher up on my shoulder and tying my coat around my waist, noting the missing button and ignoring the pang of guilt that comes with it, I head for the exit. The nurses are closing for the night, so I step outside to wait for the Uber I ordered. The bitter chill bites at the tip of my nose instantly, suggesting the drop-in temperature has been drastic in the space of an hour. I should have asked the nurses if anyone had tried to visit Gran, but it had slipped my mind, surely, they would have mentioned it anyway seen as I’m the only one that comes here – that I know of. If this was my mother’s doing why didn’t she take anything from my flat? Wouldn’t she have sold or pawned my jewelry for some instant cash? The throbbing at the base of my skull intensifies as a whirlpool of anxiety and questions kick in. My phone vibrates in my pocket for the millionth time since I got here, but I ignore it. Wrapping my coat tighter around me and turning to sit on the bench nearby I’m stopped dead in my tracks.

  My breath catches in my lungs, and I try desperately to claw at the strong arm that’s pinned around my neck. I’m yanked backwards into a hard chest, and I almost fall in my mid-high boots. In a split second a rag is placed over my mouth and nose, and I will myself not to breathe. Don’t breathe Mia! The sweet smell tickles my nose, and I can feel myself going…. Don’t fall asleep Mia! On instinct I suck in a terrified breath of air and I know I’m in deep trouble. I can hear my own voice shouting in the distance. It’s no use, the darkness clouds my vision and I blackout.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Fuck. Everything hurts.

  My head is pounding, and my blood is thumping in my ears to a rhythm only it knows. I scrunch my eyes even tighter to try and alleviate the pain. I try to bring my hands up, only to find them bound behind my back. Something sharp cuts into my wrists which only makes me pull on them even more. Fear slithers into my veins as I snap my eyes open and blink a few times to clear the stars dancing around my lids, only to be greeted by relative darkness. I candidly make out four walls and a closed door, the window is too high to see out of, and damp splintered wood floor cuts into my legs through my tights. The pain, the splintering wood tearing at my skin only reminds me of past trauma. I try to shuffle slightly to ease away from the shards of wood, but I only come in to contact with the wall, and fear turns to downright terrified. The yellowed, peeling paper hangs in strips around the room and holes in the ceiling give way for the frigid wind to blast in. A lightbulb hangs in the center of the room, casting it in a dirty yellow hue. Long dead moths and flies glitter against the bulb, and stark reality sets deep in my core. My head spins even more and the bile rising in my stomach is eager to get out as it burns up my throat. I swallow to wash it down; this place smells bad enough as it is. I know who’s behind this. Maybe I had been naïve in believing they wouldn’t take it this far. How was I supposed to know my mother would have these types of connections? Images of my destroyed childhood and fucked up life dance on the wall before me, everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve, ruined. Why did I ever think I could get away from this? From her? I should have listened to Liam, but then she turned up, showing me exactly what his life had been like before me and giving me the perfect opening to keep mine. I lean my head back against the wall, shutting my eyes to stop the panic attack I know is imminent when the door bursts open. I gasp, and my eyes burst open even though I want nothing more than to keep them shut. I furrow my brow in confusion, narrowing my eyes at the three suited men who look too clean to be in a place like this. They look just like the men I work with daily. Clean shaven, designer suits and shiny shoes. The front man is even relatively good looking. Slicked back, jet black hair, piercing green eyes and a cigarette between his lips.

  “Good, you’re awake” his dark, rough voice booms over the otherwise silence. Is this to do with my mother? What if it isn’t, and I’ve totally misread this whole situation? Confusion mares my already hay wired brain as I try to work out the best way to approach this. Do I feign innocence? Do I agree with everything they say? Do I scream for help in the hope that someone is out there? He takes one long drag on his cigarette, lighting the ember at the end into an orange orb, before flicking it to the floor. Crushing it under his shiny black wing tip shoes, he steps further into the room. The two men behind him don’t say a word but stay by the door. My survival instincts kick in and I sit s
traighter against the wall behind me. My hands ache in the way they’ve been bound and from my weight lying on them, but I refuse to show him that. I tilt my chin up in a show of strength, I can’t let him know he’s scaring me.

  “What do you want?” I demand. A small laugh escapes his perfect lips as he circles the room, though I doubt he finds it funny.

  “Amelia” his voice is almost a snicker, as if saying my name is painful for him, but hearing him say it slices a new wound into my heart. He says it filled with hate and spite, nothing like the way Liam does. The way Liam said it was filled with determination and lust, but this was dark and something nightmares where made of.

  “I take it was you who trashed my flat too?” I accuse. Stopping suddenly, he comes to crouch in front of me. Tugging his trouser legs up before he does, his green eyes pierce my deep brown ones. Flashes of Liam’s baby blues come to mind as I resist the urge to look away. I shouldn’t be looking into his eyes tonight. I should be wrapped up, safe and warm in Liam’s arms, after another round of insane lust filled pleasure. But I’m not. I didn’t listen, and I didn’t let him know that I believed him, and this is my reality, my karma.

  “We have someone very close to you” my insides shrivel up and I my mouth goes dry. I have no idea how long I’ve been out and it’s possible they got to the home, but he continues before I can even process what he’s just said. “She owes us a lot of money” The idea that it could be Gran evaporates and I instantly know he’s talking about my mother. I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face at hearing his words. A loud laugh escapes me, and I can’t control it. I laugh and laugh until my stomach hurts and tears sting in my eyes. It bounces around the room, echoing in the quiet and I can’t seem to stop myself. Mr. Slick narrows his eyes at me and with a furrowed brow of confusion he stands.

  “Bring her” he says before turning and leaving. One of his goons comes and grabs my elbow, tugging me none too gently off the floor.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The feeling of foreboding sets in and I instantly stop laughing. I’m lead down a corridor by the big bald one, the floor and walls in much the same condition as my little room. These men don’t belong here, I wonder what kind of mess Isabella has gotten herself into now. She doesn’t deserve such a pretty name, she’s gutter trash and anything but. Small lights flicker here and there until we come to a stop in what must have once been a kitchen. The cupboards are either without doors, or they’re hanging by the hinges, the countertops broken and jagged here and there. Black smoke marks mar the walls where I’m guessing a fire was once started. This is a junkie’s haven for sure, a place I never thought I’d end up again. The same light hangs in the center of the room above a too polished dining table. It stands starkly out of place in this otherwise barren house? Am I in a house? I’m shoved down into a chair at the head of the table, before I can think about anything else, while Mr. Slick takes the one opposite. The two goons stay by the door. If I hadn’t been laughing a second ago I would be wetting myself around about now. A swift nod from their boss and one of the goons heads out of the kitchen. I snap my gaze back towards him, waiting and wanting to know why the fuck I’m here!

  “Something funny Amelia?” he asks, his face emotionless but his piercing emerald eyes. I would be attracted to him if he hadn’t kidnapped me. I’ve heard of the Stockholm syndrome cases and I could never wrap my head around it, but now I can see the attraction. I could never understand it before because my attacker had ruined me. He’d made me hate myself, hate him and everyone else around me for a time.

  “Who do you have?” I ask, holding my head high. Fuck the past, and everything along with it, I know he doesn’t have Gran and if he wants to play this game, then I’ll happily play my check mate. My mother had once shouted at me, or more like screeched in my face that I was nothing but a mistake and how she’d wished she’d had an abortion. Her words ring around my head a few times, remembering how badly her words had stung. I knew it wasn’t right, she wasn’t like my friends’ mothers. But she hadn’t aborted me, she had broken me, and I put myself back together. Over the years I’ve thought of the thousands of ways I could get my own back on her, and this might just be my only chance to try.

  Bringing his hands in front of him and clasping them together he snaps me out of my thoughts before he waits a beat before replying. The way he’s looking at me makes me want to cower away in a corner, all the while standing my ground and showing him that he’s messed with the wrong girl. The sharp glint in his eye tells me he’s dangerous and my survival instincts fight their way to the surface. I know if I want to live I have to give him what he wants, but I won’t do that without fighting this time.

  “Well here she is now” he looks over my shoulder, so I follow his line of sight. Sure, enough the bald goon is urging my mother into the room. Thinner than the last time I saw her, her blonde hair hangs in dirty, greasy strands around her frail face. The acne dotted across her already scared skin looks painful, and the dark circles under her eyes look like she’s carrying the weight of the world in them. The whites of her eyes are bloodshot, along with the premature wrinkles that mar her skin, she looks well over sixty in comparison to her early forties. I’m surprised to feel absolutely nothing. No shame or pity, no sorrow or the need to help. The sudden fleeting feeling of being totally free from this woman washes over me in a blissful wave. Anger, hurt and sadness leave me as I face the one person who should have protected me. Averting her hollow eyes towards anything but me, I turn my eyes back towards the head goon with no emotion on my face. I don’t feel anything for her anymore, and I doubt I ever will. That woman was supposed to be the one person who loved and cared for me, and she never did, she sold me out. Proud that I have finally let go of any emotion I had towards her, I push my shoulders back, ready to take on whatever this may be. Eyeing me across the table, Mr. Slick raises a questioning eyebrow in my direction. I raise mine in reply. What does he want me to do? Beg for her to be left alone? Fuck that. That woman made my life hell from the very beginning and I refuse to ever help her again. My arms start to itch under what I’m assuming are cable ties pulled tightly around them, I wriggle a little to ease it. My mother is pushed into the chair beside mine, anyone who walked in would think we were having a gross family dinner. A dingy one at that. I never let my eyes fall on her, but I can feel her looking at me.

  “What do you want?” I ask again, my voice coming out firm and authoritative. If he wants business, then I will mean business.

  “Your mother owes us a lot of money”

  “And?”

  A quick glance between me and her and I think he finally realizes that we aren’t on the best of terms. Ha! Lowering his gaze, he clamps his rough hands together before he looks up at me sternly through his thick lashes.

  “She’s volunteered you as payment” his deep voice is laced with an undertone of darkness, and I wince slightly. Instead of fear and panic I feel nothing but rage. Pure, unhinged anger that she would do this to me not once but twice. Gathering my strength and sitting as straight as I can in my bound state I answer through gritted teeth.

  “She can fuck off” I hiss, curling my lip up in the process.

  “Amelia” she whispers.

  “DON’T!” I yell, snapping my eyes to hers. “Don’t you fucking dare! I swear to god, if they don’t kill you I will” I snap my eyes back to his, unwilling to look at her.

  “She’s not my mother, and I refuse to help her” I sigh a little before continuing.

  “I’ll pay you if you let me go, what you do to her I couldn’t care. She ruined my life and I refuse to help her, you’ll have to find another way for her to pay her debts” My shoulders sag in slight relief, I’ll pay him for my freedom but certainly not hers.

  A small whimper escapes her lips and a pang of guilt sets deep into my stomach. As much as I hate this woman, could I really walk away knowing what these men could do to her? Yes! She let them rape you! My head screams with vivid pain and m
emories threatening to break through and I scrunch my eyes shut, willing my mind to be quiet just this once. Seeming to contemplate my offer he raises his head but before he can answer, my subconscious kicks in and I ask, “How much does she owe you?” Licking around his teeth before he answers me,

  “Seven figures” he says plainly. My mouth drops open in shock. How did she rack up that amount?

  “How…?”

  “Your mother borrowed money from us, took drugs from us, and worked for us but kept her earnings. Interest grows” he says with a shrug.

  I could easily pay that, but fuck!

  “Worked for you?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize what a stupid question that is in these circumstances.

  “Spread her legs for money” he offers with a sick smirk. I realize that I’m dealing with the underworld here, and any guilt I felt for throwing her under the bus swims away like a half-dead fish. I couldn’t fucking care what they do to her. She deserves it.

  “Fine. Untie me and agree to let me go and we’ll talk” I say flatly. With a swift nod of his head, one goon steps forward, drawing a blade that makes me inhale sharply before he shoves me forward and slices through the ties around my wrists. Bringing them in front of myself, I rub them like you see them doing on those cop shows. They really hurt being tied for, so long. Swollen, red skin scars my wrists and little droplets of blood start to ooze out of the cuts I made from tugging on them.

  “Get rid of her” I nod towards the frail, mess of a woman beside me. Another nod from him and she’s gone. Okay, this is going well, at least he’s willing to bargain.