The Enforcer

by Teresa Gabelman

  The Enforcer

  BY

  Teresa Gabelman

  The Enforcer

  Copyright 2016 Teresa Gabelman

  All rights reserved. The right of Teresa Gabelman to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. This is a work of fiction and any resemblance between the characters and persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Gabelman, Teresa (2016-10-31). The Enforcer

  Editor: Hot Tree Editing

  Chapter 1

  Becky Adams elbowed her way through the crowded club trying not to get knocked over or spill her beer. Cursing and fighting her way to a table was not her idea of a good time, and she totally regretted coming. Seeing an opening between the thrashing of dancing bodies, Becky rushed her way through, proud she hadn’t spilled a drop of beer. Admittedly, it was the only highlight in her night so far.

  “Come on, Bec!” Her best friend, who had talked her into this crazy idea, waved her over.

  Finally reaching the tall table with two chairs, Becky grabbed onto it like a lifeline. “Okay, that was nuts.” She climbed on the high stool taking a deep breath.

  “But totally worth it.” Her friend, Sandra Wright, laughed, moving with the music. “It’s about damn time you did something other than working and sitting home alone.”

  Becky raised an eyebrow before taking a long drink of her beer. “I like working and sitting at home alone, thank you very much.” Seriously, she had a ton of movies to catch up on and a tub of chocolate ice cream waiting at home for her.

  Glancing around while Sandra danced in her seat to the song blaring through the club, Becky sighed. Vamps was the new place in town and the only mixed club in a hundred-mile radius. The club welcomed vampires and humans. It was a little intimidating. Coming from a small town outside of Cincinnati that didn’t deal with many vampire visitors didn’t help her discomfort, but Sandra could pretty much talk her into anything. That thought made her frown. It was Sandra who introduced her to Maverick Wilder two years earlier. Recently out of a relationship, she hadn’t been looking for another, but Maverick wasn’t just “another.” She’d fallen in love with him, hard and fast. They had been inseparable until the day he disappeared.

  “Stop it!” Sandra yelled, pointing at her.

  “What?” Sure that she looked guilty, Becky took another drink. Sandra knew her all too well.

  “He’s gone and the bastard sent you a text.” Sandra slammed her drink down. “Screw him. You deserve better than that.”

  Sandra was right; she did deserve better. He’d been missing for two months before she’d randomly received a text telling her he was sorry, but their relationship just wasn’t “doing it for him”—the ass—and “not to try to contact him again.” Yeah, that was what she got after a year of what she thought was total bliss. It had broken her heart then, and it broke her heart now. She swore if her heart ever healed, no one would have the power to do to her what Maverick Wilder had done. Every single day she thought of him, and every single day she made that pledge to herself.

  “Okay, that’s it.” Sandra slid off her stool. “I’m going to find you a hot guy.”

  “Sandra, no!” Becky tried to grab her arm, but Sandra was faster and slipped away.

  Looking for the exit sign, she wondered if she could get out before Sandra returned. But no such luck. Sandra headed toward her pulling some poor guy behind her.

  “This is Becky,” Sandra shouted over the music. “This is… what did you say your name was?”

  The man looked nervous; he was sweating and looking around. When Sandra tugged on his arm, he looked down at her then at Becky. “James.”

  “Well, James.” Sandra shoved him at Becky. “Show my friend a good time. She loves to dance.”

  If Becky could have gotten away with murder, she would have killed Sandra in that instant. But it was still against the law to murder your best friend, so she glared at her in warning before she was led to the dance floor by a very apprehensive James. She had noticed his fangs when he’d said his name, which made her a little nervous, but the security was thick in the club. Seriously, what the hell was he going to do; bite her in a club full of people? Rolling her eyes at herself, she groaned when the DJ picked that minute to play a slow song. Glancing back at a smiling Sandra, she sneered at her before she was pulled into James’s arms.

  She never remembered being this uncomfortable in her life. Peeking up at him, she noticed he was very handsome but sweated… a lot, and his eyes were all shifty. Okay, all she had to do was get through this dance, kill her friend—she decided the jail time would be worth it—and then go home to her quiet little apartment.

  “So, you come here a lot?” Becky figured she might as well make the most of it. “This is actually my first time. It’s a pretty nice place.” She lied. She hated it, but figured she’d play nice.

  The man wasn’t even looking at her but over her head. “What?”

  “I said, do you come here—” Becky started to repeat what she had said, but the sound of screams over the music cut her short.

  “Fuck!” James’s grip on her tightened to the point of pain. Trying to pull away, she was unsuccessful; he wouldn’t loosen his grip.

  “Hey!” Becky clawed at his hands, but her head was turned toward the shouts. Six huge men headed straight toward them dressed in all black; even black bandanas covered the lower part of their faces. Badges, which she couldn’t decipher, hung around their necks, but what really caught her attention were the guns aiming straight toward her. Turning, she frantically attempted to pry away from James, but he spun her around, his arm tight around her neck.

  “Let the woman go,” one of the men ordered, his gun still aimed straight at her since she had become a body shield for the asshole holding her. Even as scared as she was the thought, Sandra has the worse damn taste in men, crossed her mind.

  “No.” James’s grip around her neck tightened. “I don’t know shit, so just fucking leave me alone. I swear to God, I’ll break her fucking neck.”

  “Whoa!” Becky choked, wiggling and trying to dislodge herself.

  “Then you will die.” Another man’s voice came from behind a bandana, and that voice was somewhat familiar. “So let her go.”

  “Fuck you!” He started to drag her backward, and that scared her more than anything. There was no way she could leave with this maniac. If she learned anything in her women’s self-defense class, it was never to leave crime scene A because you didn’t walk away from crime scene B.

  With a scream, she reached back and grabbed the man by the balls.

  “You bitch!” His high-pitched scream pierced her ears. When he loosened his grip on her neck to grab her hand on his balls, she slammed her head back into his face.

  Even though she was loose from the guy, her legs wouldn’t work and she fell to her knees. The sound of gunshots rang out, making her cover her ears and head. A loud thud sounded beside her. She peeked to see James staring at her with unseeing eyes and a hole in the middle of his forehead. She couldn’t stop staring at the hole; the flesh sizzled around the jagged wound with a thin line of smoke coming out of it.

  “Oh, God.” Becky finally averted her eyes and started to move away from him, but more shouts stopped her. Who the hell were they yelling at now? She looked up to see all but one of the men pointing their guns at her.

  Chapter 2

  Becky sat freezing in a small room with nothing but a metal chair that froze her ass. She never wore skirts, but of course, tonight she did. Yeah, her luck sucked and continued to suck. Not only had she gone to a club she didn’t want to be at, danced with a vampire she didn’t want to dance with, been held hostage by said vampire who thre
atened to break her neck, and had guns aimed at her, but she was also handcuffed and taken to this shithole of a place where she sat freezing to death. At least they took the handcuffs off. She’d never been handcuffed before and swore to never be handcuffed again.

  She’d seen enough television, especially in the past year, to know it was a type of interrogation room. With her ass cheeks numb, she stood and rubbed her arms as she walked toward the large two-way mirror. She knew people were behind it, and it pissed her off. They’d taken her bag and phone, so she had no clue what time it was, but she had been in this room for at least an hour.

  “Hey!” She tapped on the glass. “Can I please get a coat or something if this is going to take any longer. I’m literally freezing my ass off on that chair. It’s the least you can do since I haven’t done a damn THING!” She screamed the last word, then punched the glass. Shit. She grabbed her hand, rubbing it.

  She jumped when the door opened. A tall man walked in and slammed it closed behind him. “Have a seat!” he ordered, his dark eyes staring at her as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

  “I’d rather stand.” Becky stuck her chin out in defiance. The man still wore the bandana that covered his nose and mouth. It was quite intimidating, but she would be damned if she let him know that. When the man didn’t say a word, but just stared at her, she sighed and sat on the freezing metal chair.

  “How do you know James Marshal?” The man’s tone was to the point. His relaxed stance and voice contradicted each other.

  “I don’t know him,” Becky replied, wondering who in the hell Sandra had grabbed for her to dance with. When he just stared at her, she knew he didn’t believe her. “I swear I don’t know James Marshal. My friend, ex-friend, thought I needed a dancing partner and came back with him.”

  “Who was he there with?” the man asked, his tone the same.

  “Ah, hello.” Becky wiggled in the chair, trying to warm it up. Her damn teeth were starting to chatter. Though that could be from nerves, she thought for a second. “I wouldn’t know since I don’t know who the hell James Marshal is.”

  When the man just stood there, Becky’s anxiety grew.

  “Listen, my dad is a retired cop.” She lied. Her dad was a truck driver, but he didn’t know that. “I’ve got rights and I want a phone call and my lawyer.”

  The way the man’s eyes crinkled suggested he was smiling.

  “I’m not a cop. You have no rights and a lawyer can’t help you.” The man pushed away from the wall coming within inches from her. “I will ask you one last time. How do you know James Marshal?”

  Okay, now she knew for a fact her teeth were not chattering from the cold, but from fear. What the hell had she been dragged into? She had always had smarts, and she knew that this man would eat her alive if she showed an ounce of fear. “And I will tell you one last time. I do not, did not, and never have known James Marshal.”

  Becky gasped when he grabbed her arm and pulled her up from the chair. It wasn’t a painful grip, just abrupt. He opened the door leading her down a long windowless hallway where he opened up another door and shoved her inside before slamming it shut, leaving her alone.

  Looking around, Becky wrapped her arms around herself. This room was like the last room, but larger with a long table and two chairs. “At least they aren’t metal.” She snorted, trying to be a tough guy. She knew she was being watched; she felt it.

  ******

  Maverick Wilder stood behind the two-way mirror and couldn’t believe he was staring at Becky fucking Adams. He’d thought he was over her, but seeing her in harm’s way at the club told him that was a lie. He was far from over her. What in the fuck was she doing involved with scum like James Marshal?

  “She isn’t talking.” Dale Jackson slammed into the room, glancing at Maverick. “You’re up.”

  “I know her,” Maverick said, his eyes still watching Becky. He knew she was scared, though she wouldn’t show it. She had always been tough, said whatever came to her mind, and she was strong. Three of the many things he fell in love with.

  “What did you say?” Dale frowned when Maverick looked at him.

  “I know her,” Maverick repeated, then looked back out the two-way.

  “How well?” Dale asked, then cursed as if already knowing the answer.

  “Very,” was Maverick’s only reply.

  “Oh, shit! That’s not good,” Dusty Reynolds said from behind the computer he was working on. He then stood, looking out at Becky. “But damn good taste, man. Feisty and hot as hell. Sweet combination. I bet she’s a real good fuc—”

  Maverick had Dusty by the throat and against the wall before Dale had time to react. “Keep your eyes off her and your fucking mouth shut.” Maverick squeezed hard in warning. “You got me?”

  “Goddammit, Dusty! You and your fucking mouth.” Dale stepped between them. When Maverick released Dusty, Dale pushed him back.

  “Okay, damn.” Dusty rubbed his throat. “Sorry, Mav. Didn’t know you still had a hard-on for the chick.”

  Maverick started going after Dusty again, but Dale stopped him. “Jasper is out, and he’s the only one who can read other than you. Can you do this?”

  With one last glare at Dusty, Maverick nodded. This was his fucking job, and he was damn good at it. Plus, he didn’t have a choice. They needed to move fast on this so it was up to him. “Yeah, no problem.”

  “Just keep your fucking mask up and I’ll ask the questions.” Dale rubbed his eyes and sighed. “Is her dad really a cop?”

  “No, he’s a truck driver.” Maverick actually grinned, grabbed his bandana, and headed toward the door. He wasn’t surprised when Becky had lied. She had a quick wit.

  “You sure you can handle this?” Dale looked from the mirror back to Maverick.

  Maverick really didn’t know the answer to that question, so he remained silent. He walked out the door, slamming it behind him. Once in the hallway, he leaned against the door, closed his eyes and cursed. He needed to end this fast and get her the fuck out of there for both their sakes.

  Chapter 3

  Becky picked up one of the two chairs and headed toward the mirror. She was pissed, scared, and she had to pee… really bad. Beer always made her have to pee, as well as nerves, so yeah, she was damn uncomfortable. She had asked repeatedly to use the restroom knowing they could hear her because she saw the microphone, but no one would answer her. Since they ignored her request, she was about to get their attention real quick with this chair.

  The door slammed open making her scream; the chair over her head aimed toward the two-way mirror. She immediately noticed this was not the same man from before. He was much bigger and wore a baseball hat pulled so low that between the hat and bandana, she could barely see his eyes. He took two large steps toward her, grabbed the chair and slammed it down, then pointed at it.

  “No,” she answered his unspoken request for her to sit. “I have been asking to use the restroom and until I do, I will not cooperate.”

  The man actually snorted but glanced at the mirror. Within seconds, another man walked into the room.

  “Come on.” He motioned for her to come, but his eyes fell on the other man. “Don’t worry. I won’t touch.”

  Becky walked toward the man who had just opened the door. How many bandana-masked men were there? Giving him a strange look, she then cast her eyes back to the other man who had sat in one of the chairs. His black eyes stared at her. She turned her gaze to the man at the door.

  “You’re damn right you won’t,” Becky replied with a huff, even though he wasn’t talking to her.

  “You sure do have a mouth on you.” The man shook his head. “I would think you’d be shaking in that little skirt.”

  The man behind them slammed his hand on the table.

  “It takes more than a stupid-looking bandana to scare me.” Becky figured she was in shock from watching a man die, being handcuffed, and taken somewhere by strange men because she was saying some really d
umb shit.

  “Come on, before you get me killed.” The man nudged her out of the room and down the hall. Stopping at another door, he shoved it open. “Don’t lock it.”

  Becky closed the door in his face and turned to the toilet in the small bathroom. Obviously no women were around because this bathroom was disgusting and smelled of old piss. Lifting her skirt, she started to sit, but stopped and glanced at the door. Turning on the water, she hovered over the nasty toilet and peed and peed, and then freaking peed some more. Finally finishing, she looked around for toilet paper and typically, her luck still sucked. She thought about calling out, but figured it would be useless. Reaching over, she grabbed the paper towels, cleaned herself up then flushed the paper towel down the toilet, hoping it stopped it up. Yeah, she was in bitch mode. Washing her hands, she took her time looking around for any means of escape, but there wasn’t any. It was a tiny room with no windows, just a sink, toilet, and no toilet paper. Wanting to irritate the asshole on the other side of the door, she waited a few more minutes before opening the door.

  “That was disgusting.” Becky grimaced as she headed back to the room where the other man stood just outside the door watching them. He then disappeared inside.

  “Sorry it wasn’t up to your standards, your majesty.” The man nudged her in and slammed the door behind her.

  Once again, alone with the man who hadn’t said a word to her, Becky’s insides started to shake. Her stomach pitched violently with nerves. He pushed the empty chair with his booted foot with a nod.

  “I don’t know what else I can say to you people.” Becky frowned when her voice cracked. She sat in the chair because honestly, she didn’t know how long her legs were going to hold her. Her brave façade was quickly cracking.

  “What is your involvement with James Marshal?” A voice echoed through the room, and it didn’t come from the man sitting directly in front of her.

  The man staring intently at her grabbed her wrist in a tight grip.

  “Hey, get off me.” She tried to pull away, but he held on tight. “I’ve told you, my friend pulled the man over for me to dance with. It’s as simple as that. I do not know that man and nothing you do to me will change that fact.”