by Marni Mann
He panted, but I knew he wasn’t out of breath. That was his way of trying to control his anger.
“Look at me.”
I waited a few seconds before I released the door. My body was so tense that it ached. My head pounded to the point of nausea, and every time I blinked, I saw the pool of blood. If I wasn’t so empty, I would have been projecting bile straight to the floor.
“Fucking look at me!”
I wrapped my arms around my churning stomach and glared at him. He didn’t even look the same. His eyes were hollow. His lips spread too thin. His cheeks sunken in.
“What have you done with my brother?”
“What have I done with him? I’m in the best place of my life right now. I have over twenty girls working for me, and I’m making a shit-ton of money. I’m about to hire twenty more. Do you know how much cash that’s going to bring in—in one night?”
That was what he considered a success? Employing women who sucked dick and spread their legs for cash?
He wasn’t just lost.
He was gone.
“I don’t care, Anthony. I don’t care about money, and I definitely don’t care about yours.”
“You’re going to care because I’m going to give you plenty of it to keep your mouth shut.”
“You can’t buy me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, sister. I can do whatever the fuck I want because I’m the one holding the gun.” He slapped the gun on the armrest, keeping his hand on the butt and his finger on the trigger.
It wasn’t pointed at me, but it may as well have been.
“What the—ow!” I yelled as his other hand clamped my cheek. “Get off me.”
“You’re going to shut the fuck up and listen to me. I’m not going to fight with you, and I’m sure as hell not going to repeat myself.” He traced the gun down the side of my face.
I shivered—not just from the feel of the metal on my skin, but also from the power he had over me.
“You’re going to leave Atlantic City the second you graduate. You’re going to get yourself set up down south somewhere, somewhere like Florida. You’re going to go to college that I’m going to pay for. You’re going to open a business that I’m going to fund. You’re going to get a house that I’m going to purchase in cash. And, every month I’m going to drive down to Florida to check on you, and since my money isn’t safe in Jersey, you’re going to launder it for me. You’re my investment, Kyle. That’s your reward for keeping your mouth shut.” He released my cheek, but the gun stayed close.
“What if I say no?”
“Then, I’ll kill you.”
There was no hesitation in his voice. He said it as though he were announcing the weather forecast. And he looked at me as though I were trash on an already littered sidewalk. He could just point a gun at me and shoot.
His way or death.
It was all so simple for him.
“How am I supposed to face Garin and Billy? How can I act like I don’t know it was you who killed Paulie?”
“Stop being friends with them if you can’t handle it.”
“They’ll know something is wrong—” I cut myself off when I saw his eyes turn rabid.
“Make sure they don’t know.” He glanced down at the gun. “There’s only two people who were able to see inside this stolen car tonight. One of them is dead; the other is you. If anyone finds out about this, if I hear so much as my name whispered, it will be the end of you.”
The end of me…
He might as well have pulled the trigger right then.
Garin and Billy were my whole world. They were all I had. They were my best friends, my family. They kept me safe, fed, clothed.
But there was more.
I loved Garin. Things were going to happen between us. They were about to happen. We were taking it slow, but our relationship was moving forward.
And now?
Now, I had to give that up.
Give everything up.
Give them up.
I looked out the window, at the city outside the glass. Once I stepped out there, things were going to be so different.
They were going to be cold.
Dark.
Lonely.
Every day, I would be ravaged with guilt for not speaking the truth. For allowing Paulie’s murderer to roam the streets, the crime remaining unsolved. For being a coward.
I was no longer Kyle.
I was the person Anthony wanted me to be.
Twenty-Six
Kyle
Plastic—that was all I could taste. My tongue was so dry that it felt like it was made of paper. My teeth were fuzzy, like mold was growing over the enamel. I hoped this prison wouldn’t give me Breath’s teeth, his rotted gums, his rancid breath. I hoped that, whatever damage had been done, I’d be able to recover from it.
Because, maybe one day, I would get out of here. Breath would open the bars, and Garin and I would walk out with…his hand clasped in mine, living the life I’d always wanted.
Why did that thought feel so familiar?
Why was I so groggy?
As I swam through the fog in my brain, it slowly started coming back to me, the very last memory I had. I’d told Breath that Anthony was the murderer…and then everything had turned to black.
Everything was still black. My eyes were closed, my lids feeling much too heavy to open. And there was beeping in my ears. Lots of high-pitched beeping…
Where was it coming from? That noise hadn’t been in our cell before.
But the differences didn’t stop there.
There was softness, too. The wool blanket we’d used as a pillow wasn’t this feathery. It had been hard, cement hard. Our bed was the same, but whatever was underneath me now was cozy, plush, delicate even. And it wasn’t cold in here, like it typically was in our cell. If anything, I was warm. Too warm. Sticky…hot.
It must have been from the needle that Breath had stuck in my neck. Those drugs he gave me always made me feel loopy. Garin had said it took at least a day for the meds to work their way out of my system.
Had it been a day?
A day since—
GARIN.
More memories started to come back to me. Breath had slashed Garin’s entire body. Garin had barely been breathing. He needed help. He needed to go to a hospital. Breath promised he would take him but only if I confessed. Giving him that confession also meant…
“You’ll get the punishment you deserve. Confess and save Garin, or I’m going to kill you both. The choice is yours.”
I’d given him the confession.
Was this death?
Something still beeped not too far from my ear.
“What’s beeping?” The sound of my own voice surprised me. It was hoarse, a little deep. So scratchy.
“Relax, Kyle.”
Relax…Kyle?
I’d heard that voice before. It was the one I’d been hearing since I was put in that cell. It sounded like Garin but up until today it had been a little hazy and muffled. It wasn’t either of those now. It was clear.
“Kyle…”
“Garin?”
“I’m right here.”
I felt him squeeze my hand, but I still didn’t see him. My eyelids were too heavy to open just yet. Everything was heavy. My muscles ached; my skin tingled. Every thought felt like it needed to swim through a sea of peanut butter before it surfaced and actually made sense.
“I need to see you, Garin. I need to see how you’re healing. Did Breath make good on his promise? Did he take you to the hospital?”
“Just relax, Kyle. They gave you some heavy medication, so if you’re going to open your eyes, do it slowly.”
Was it heavier than what Breath had given me in the past? My lids certainly hadn’t felt this heavy before. My body definitely hadn’t felt this tingly.
“I thought that whatever Breath had put in that needle…I thought it was going to kill me,” I said.
I lifted my arm to try a
nd cover my eyes, but it was hard to move. Something was around my wrist, and another something was attached to it.
Wires. It felt like wires.
I finally got my arm up and blocked out the light. Slowly, so slowly, I shifted it down to let in a little at a time. I took a breath after each shift.
A little bit of light and then a little bit of air.
The air came in so easily, much easier than I expected. There was suddenly so much more air in here and much less pressure on my chest.
Why?
I blinked several times, my eyes now fully uncovered but still trying to adjust to the sunlight. Even though they stung and watered from the brightness, I could see Garin sitting in a chair right next to me. I could see his hand on mine. I could smell him.
Clean. He was so clean.
“Breath kept his promise,” I said as I studied his handsome face.
I couldn’t find a single cut. There wasn’t even a scab or a bruise. Not even a scar. That was…strange. Some of his wounds had been so deep; raw muscles had been sticking out of them.
“How did you heal so fast?”
“Heal?”
My stare shifted between his eyes as another thought occurred to me. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Eight days.”
“What? Eight whole days?”
He put his palm on my chest to stop me from sitting up. “If you move too fast, you’ll get dizzy, and your drain might come out.”
I couldn’t have been asleep for eight days, nor could he have healed in that time. What Breath had done to him would have taken months to recover from, and he would have been left with scars. But, if he had any, I would have seen them because his beard had been shaved. All that thick, coarse hair…gone.
“How did you get a razor? Did Beard bring you one?”
He took a second to respond. “You’ve been through a lot, Kyle. You’ve had a head trauma. I’m sure it’s making things cloudy right now.”
“Head trauma?” I touched my forehead. “Did Breath hit me on the head? What—” I cut myself off when I noticed his clothes.
He wasn’t in the black pants and button-down he’d been wearing since Billy’s funeral. He was in jeans and a thin sweater.
“Beard brought you clothes? Did he bring me any?” I looked down and saw the blanket that was tucked over me. It wasn’t scratchy gray wool. It was white and knit. And I was in a gown, a light-blue one. And I was lying on a bed with buttons on both sides of the railings that made the bed adjustable.
Why was I in a bed? With a knit blanket, wearing a light-blue gown?
Why was it so bright in here?
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I looked over my shoulder, and there were machines behind me—a heart monitor and an IV bag.
“Am I in the hospital?”
“Yes, Kyle.”
I glanced back at his face and blinked hard, waiting for the cuts and gashes to reappear. But they didn’t, and there weren’t any scars. Why was he fully healed, and why was I the one in this bed?
“How did I get to the hospital? Did Breath take me when he dropped you off? Did he do something to me?”
“You got here by ambulance.”
“An ambulance picked me up? On Margarita Island? Or did he take us to Caracas?”
There was pity in his eyes—pity like whenever Billy had been high and incoherent. Garin and I would just stare at him while he tried to put words together, but nothing he said made sense.
Was that me—muddled and unintelligible?
“We’re in Atlantic City, Kyle.”
Atlantic City?
“I don’t get it. You’re all healed. I’m the one hurt and…I’m so tired.”
It was more than just tiredness that hit me; it felt like a heavy blanket of warmth was sinking me into this bed and about to close out all the light.
“I’ll explain everything to you when you wake up. Just shut your eyes, and get some rest.”
His hand tightened on mine. Somehow, it made me feel safe. It gave me the encouragement I needed to close my lids again.
“But I just woke up…”
There was that darkness that I remembered. Not the kind I felt in the cell. This was different. This wasn’t frightening. My body didn’t tremble in fear. It didn’t make me search for a way out. In the strangest of ways, it was comforting.
“Relax, Kyle.”
I did as he said, and each of my muscles loosened.
“Breathe, Kyle.”
My breathing slowed.
Those words…they were so familiar. So was his tone.
So was the dream behind my lids.
Twenty-Seven
Kyle
“She’s awake.”
There was that voice again. The one I’d heard in my head when I was prisoned, the one I’d just fallen asleep to. It was Garin. But, this time, it wasn’t in my mind. It wasn’t right next to me. It sounded like it was coming from several feet away.
My eyes opened slowly, my lids rising much easier than before. Unlike last time, I looked around the room, taking in the window, the two chairs—one of which had been pulled next to my bed—the TV, bathroom, and closet. I really was in a hospital…but in Atlantic City? That part didn’t make any sense. Maybe Breath had flown us back to the States, and an ambulance had picked us up from the airport.
“I haven’t told her,” Garin said.
I glanced toward the open door, the voice sounding like it came from the hallway.
“I know, I know,” he continued. “You have nothing to worry about. Trust me.” He looked into the doorway, and our eyes connected. “I’ll call you later.” He shoved the phone into his pocket and came over to the bed. “Feeling any better?”
As he sat, I noticed he was in different clothes again. Darker jeans, a black button-down shirt. His scruff had grown a little, the black hairs casting a shadow across his cheeks.
“A little, I think. I’m still so tired and so confused.”
“The doctor said that’s normal. It’s going to take your body some time to recover.”
“When can I go home? Unless…” My voice drifted off as I thought about the prison.
Were Beard and Breath waiting for me outside the hospital? Would they take me the second I healed?
“Home is an option, right?”
Garin laughed, which confused me more. “Yeah, it’s an option. Just a few more days, and you’ll be able to go. Your doctor wants to make sure you’re stable enough to fly. Your lung is healing well, and so is your head. Your drain should be coming out tomorrow. Then, I’ll fly you back to Florida to make sure you get home safely.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“It is. Don’t fight me on it. Because last time”—he grabbed the armrests, the tips of his fingers turning white—“I didn’t keep you safe.”
Last time.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. What happened to my head? And my lung?”
When he shifted in his chair, I picked up a whiff of his cologne. It was spicy, enticing. It would have turned me on if my whole body didn’t hurt, if I wasn’t so confused about why he was so healed and I was so battered.
I looked at his hands again. There wasn’t any dirt on his fingers or nails. No cuts. Not the least bit of redness. How was that possible?
“Do you remember Billy’s funeral?”
I recalled being at the funeral home, seeing Garin near Billy’s casket. Garin had come by the table where I was getting a drink.
“Yes,” I finally answered, “and I remember going to the bar with you.”
He had kissed me outside the restroom. Squeezed my neck. His touch had brought out more of the guilt. But it was the sexiest kiss I’d ever had, enough to make my skin flush in this hospital bed.
“We left the bar to go to your hotel, I think…”
That was where things became fuzzy. I didn’t have a full memory of the car ride, just random flashes of it. I saw the interior, the black leat
her seats. His hand on my thigh. A green light. Dark…something so dark and hard.
“We never made it back to the hotel, Kyle.”
That must have been because of Breath. He’d kidnapped us from Garin’s car, injected something in our bodies so that we’d black out, shoved us into a plane and flew us to Margarita Island.
“I know. We were kidnapped and—”
“We got into a car accident.”
“We…what?”
He pulled his chair closer, sending me his scent again. I didn’t know what he was saying, I didn’t know what he meant, but I knew there was nothing familiar about this smell. It wasn’t the one I’d memorized in the cell. It was too clean.
Everything in here was too clean.
“Listen to me.” His hand landed on my leg, and I winced. “A truck ran a red light and hit our car. It was on the passenger side, right in the middle of the hood. You hit the airbag and ricocheted off, slamming against the door. Your head hit the window. The glass shattered, and a piece of it punctured your lung. The blow to your head caused some damage, and you’ve been in a medically induced coma for the last eight days. The doctors just took out your breathing tube this morning and lowered your medication, so you’d wake up.”
It didn’t feel like he was talking about me. It felt like he was telling me a story about someone I didn’t know. How could all of these things have happened, and I had no recollection of any of them?
Was he lying to me?
I felt the medication in my body, I saw it pumping through the tube that led to my wrist. With each drip, drip, drip of the IV, I thought about everything he had said—head trauma, a breathing tube, days’ worth of medication…a coma.
A breathing tube would explain the plastic taste that had been in my mouth.
But what about everything else?
“I don’t…understand,” I said.
“I probably had a few too many drinks at the bar. I shouldn’t have been driving us. My reflexes might have been off, and I didn’t slam on the brakes in time. That truck hit us and—fuck, there was nothing I could do to stop it.”