by Marni Mann
“Beard!” she shouted. “Get me out of here.”
Tears ran down her face, her lips all wet with spit. She tried to lift her hands but couldn’t. She was strapped to my chair with shackles around her wrists and ankles. The burn marks on her neck told me, at some point, she’d been bound by rope. But the rope was gone, and there weren’t any bruises or cuts on her face. Whoever had handled her delivered her unharmed.
“What the hell is she doing here?” I barked at Shank.
Shank shook his head. “That’s for you to figure out.”
I knew she could hear every word if she only quieted her crying, so I stepped further into the hallway and kept my voice down. “We’ve been hired to kill her?” I shoved my hands in my pockets to stop them from shaking.
Inmates didn’t start in the OR. They went into a cell to simmer for a while, so when we brought them in here, they’d talk. Straight into an OR meant instant death.
What had she done to deserve this kind of torture?
“Yeah,” he answered, “something like that.”
“It was our guys who went in and cleaned out her place, wasn’t it? But she didn’t get off the plane when I was at the airport, so when the hell did she arrive?”
“She came in with my dad.”
It felt like Shank had punched me in the face. My neck moved back like I was trying to avoid a second blow.
“Your dad?”
Bond had come in after I left, which meant he’d taken a plane that wasn’t ours. That wasn’t usual. Bond always took ours when he flew here. I’d never known him to take a different aircraft.
None of this was making any sense.
“Shank, I’m so fucking confused.”
His hand went to my shoulder. All it did was make me angrier.
I knew my best friend had all the answers, and he was keeping them from me. And, somehow, he was a part of this, and that pissed me off even more.
When the hell had he found out about Layla and the stripper? And why had he let me go all the way to Miami to look for them when she had been on her way here?
“Go talk to her, and figure this out,” he said. Then, he walked away, leaving me standing outside my OR.
“Shank!” I yelled when he was halfway down the hallway. “Where’s the other one?”
“She’s dead!” he shouted back.
“Nooo!” Layla screamed from her chair. “Beard, nooo. How could you do this? How could you let this happen?”
I closed my eyes for just a brief second and took a breath. “Did it happen here, or…”
Shank nodded. “Her limbs are in The Pit. The rest of her is with the babies. You know how they like the taste of women so much better than men, so I tossed her in their room and let them snack on her for a while. It’s been a couple of hours. I’m sure they’ve gotten her pretty well gnawed up by now.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
My stomach was making a sound I didn’t recognize, flipping and churning like actual feelings were inside there. That was something new. Because, in this prison, I hadn’t felt a fucking thing anytime I ever took a life. But, now, someone was sitting in my gyno chair, someone whose mouth had sucked me off, whose cunt and ass I had come in. And the limbs that had been thrown in The Pit had touched my cock; the body that was being eaten by rats had been lying on me just a week ago.
When I went in the OR, I kept the door open. With all the cameras and microphones in here, we didn’t have privacy, and I was sure the guys were listening in anyway. I walked in and stood right in front of her. Her chin was pointed down, and she glared up at me through her long lashes.
“Layla, you’d better start talking.”
“She’s de-dead?” she sobbed. Makeup dripped down her cheeks, the black landing on her lips where it seemed to soak into her skin. “My beautiful gi-girlfriend is de-dead?”
“Yes, and you’re going to be killed, too, unless you tell me what you’ve done.”
That was a lie. I couldn’t save her, not in this prison. It didn’t work that way. But I could make sure she didn’t suffer too much. I just needed to hear her confession first. Then, I’d send Shank in and tell him to run a blade across her throat. I’d have him use one of the sharp ones, like the butcher’s knife, so it would happen fast, and she’d bleed out quickly.
“I don’t know anything,” she cried. “I haven’t done a thing wrong. Please, Beard, you have to believe me.”
I moved around the chair, checking out each side of her. I didn’t see any blood, no additional marks that I had missed earlier. She was wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants, the typical clothing we dressed the inmates in when they were transferred to the prison.
“I went to Miami,” I hissed in her face, mine only inches from hers. I knew she was hiding something from me, and I was on the verge of exploding. “I went to your condo, and the whole place was cleaned out. I went to your office, and it was empty, too.” I grabbed her cheeks, squeezing them. “We’re hired for a reason, Layla. All the people who come into this prison are guilty of something. What is your crime? Who the fuck did you piss off?”
My eyes dropped to Layla’s hand, and that was when I saw it. The tattoo. The same one I’d stared at for so many years. Layla had always worn a ring on that finger to cover it, but all her jewelry had been removed.
“What the fuck?” I shouted. “How…” But then I stopped when I heard movement behind me. Feet on the concrete, the swish of clothes as they entered my OR. I turned around to see whom it was.
The scream I heard was my own. A sound I’d never made—at least, not in the last few years. But I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t soften it. I couldn’t even pause. Not with those eyes looking back at me, those lips, that beautiful face.
My thoughts were halted the second she said, “I’m the one she’s pissed off.”
Thirty-Five
Bond
Two Weeks Ago
“Hey, Bond,” Eddy said as he opened my office door and stuck his head inside. “Someone’s here to see you.”
I didn’t even bother to look up from my computer. Instead, I pecked at the keyboard, finishing the email I had started a few minutes ago. “I’m not interested.”
“It’s a woman.”
“So?”
“I keep trying to send her away, but she insists on seeing you. She says she knows you’re here, and she won’t leave until she speaks to you.”
I ground my teeth and finally glanced up at him.
People didn’t often come to the mills to meet with me. When they did, they’d show up at the original location we had opened, assuming it was where I kept an office. Little did they know, I had chosen the shop that was the quietest, the area of town where a Mercedes parked out back wouldn’t stand out or where it wouldn’t automatically be assumed it was driven by a drug dealer.
I opened my desk drawer and removed my 9 mm handgun. Checking to make sure the safety was on, I tucked it under my thigh. “Send her in.”
“You want me to stick around, maybe hang in the corner while she’s in here?”
“Please.” He started to close the door, and I said, “Eddy”—I waited for him to look at me again—“don’t be afraid to shoot.”
He nodded and closed the door.
I returned to my monitor and clicked on the window that brought up the security feed. It showed Eddy walking down the hallway to the front of the store, stopping by the entrance to speak to a woman, and then she followed directly behind him. The live video wasn’t the clearest. The cameras were in the corners of the ceiling, so the angles made everyone look small, including Eddy who had been hired because of his size. But this girl couldn’t have been much over five feet, and she looked extremely lean. If she acted up, I was sure Eddy would have her on the ground in seconds.
The feed showed Eddy outside the door, and I heard the knock before he came in.
Unlike him, I wouldn’t have described her as a woman. This was a young girl, who couldn’t be a day older than twenty-fiv
e. She didn’t wear much makeup and dressed in clothes that were extremely nondescript. Yet she was attractive in a way where she didn’t have to try. I imagined, after a few hours in Neiman Marcus, the girl would be gorgeous.
“How can I help you?” I said.
She walked in and stood by the chairs in front of my desk. Eddy stayed close, just to the side of me, his hand clenched around the butt of his gun. It appeared that the girl noticed but didn’t seem at all affected by it. Admittedly, that surprised me. So did her disposition. She was calm, collected. I would even describe her as confident.
And she wasn’t a junkie. I could tell that immediately. She lacked the dark circles under her eyes and the acne. She wasn’t scratching her arms or acting fidgety.
If this wasn’t about drugs, I couldn’t imagine what she needed to discuss with me.
“I’m here to talk about one of your clients,” she said.
Perfect. I could get rid of her as fast as she’d come in.
Keeping my hand on the gun, I crossed my legs underneath my desk. “I don’t discuss my clients with anyone. I’m a doctor, and I maintain a strict confidentiality policy. Besides, it’s against HIPAA—”
“The Achurdy.”
I froze in my chair, my foot no longer tapping the ground, and I squeezed the gun a little tighter.
No one had ever said those words to me, except for Arman—an ornery old bastard, who’d been my contact at that organization. I’d met him over twenty years ago while vacationing in Belize, and we’d been doing business together ever since.
“Why don’t you take a seat, Miss…” She didn’t respond to the inquiry of her name. “And then you can tell me why you’re here.”
She pointed at Eddy. “He needs to get out.”
I shifted my eyes over to Eddy. “It’s okay,” I told him. “You can leave us alone.”
He waited a second before he left my office.
Once I heard the click of the door shutting, I said, “He’s gone. Start talking.”
With anyone I spoke to, I always tried to absorb a few of their details, never knowing when they would come in handy. So, when this young girl sat down and rested her hands on the edge of the desk, I noticed her short, clean nails. She didn’t wear any jewelry. Her outfit didn’t exactly call for accessories. But what I couldn’t stop staring at was the tattoo on her finger. I’d seen plenty of body art over the years. Christ, my son had some, and so did his friends. This piece wasn’t what I would have expected on her. It was on her left hand, starting at her knuckle and extending all the way to the top of her ring finger. I couldn’t tell what kind of animal it was, but it was a skull of some kind with horns on each side.
“I know you supply The Achurdy with drugs,” she said. “I want you to stop.”
I was so caught off guard by her accusation, I laughed.
Here was this tiny, young female, only filling half of the chair she sat in, and she thought she could come into my office and give me orders. I could end her life the second I lifted my hand and pointed my gun at her chest. But I couldn’t deny that I was curious to hear what she had against this business and why she wanted to hit them where it would hurt.
“I’m not admitting that I have any type of relationship with this so-called company you speak of, but if I did, explain to me why I should cut all ties. Businesses usually spend thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, with their vendors. Who would compensate me for that kind of loss?”
“I’m going to tell you a story, and when I’m done, I’m going to tell you how it affects you.”
I laughed again, unable to get over the sheer courage and determination this young girl had. It was unlike anything I had ever seen in females her age, and I saw lots of women on our video feeds at this mill and the others I had around the state.
“You have about ten seconds before I raise the gun from under my leg, aim it at your chest, and pull the trigger.”
“You can kill me,” she said, still so calm. “But, if anything happens to me, one of my friends has pictures that show proof of the illegal operation you’re running here and at all your other pill mills. If he doesn’t hear from me in the next thirty minutes, all of that information will be forwarded to the police.”
I couldn’t hide my anger. “Do you think that scares me? You’re not the first to come in here and demand things from me, threatening to tell the authorities, promising you have folders’ and folders’ worth of proof. I’ve been around a long time, young lady, and my connections run deep. You’re not going to be the end of me.”
Her eyes smiled, and for the first time since she’d come in my office, I felt the power shift.
“I imagine your son wouldn’t be happy if the Venezuelan police showed up at his door, especially if they asked to go in the basement. A prison isn’t exactly something that’s easy to hide.”
“What the fu—” I cut myself off. My reaction was far too strong. I didn’t know how much this girl knew, but even the slightest expression or response could give her even more knowledge.
“I do have a son,” I said carefully. “But he has nothing to do with the transactions that take place here or with any of my affiliates. His whereabouts and occupation are nothing like what you have described.”
“I know he doesn’t sell drugs to The Achurdy,” she said. The smile in her eyes was gone. It wasn’t needed. She didn’t have to sound convincing or look the part. The things she knew told me she had plenty of facts stored up in case she had to use them. “But he is affiliated with The Achurdy, whether he knows it or not. Wouldn’t you agree to that?”
I needed to try a different approach. She wasn’t caving even the slightest, but everyone had a weakness. I just needed to find hers.
“Did they hurt you?” Still nothing. “Is that why you’re here? To get back at them?” I leaned a hand over the desk to get closer to her. Not too close that I was invading her personal space. Just close enough that showed my concern and my desire to protect her. “If they did something to you, then I can—”
“Your doctor bullshit isn’t going to work on me, Bond. I’m not here to talk about my feelings. I’m here to tell you what I want you to do.”
“Oh, I think you’ve told me, young lady.”
She shook her head. “Not all of it, I haven’t. There’s more.”
I laughed again. “More?” I pulled my hand back. “You’ve asked me to stop dealing to The Achurdy, and now, you want more?” I realized I had confirmed my relationship with them. It wasn’t a secret in this room, and I wasn’t telling her anything she hadn’t already known.
She moved to the end of her chair, and I listened to her describe in detail, step by step, what she wanted me to do.
I had been wrong about her when she first walked in. Maybe she looked young in appearance, but there was nothing immature or inexperienced about this woman. Not in the way she had planned this all out, the requests she was making, how she was covering every angle.
I thought about everything she was asking, and one thing still didn’t make any sense.
“You’re demanding quite a lot from me, miss. But what’s stopping me from raising this gun from my lap and killing you right here? I’ve already told you, I’m not scared of the police, and I promise, any information you might have on my son will die before the authorities even get across the border.”
She reached inside her jacket and slowly removed an envelope that she placed on my desk. “Open it. Everything you need to know is in there.”
I lifted the thin paper flap and pulled out a thumb drive. I felt it shaking in my hand as I inserted it into my computer. The heaviest weight was on my chest as I waited for the file to load. When I saw that it was a movie file, I felt a little bit of relief. What in God’s name could she have that would incriminate me? Certainly, it couldn’t be more than a few junkies talking about where they had bought their pills.
But then the movie started to play, and I immediately turned my face away from the screen. “I don’t wa
nt to fucking see this!” I shouted at her.
She smiled—this time, with her lips. “Don’t worry; it doesn’t last long.”
I took that as a dig, and I was sure it was what she had intended.
She was right; the sex on the video hadn’t lasted long. And what followed was a series of events. A timeline of snapshots that had taken place over several months, bringing me to what I guessed was just a few weeks ago.
I had been all wrong. Her evidence had nothing to do with a bunch of junkies. It had nothing to do with the pill mills at all. She was coming from a whole different direction.
Now, I knew what she wanted.
I knew why she was asking for help.
I’d told her to give me a reason not to kill her. As much as I hated to admit it to myself, she’d given me one.
More than one, actually.
She’d given me two.
I lifted both hands and set them on the desk. “Let’s go over it all again, slower this time, and start from the very beginning. Then, you can tell me exactly what I need to do.”
Thirty-Six
Beard
“You fucking cunt!” Layla screamed in an accent that I’d never heard from her before. “I knew you weren’t dead, and the minute those assholes showed up at my door, I had a feeling you had something to do with it. Get me out of these cuffs, you bitch, so at least it’s a fair fight.”
Besides her accent, I didn’t hear much else that came from Layla’s mouth. That was because every sense I had was focused on the woman who was next to me.
I didn’t know how she was here. How she was standing. How the fuck she was even alive.
Because I had seen her cold. Blue. Bloody.
Dead.
And, now, she had color, she had somehow healed, and if I touched her hand, I knew she would be warm.
Jesus.
I didn’t know whether to pick her up and never take my lips off her mouth or fucking strangle her for putting me through all that hell. But I knew I couldn’t wait a second longer to hold her.