Suddenly, I was plunged into darkness and then incredible brightness. Turning hurriedly, I stared out the window and realised we had entered underground parking. Fuck. I had been too busy staring at him, so I hadn’t paid attention to where I was. How was I supposed to get out now?
He parked and then was out of the vehicle. A few strides had him at my door, opening it, and then he was simply waiting.
“What if I refuse to get out?” Wow, such a threat, Devon.
“You can stay in the car, it makes no difference to me.” He started to close the door. “You pee in here, throw up in here, or get blood on my seats, you will die in there. Understand?”
“Your seats are leather.”
“I don’t give a fuck if they’re silk. Out.”
I hesitated, but the churning in my stomach didn’t convince me I wouldn’t throw up, so once again I was being led at his side to who knows where.
Elevator doors opened, and then inexplicably, he pressed his hand over my eyes. I instantly struggled and he tightened his grip. I opened my mouth to scream, and then I was being held in front of him with one hand over my eyes and the other over my mouth. My head was immobile, and I felt the hardness of his muscles behind me. It was futile to struggle.
I was always slow to accept defeat.
As I kicked back at him, I knew I hadn’t even grazed him. When I tried to strike him again, my head was jerked painfully to the side.
“Stop.” His hand was mashing my lips against my teeth, sending a shooting pain from my split lip across my lower jaw.
The elevator stopped, and I was half carried out of it. A few short strides later, and then I was being dropped onto my feet. Opening my eyes, I saw a darkened living space. Spinning, I tried to get my bearings as I saw the massive windows, and then I was in complete darkness as he tied something soft across my eyes.
“No!” I yelled as he lifted me. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Shut up, or I’ll gag you too.”
All too soon, I was being placed on my feet again and the blindfold removed, and I was blinking against the harsh light as I took in the bedroom. Fear gripped my throat as I stared, frozen, at the bed. No. Was this why I was here?
“Don’t do anything stupid.” The door clicked behind him, and I turned too late to realise I was alone.
Instantly I tried the handle, but it didn’t budge. I turned around and looked at the room again. Sparsely decorated, it was clean and simple in decor. However, my fear was overriding my senses, and all I could focus on was the bed. Slowly, I made my way across the room, drawn by the soft light shining under the wall. As I studied it, I realised it was a sliding door, and this was the bathroom.
The whole room screamed money. Was I in a hotel? I took a tentative step inside and looked at the double headed shower. There were toiletries stacked on the vanity, I noticed, as my hand trailed over thick fluffy towels. I made my way to the mirror and winced as I looked at my swollen cheek and bleeding lip. I hadn’t even noticed I was bleeding, but I had dried blood on my chin.
My hair was a mess. It had been in a low ponytail, gathered at the nape of my neck. Now it looked like I had been dragged around by my hair and banged my face repeatedly off a wall.
The dumpster. Not a wall. I had banged off the dumpster. As I studied my face, I wondered how much was dumpster damage and how much was Benny.
Slowly, I returned to the bedroom and eyed the bed distrustfully. He didn’t seem like he was a sexual deviant simply because he didn’t look like he was interested enough. Cold blooded killer? Yes. He had demonstrated that the night in the alley and tonight with Benny.
He didn’t look like a killer either. Didn’t he? Okay, he looked dangerous. He looks like death, my mind screamed at me.
I hurried to the far wall when the handle pushed down and the door opened. He came into the room and watched me as he closed the door behind him.
“Why am I here?”
He threw a bag at me, and I reflexively caught it. I stared at it for a moment, my brain reading but seemingly rejecting that I was holding frozen peas in my hand.
“For your face.”
I nodded mutely. I knew what they were for, I just didn’t know why.
“They don’t reduce the swelling unless you use them.”
As if in slow motion, I raised the peas to my cheek and then stared at him.
“Your clothes are at the shelter, and I don’t plan on going back for them,” he started as he leaned casually against the door. “You’ve been quiet so far, but I’m not ready to chance you will remain so.”
“What?”
“What? What do you mean what?”
“This is all because of the alley?”
“You think it was because I was a Samaritan?” A perfectly shaped blond eyebrow arched.
“I hadn’t seen you properly.” My voice was so low I could hardly hear it. “Even when you caught me that morning, I really wouldn’t have known what you looked like. Why show me who you are now?”
“You know exactly what I look like.” He watched me for longer than was necessary. “And I don’t really give a fuck if you know or not.”
“So…I’m going to die here?” I looked around the room fearfully. There was no way out. I glanced back at him, and the bastard just stood there, indifferent. “Why bring me here to kill me?” I demanded, my anger rising.
“Are you desperate to die?”
“No!”
“Then shut up about it.” He pushed off the wall as he turned to the door. “The more you talk, the closer I am to silencing you.”
“You mean kill me?” I took an angry step forward, the peas in my hand forgotten. “Why fancy it up with saying silencing me. You mean kill me!”
He studied me for a moment longer. “I may gag you anyway.” He left the room, leaving me standing there with the peas, and I slowly raised them to my cheek and my lip.
“I don’t understand,” I told the empty room. I sank onto the bed and sat there for a long time as the numbness from the frozen peas seemed to spread throughout my body.
The door opened again, causing me to jump. He came in and looked me over critically. His heavy sigh instantly made me want to throw my now warm peas at him. Placing a bag on the bed, he held his hand out. I looked at it quizzically. He flexed his fingers in a give me motion. Still I stared.
“Fuck’s sake, Devon, give me the bag,” he snapped.
They flew through the air of their own accord. I would swear on my life that I never made the conscious decision to throw them at him. Yet, it was my hand they left, and it was my sigh of disappointment that let him know I was sorry that they had missed him.
He ignored me as he gestured to the bag he had placed on the bed. “Clothes. Shower, sleep, I don’t really care.”
“If you don’t care, then why am I being dressed?”
“I don’t care if you want to sleep in what you’re wearing, but do you know that you have dead pimp on you?”
I looked at my clothes, and in the light, I could now see the dried blood spatter of Benny. Crying out, I jumped up and started to take off my T-shirt before I stopped and saw him simply watching.
“Don’t stop. I need the clothes.”
“Why?” My brain registered he wasn’t leering at me, but still I wasn’t willingly undressing in front of him.
“Why do you think, Devon?”
I lowered the T-shirt and held it out in front of me as I inspected the blood clumps. My stomach turned again. Glancing up, I looked at him in realisation. “Evidence?”
“You’re not as stupid as you look.” He held his hand out again. “Off.”
“Turn around.”
He actually laughed. Well, if the huff of amusement he gave could be considered laughter. “You take them off willingly, or I take them. What would you prefer?”
I angrily snatched the hem of the T-shirt and yanked it over my head. I threw it at him. “I’d prefer for you to drop dead.”
“Pa
nts.”
Glaring at him, I pushed the cargo pants down my legs and stepped out of them, scrunching them into a ball. They too got flung at him.
“Underwear.” He saw me hesitate. “You have things in the bag.” He turned around and gave me his back.
I knew he wouldn’t leave until he had what he wanted. Grabbing the bag, I pulled out a robe, my face no doubt registering my surprise at it being in there. Quickly unsnapping my bra, I shrugged it off even as I stepped out of my panties. I covered the panties with my bra and handed them both out to him.
He turned back to me and nodded once. “No socks?”
“No.”
“Sneakers?” Silently I pointed to the edge of the bed. He stooped and picked them up. “Get a shower. Sleep.”
“How do you expect me to sleep?”
“Nothing has changed except where you put your head down.” He told me easily. “Your circumstances are the same.”
He was right. I hadn’t been safe from him at the shelter, and the only difference now was that I knew he was under the same roof.
“Fine. I sleep and then what?”
“One day at a time.”
“Wow, I can’t begin to tell you how settling that is.”
He started to leave with my clothing and my shoes.
“What’s your name?” I blurted.
He turned back, and his look was mocking. “Really? That’s your question?”
No. I had a thousand questions, but that’s the one that popped out. I shrugged.
“Call me whatever you want.” He turned away from me again, and I felt the frustration and desperation rise in me, like a scream waiting to explode.
“Fucker?”
“Has a nice ring to it.” He was halfway out the door when he hesitated, his head turning slightly back. “Raphe.”
“What?”
“My name is Raphe. If it’s too hard to remember, fucker works just as well.”
The door closed behind him, and I stood watching it, waiting to see if he was coming back. When I was sure he wasn’t, I investigated the bag. Pyjamas, jeans and T-shirts. All in my size.
Well, that was just fucking creepy.
I had been walking about with Benny drying on me. The thought made me ill, and making sure the bathroom door locked, I ran the shower. It took me a good minute to figure it out, but then I was in jet steam heaven. I used the little bottles provided, and once I was sure I was clean, my hair was dried, and I was wearing my new pyjamas, I climbed into the bed and turned the light off.
Closing my eyes, the memory of Benny dying suddenly flashed in my head. I fumbled with the nightlight and then, setting it on low, settled back into bed.
This bed was better than the shelter’s, and the pillows were fluffy. Turning onto my side, I stared at the wall before simple exhaustion finally closed my eyes. Benny didn’t wake up that morning thinking this was it, today would be his last day. If I was going to figure out how not to die tomorrow, I was going to need a good night’s sleep first.
Even as I slipped into a deep sleep, a part of me recognised the irrationality of my thoughts.
After putting her clothes in the utility room, in a disposable bag for burning later, I sat on the black leather couch and considered my options. I had waited for a while after I left her, and then I had opened the bedroom door again. When I heard the water running and for the length of time it ran, I knew she was in the shower. Listening to her footsteps as she walked back and forth when she was out, I closed the door when I heard the hairdryer. She was making herself comfortable, probably trying to process what had happened. She was washing her body and drying her hair, not doing something stupid. Like self-harming.
After closing the door firmly, I went down to the den and switched the TV on. She couldn’t get out, the room was locked tight for her. She could look out the drapes, but I no longer cared if she knew where she was. She couldn’t leave here unless I let her.
It’d been risky taking her to the shelter. I knew where she had gone the night she ran. It had taken a while, but I’d found her. Watched her. Completely helpless, passed out in an alley. Anything could have happened to her. Anything. There were psychos out there.
Killers.
I knew that.
I was one of them.
I watched the alley the whole time she was in there, but I was not expecting her to sleep as long as she did. Needing to move things along, I had paid a homeless woman to go rouse my runner. The homeless were an amazing network of information if you knew how to tap into it. I knew how to tap into it.
As Devon had her breakdown and then pulled herself together, I watched. When she stood and started heading back to where she came from, I doubted her smarts. Watching her actually realise she was being stupid was entertaining. How she thought another shelter within a five-block radius of her usual alley was a smart move had me doubting her intelligence once more.
I’d watched her barter her way into the shelter. I almost felt bad for her when I saw the sleazeball lead her in. He’d been one of my informants for years. When he came back, I asked where she was, and he had handed over the master key, no questions asked.
While I waited for it to get dark, I made my enquires as to who she was. It took a while, longer than I would have liked. Homeless people are easily bought, they’re either hungry for food or for whatever their particular poison is. It takes a little more persuasion sometimes if the information is on one of their own, especially when that one is as squeaky clean as Devon.
Something fucked up must have happened to this girl, because I had no idea why she was on the street. She didn’t drink, she didn’t have a vice, and she didn’t fuck for money. A good long shower and she could have been in a store, blending into the background like any other girl. She had been on the street for almost two years, so she was obviously running from something...or someone.
Or, like so many street rats, too much time had passed, and they were scared to go back where they ran from.
Which was Devon? Still running or too far from home to return? I didn’t really care. I mean, it piqued my curiosity because so little did, but I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it.
Two weeks and she hadn’t said a word. Not one word about what she had witnessed. She hadn’t even picked up a paper or asked anyone about it. I’d been in the shelter three times in the time she was there. She had kept herself well away from the homeless she helped feed, the volunteers were relaxed with her, reports said that she worked hard.
I had made them probe her. Two of them were on my payroll, and I’d made them push, not even realising they were pushing. Still, she said nothing except that she was from Nevada. I already had my guy on it.
I also knew she would run. Questions of her past meant she would need to give answers, and the way she had run let me know she had been planning on it. Two weeks of regular meals and she was already faster and stronger.
It was a stroke of bad timing that she had seen Louis leave Lucille’s office. He had paid too much attention to her, and the fact that she hadn’t run then and there told me she hadn’t seen him sitting in the car that night. He also hadn’t seen her. Still, it was time to move her. Move her and decide what to do with her.
My phone lit up with a call, and I picked it up. “What?”
“Where are you? You’re supposed to be here.”
Taking the phone away from my ear, I checked the time. It was later than I thought. “On my way.” I hung up.
As I left the penthouse, I gave no more thought to the woman sleeping in the guest room. She was going nowhere.
Driving the short distance to the venue, I shook my head as I got out of the car, seeing the line of parked cars. These idiots would never learn, I realised as I walked to the club.
The two bouncers lifted the rope for me as I walked past the line of people waiting to get in. I ignored the protests, and I ignored the bouncers. They knew who I was, I didn’t give a fuck who they were.
Entering the night
club, I headed to the back, ignoring the hanging cages with the dancers. It was so fucking cliché it made my bile rise. Taking the back stairs, I went down two levels and entered the fight club.
The lights were dimmed with the ring in the centre fully lit, illuminating the two guys in the ring beating the shit out of each other. The contestants didn’t interest me, half the fucking people in here held no interest to me. I saw who I was here for.
“You’re forty minutes late.” Malcolm gave me a hard stare.
“Has it happened?”
“Not yet,” he answered somewhat reluctantly.
“Looks like I’m right on time then.” I nodded towards the three men who had just come out of the back room.
“You know the drill,” Malcolm said under his breath as he watched them approach us.
“You came here alone?” I glanced over my shoulder as if I was watching the fight.
“No, Les is here and Wayne,” Malcolm answered as he placed his untouched drink on the tray of a passing waitress. He glanced at me in amusement. “Did you miss seeing them?”
I gave a snort. “No matter what you think, they don’t blend. They stick out like the lumps of meat they are.”
“Not everyone can be you,” Malcolm said as he buttoned his suit jacket and turned to face the three men.
“This way,” one of them spoke, and I waited. Malcolm had learned to wait for me to move, which meant he stayed still. The guy looked at us, and I continued to ignore him. “This way, please.”
Better. I moved, as did Malcolm a heartbeat later. If you weren’t looking for it, you wouldn’t notice he hadn’t moved first. You wouldn’t know that he followed my lead. We walked through the crowd as they watched the fight. I noticed who watched the ring and who watched us. There were more than I would like who were trying very hard not to look at us.
This venue was stupid. Smoking rooms where people played poker and discussed their grandmother’s lasagne, that’s where drug deals were made. Not this high-profile illegal fighting venue under a nightclub, which was so fucking predictable it made my teeth hurt. These Hollywood wannabe motherfuckers were supposed to be businessmen and not fucking stereotypes.
Beautifully Broken (The Denver Series Book 2) Page 6