Beautifully Broken (The Denver Series Book 2)

by Eve L Mitchell

“You really need to get over that,” I said as I poured the sauce over my chicken. I covered the dish with aluminium foil before placing it in the oven to bake.

  “I’ve no problem with you shacking up with strangers,” Devon said with a hard edge to her voice.

  “You’re the stranger I’m shacked up with,” I reminded her as I looked for the black olives.

  “Witty.”

  “Carry on with the one-night stand,” I instructed as I set the timer for my dish.

  “The next day, I went to work, and in one of the rooms, waiting for me was a man,” she said as she started tidying the counter and rinsing the dishes I used to cook with.

  “Your father?”

  “Yes. He said he was.”

  “You had no idea?”

  “None,” Devon told me with a short huff of laughter. “Trust me, if I had known I was going to find dear old dad, I would have run to any state that wasn’t Arizona.”

  “How did he know you?”

  “He kept checks on me,” Devon said as she wiped her hands on a towel. “Which kinda pissed me off. If he knew who and where I was, why did he never come for me? Why leave me in foster care?”

  I knew. He was a heartless bastard, and out of his own selfishness, if he didn’t have to have her in front of him, she wasn’t his concern. I could relate to that. “Easier.”

  “For me?” Devon asked incredulously.

  “For him.” I got the plates, and she followed me with cutlery. “Carry on.”

  “Well, he took over.” Devon shrugged. “He forbade me to see Tats. I got taken out of the motel, the apartment, any form of life I may have built. He threatened me with the cops.”

  “For the other boyfriend?”

  “Yes,” Devon said as she glared at me.

  “Just checking,” I murmured with a small smile.

  “He said he would tell the police where I was, and I would be charged with murder, resisting arrest, and other things that all sounded true.”

  “Fatherly love,” I said quietly.

  “He moved me in with him.” Devon shuddered. “He’s a monster, Raphe,” she whispered.

  “Why? Did he hurt you?” I looked at her curiously.

  “No. Kind of. Not as in he hit me, but he brought girls, women, home, he hurt them. I used to hear them screaming, then he would be gone for days. He would make me look after them. They were chained in the room, or bound, or so strung out they couldn’t leave.”

  “You kept them there, for him?” I didn’t think she would surprise me.

  Devon’s tears spilled over. “I had no choice.”

  “You ran before, you’re very good at running,” I reminded her dryly.

  “You don’t understand,” she bit out as she wiped her tears angrily. “I couldn’t run.”

  “Why?”

  “You think he would leave me to be free?”

  “You said he never hurt you.” I crossed my arms as I watched her. Waiting for the lie.

  “He didn’t hurt me, he didn’t hit me. But me? I couldn’t run, they weren’t the only ones chained.”

  “He kept you chained in the house?”

  “Like a dog.”

  The timer of the oven made her jump, and I went to it, removing the dish as I thought about her story. I knew he was a sick fuck, but to chain your own flesh and blood to the house to look after your victims? How the fuck did Joe let him get away with that?

  Peeling back the foil, I scattered the olives over the top of the chicken dish and returned it to the oven. No wonder she resisted when I handcuffed her. “How did you get out?”

  “Tats.” Devon sniffled as she blew her nose. “Every month, my father would let me attend the club get-togethers. Keeping up appearances, I think. Sometimes Tats and Gunner were there, and they always spoke to me, my father couldn’t stop it. Over the months, Tats knew something was wrong. One night, when my father was away, Tats came to the house and saw me chained.”

  “He tried to rescue you?”

  “Not that night. He promised he would get me out, but he needed to talk to his boss or something, something about club politics or shit.”

  “‘Club first, family second,’ I believe, is the motto.”

  “The club is family,” Devon said angrily.

  “How long did the politics take?”

  “Three months,” she said.

  “Are you serious?” She was crying for a man who took three fucking months to unchain her?

  “Tats was a tattoo artist, he was a good guy. Yes, he was in the club and did stuff for them, but he was a good guy. He wasn’t you, Raphe!”

  “Aren’t you wishing he was?”

  Devon shook her head as she wrapped her arms around herself. “He came back when Tats was there. Raphe...” Her eyes filled with tears again, and she looked at me in misery. “It was...I’ve never seen anything like it.” A small hiccup from her as she once again wiped her eyes. “The blood.”

  “I get the picture,” I mumured. “I don’t need the details.” I really did need the details, but she was never going to make it through the retelling.

  “He killed him.” Devon’s head raised slowly, and she met my gaze. “And I shot him.”

  “Where did you get the gun?”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “I’m a stickler for details,” I said instead.

  “Tats, he gave it to me to keep watch while he did the chains.”

  “And you didn’t see your father come in.” I nodded in understanding at why she felt so guilty.

  “I didn’t see him.” She broke down, and I hesitated before I crossed the room and stood in front of her uncertainly. Devon didn’t need any encouragement. She leaned into me and clutched at my shirt as the tears fell.

  As I stroked one hand over her hair, I considered her story. I knew of her father. He was an asshole, and I had heard he had a freaky kink, but the job he played in the club, well, not everyone was cut out for the role of killer without it having some effect.

  “You don’t seem like someone who would tolerate being chained for two years.” I felt her stiffen against me. “I’ve locked you up, I’ve handcuffed you, I’ve threatened you with the loss of your freedom and your life and you’ve fought me at every turn.” Still she rested against me. “Why would this not be the first thing you tell me? You’ve been a victim, Devon.”

  “I’m not a fucking victim,” Devon snarled as she glared up at me through her tears. “He does not get that power over me.” With a final glare she settled her head back on my chest, and I let her cry.

  I didn’t argue her warped logic, she had spent almost two years on the street, hiding from him. How much more power could he have over her? Even for those two years, he had been restricting her freedom. As I stood there with her head on my chest and my hand resting on top of her hair, the timer went off again on the food. “Come on, wash your face, it’s time to eat.”

  As I served our dinner, my mind ran over everything. Devon came back into the room, her eyes red and puffy from crying, her nose red also.

  “Now you know everything,” she said quietly as she sat at the table.

  “You got here, lost the job at the hotel, and ended up on the street,” I finished for her.

  “Pretty much.”

  “Are you sure he is looking for you?” It was worth the ask. Her dad hadn’t let her know he knew where she was when she was in foster care. Devon nodded. “How do you know he doesn’t know where you are already?” Her face whitened at the thought, and as I considered her reaction, I wondered why she hadn’t already contemplated it. “He comes here, for business. You’re lucky it was me that found you in an alley.”

  Devon snorted, and it seemed to break the fear and lift her misery as she picked up her fork. “My hero.”

  “Steady,” I told her as I ate my meal. It was delicious, and I saw her eyebrows lift in surprise before Devon was eating hungrily. “Always an appetite,” I remarked.

  “Been too many time
s hungry to turn down food,” she replied.

  I believed it too. Now I believed her. “He doesn’t know you’re here? Are you sure?”

  “No.” She shook her head vehemently. “He wouldn’t have let me run again. I would be as dead in the alley as I thought I was the night I met you.”

  “I can work with that.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked hesitantly. “I may not always like you, but I don’t want you to be hurt because of me.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “He’s a monster. You’re not the same.”

  “He’s human.” I ate my food. “He bleeds like everyone else.”

  “Raphe...”

  “Don’t get emotional on me, remember, you hate me.” I gave her a small smile as I reached for my water.

  “Not hate, I have a strong dislike.” Devon ducked her head, allowing her hair to hide her smile.

  “That’s almost a compliment.”

  Devon laughed as she finished her plate. “It’s not fair you can cook like that.”

  “Life’s a bitch,” I agreed as I sat back in my chair.

  “Will you let me go now?”

  Studying her, I thought about it. “Where would you go?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Back on the streets in a new city?”

  “I don’t want to, but if I had to…” She shrugged.

  “I have work to take care of, let me think about it.” I stood from the table. “You’re fine where you are for now.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” I said as I carried our plates to the kitchen.

  “This was nice,” Devon commented behind me.

  I gave her a wry look. “Really? I’ve had better dinner conversation,” I teased her lightly.

  The crack sounded mere seconds before I had turned, my gun in my hand as I threw Devon to the ground. She screamed in surprise, and I yelled at her to stay where she was as I ran to the door and into the street.

  Leaping down the front steps of the house, I took off running after the idiot who just took a shot at me in my kitchen.

  The dark grey hoodie was easy to spot, and I chased the motherfucker down the street as he ran and turned onto Thirty-second, probably hoping to get lost in the crowd. Too bad, I had him in my sights now, and I was gaining on him. He ran into pedestrians, every hit slowing him down as I ran around his carnage.

  He veered off and was suddenly running up a side street between houses. As he ran wildly, he stumbled, and that small stumble was all I needed. Leaping forward, I raised my knee and hit him square in the back, taking him down. We wrestled on the ground for moments, and then I was on top of him, straddling him, the barrel of my gun pressed against his forehead.

  I ripped the hood off his face. I didn’t recognise him. “Who sent you?”

  He stared up at me, saying nothing. I noted the fear in his eyes as he panicked beneath me. He was young, early twenties. I needed to see more of him. Slowly I raised off of him, keeping the gun steady. Making a get up gesture with my hand, I watched him closely. I saw the bulge in his pocket, and reaching forward, I took his phone out of his jean pocket.

  “Open it.”

  “Fuck you.”

  I struck him across the face with my gun, and he stumbled. “Open it.”

  He looked away from me, and I hit him again. Falling to his knees, he held his face as he glared at me. “I’m not scared of you.”

  “Good.” I realised his phone was one with the thumbprint, so I grabbed his hand, with my gun pressed to the side of his head. I pressed his thumb to the device and opened the phone. Fucking amateur. I opened his recent calls and scrolled through, looking for a name I recognised or an area code. “Do not move,” I warned him as I dialled his last call.

  “Is it done?”

  I grunted out a yeah. I got told to return to the bar and I’d get paid then. I hung up and pocketed the phone. With a glance over my shoulder, I realised we were on an access road with storage garages, and I spotted one that was open slightly. “Move.”

  We walked to the garage, and inside, I clocked the guy across the face with my gun again, harder this time. He fell to the ground unconscious, and I dialled another number on his phone.

  “I’m in Highland, in a storage unit off Fife Court, in someone’s garage. Need a cleanup.”

  “What the fuck?” Les asked me.

  “Some idiot tried to shoot me and missed.”

  “What did you do with him?” Les was walking fast. I could hear his breath coming in short gasps.

  “What the fuck do you think I would do?”

  “Jesus, Raphe.” I heard him sigh. “You’re going to have to give me twenty minutes and directions.”

  As I waited, I briefly thought about Devon. She would be fine. She knew who I was and what she was living with. I fleetingly thought that she may have used the opportunity to run, but after tonight, I was pretty sure that she would be there when I got back, anxiously waiting.

  I dialled the phone again. “I need someone to board up a kitchen window,” I said with no preamble.

  “It’s Friday night,” Aiden said grumpily.

  “I didn’t say you had to do it, I said someone.”

  “Address?” Aiden snapped.

  When I told him, I ended the call. I gave my would-be killer a kick in the ribs, and he grunted but didn’t wake. Checking quickly outside, I went back into the garage and started removing his hoodie, looking for tattoos or any other identifying factors. He had no wallet but brought his phone and then let someone access it. He deserved to be killed.

  The phone in question was ringing, and I answered, recognising Les’s number. “Yeah.” I stuck my head out of the garage and waited until I saw the car drive slowly past. Wayne saw me, and within minutes, they were in the garage.

  “You said he was shot,” Les said as he looked at the kid.

  Holding my hand out to Wayne, he handed me a gun with a silencer. I shot the guy twice in the chest and once in the head. “And now he is.”

  “Fucking hell, Raphe!” Les grumbled as he hastily started to wrap him in plastic. I had placed the guy’s hoodie under his head for the precise purpose of soaking up the initial blood spilled.

  “I need to get back. You two good?” I asked as I handed Wayne back the gun.

  “Yeah, go.” Wayne nodded as he started to help Les.

  Walking quickly back to the house and keeping a wary eye out for any slow-moving vehicles or interested followers, I answered the phone again when Aiden called.

  “Yeah?”

  “Where are you?” he asked tersely.

  “Why?”

  “Devon’s been shot,” he said angrily down the phone. “Get here.”

  I picked up the pace and ended up running back. Bursting through the door to the house, I headed straight to the kitchen. A guy looked at me as he fixed the window and pointed upstairs. I took in the blood on the floor, and taking the stairs two at a time, I found her in the bathroom with Aiden.

  “What the fuck?” I asked her as I practically threw him out of the small bathroom and grabbed Devon. She hissed in pain and winced, and I hastily dropped her arm. “When did this happen?” Had I missed another shooter, where was he? Why didn’t I see them?

  “When you were here, with me!” Devon growled as she pressed the towel to her bleeding arm.

  “She needs stitches,” Aiden said from the doorway. “She’s lost quite a lot of blood. She needs a doctor.”

  “I don’t need a doctor,” Devon protested weakly. “You can stitch, can’t you?” Her complete look of faith and trust almost floored me.

  “You need a doctor,” I told her as I gently peeled away the towel, noting the use of ice they had used. The wound didn’t look deep, but I couldn’t see an exit wound. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because you threw me on the floor and ran after him!” Devon snapped. I took in her pale face, sweat on her brow and her shaking limbs.
<
br />   “You scream any other time,” I muttered as I helped her stand. “Come on, let’s get you stitched.”

  “Did you get them? Who was it?” she asked as she followed me out of the bathroom. “You can’t take me to the hospital,” Devon whispered frantically as I helped her down the stairs.

  “Of course not.” I steadied her as she swayed, and her tears started to fall. “Hold on a bit longer, I know you’re hurting.”

  “Have you been shot?” she asked me as I led her out of the house.

  “No.”

  “Then how the fuck do you know I’m hurting?” she demanded mulishly.

  “Because I shoot people, to hurt them,” I told her, hoping the blunt truth would be enough to keep her quiet as I eased her into the Jag, and I saw her glance at me, frowning. I looked over the hood of the car to Aiden. “Thanks.”

  “Just get it fixed.” He walked back towards the house and glancing back gave me a knowing smirk. “She refused to leave until you were back.”

  I drove rather recklessly to the doctor the Viallis used for these things. He was affiliated with them, but he was open to other business. I was other business.

  I pulled up at the back entrance to his suite he used for medical procedures and helped her out of the car. Devon was slightly unsteady, but she walked to the entrance, and I kept my eye on her as we waited for someone to answer.

  Minutes later, they had her on a bed, setting up an IV as the doctor inspected her. “What kind of gun?” he asked me sharply.

  “Nine mil,” I replied quickly. I had left it with Les and the guy’s body.

  “I need to check it’s still in there. You need to leave,” he told me.

  “No.”

  “Look—”

  “Save it, I stay.”

  He glared at me and then turned back to Devon, giving her his full attention as he checked her pulse and an attendant checked her skin temperature. I watched the doc squeeze her arms and note the colour, checking for blood flow. A while later, he had given her a shot of local anaesthetic, withdrawn the bullet and checked for further tissue damage before he started stitching her up.

  “It’s a low velocity wound. It wasn’t as deep as I initially thought and didn’t hit the bone,” he told me as he took off his rubber gloves. “The IVs are giving her antibiotics and fluids. She’s going to be sore. Keep the wound dry, don’t let her overdo it. The stitches will come out in seven to ten days. I’ll give you a script for painkillers.”