On the Rocks: A Dark Mafia Romance

by Nikki Belaire

  A half-hearted shrug that I take to mean she doesn't agree. "Well, if you need help, I'm always here."

  "Thank you."

  I trudge back to my hiding place. A much better trek in sneakers than sandals. For my feet anyway. My conscience isn't as agreeable. Well aware how wrong it is to stay there again. One more night, and I’ll go to a hotel. Figure out how to get a job without any identification or phone number or address. How to start a new life from nothing.

  No one glances my way as I enter, and I walk straight to one of the available computers. Just another patron accessing the free internet. Searching the local career sites. Trying not to get daunted by the requirements for skills. Degrees. References.

  My spirits raise for an ad touting sandwich board walkers. Pays cash. Ten dollars an hour. No experience required. Perfect.

  Murmurs of uncertainty bubble around me from the other visitors. Two sheriffs deep in conversation with a woman whose name tag reads Mrs. Fontaine. Heat flames through me when she points in my direction. The fire explodes to an inferno when they stride toward me.

  The short one with a buzz cut steps closest. “What’s your name, miss?”

  Same question as before. Same answer as always. “I don’t know.”

  His head tilts, and he exchanges glances with his partner. Skeptical. Thinks I’m running some kind of game on him.

  “I’m going to need to see your ID.”

  “I don’t have any.”

  “We received a report of a woman spending the night in the library last night matching your description." Stubby fingers brush over his smooth head. "Well, the new version of you after your long hair was found in the trashcan."

  I keep my hands in my lap. Resisting the urge to stroke my own bare neck. Fighting the urge to weep with all the other customers witnessing my shame.

  A nod from the other officer. His messy bangs flopping over his forehead. "You know trespassing, criminal mischief, and theft are serious offenses."

  "I didn't hurt anything." No sense denying my crimes. At least I can make amends. I gesture to my backpack. "I bought food to replace what I ate."

  "Can I look inside?"

  Not sure if I really have any choice, so I nod. "Yes."

  He rifles through my meager belongings. Lifting out the pint of milk and a pink bra before stuffing them back inside. Unbuckles the front pocket and slides out my remaining money. My stomach churns from him clutching my only hope.

  "Where'd you get the cash?"

  "I found it in my dress pocket. I don't know where it came from."

  Taller deputy squats down. Studying my battered face. His gaze drifting over my ravished arm. "Did someone hurt you?"

  The sympathy in his voice sounds sincere. They've both been direct but not unkind. Maybe Monica is right. Maybe I should trust them. "Yes."

  "Okay. Then I think it's time for us to get you some help."

  Uncertain what help actually means, my heart pounds harder. "Am I going to jail?"

  He gives me an encouraging smile. "No we're going to take you to the hospital. Get you checked out and see what they can do for you."

  "Okay."

  Hopefully, they can do something. As long as I don't have to see Michael I'll do anything they want.

  11

  Chapter Eleven

  Noah parks in front of the house where we finally traced the car to. A greenish yellow two-story right on the water. The black SUV Butcher was driving isn't here, but I bolt out anyway before my brother even kills the ignition. If she's really inside, I've got to fucking get to her.

  I don't bother trying the lock. Just kick the damn door in. "Trinity!"

  Silence answers me back. Fuck!

  Dried out eggs and bacon speckled with white gelled fat sit in pans on the stove. Shards from a broken blue bowl float in yogurt and fruit splattered across the floor. My gut aches as much as my chest. Trinity doesn't like raspberries.

  Two places are set at the table. Crumbs sprinkle over one plate, while the other dish is almost full. Only a few bites missing out of the omelet. Someone ate while someone else wouldn't. Or couldn't.

  I jog upstairs. All the doors closed except what appears to be the master bedroom. Son of a god damn bitch. A lamp lays toppled on the floor. White dust coats the floor from the hole in the drywall. Crumpled sheets hang off the mattress.

  "I checked the other rooms. All of them empty and unused."

  Fury rages through me from Noah's implication. They slept in the same bed. My wife laying with that motherfucking bastard.

  "Looks like a scuffle up here too. Wonder what the fuck happened between them?"

  My sunshine. All alone to battle that insane motherfucker. Damn it. We're so fucking close. Where the fuck is she?

  "Boss? We've got a situation down here."

  Weston's voice booms from below, and we race to the steps. An older woman in a long green dress stands in the doorway. Her eyes wide as she stares at my men and their guns. Her trembling hands wringing over and over the handle of her bag.

  "Where are Mr. and Mrs. Wire?"

  I try to keep my anger in check. Because I need her to talk, not cry. "Is that who was staying here?"

  "Y-yes. For the week. On vacation. Mr. Wire hired me to cook and take care of things." She scans the mess left from her earlier service to them. "But Mrs. Wire, she...she wasn't well. Mr. Wire sent me to get groceries-"

  "What do you mean wasn't well?"

  I can barely speak through my clenched teeth. Pain searing my jaw from the outrage squeezing my head. Fucking Mrs. Wire.

  "She was confused and couldn't find her phone. She started begging for me to help her, but Mr. Wire said she was just sick and would be okay. So I left like he told me to, but I kept coming back. No one was home but I kept checking. I didn't want them to think I quit. I wouldn't do that. I'm a good worker. I have impeccable references. I..."

  The housekeeper rambles on. Worried about her reputation. But I don't care. I can't listen any more. Can't hear anything but the description of Trinity spinning around and around in my mind. Killing me from her agony. From her terror. That I still have no god damn fucking way to help her.

  "Say cheese!"

  I can't bring myself to smile. Too frightened to lift my cheeks. She takes the picture anyway. As instructed by the buzz cut policeman who's waiting with me for the social worker. We've been here for two hours. Yet he doesn't seem to be put out. Doesn't sigh or complain. Just scrolls through his phone. Looking up, just like I do, every time the door opens.

  He nods to the girl, around my age but with so much more spirit. I wonder if I used to be that way. Energetic and optimistic. Rather than exhausted and afraid.

  "Thanks Marissa. Get it sent out right away."

  "Yes sir." She taps on her camera, fast fingers that fly over the keyboard, before smiling at him again. "Done!"

  The sheriff turns back to me. "That way if anyone has filed a missing person report for you, we'll have a photo to compare."

  Great. I think. Unless the people searching for me are like Michael. Then I'd rather stay lost.

  After she sweeps out, a man strides in. Casual in khakis and a sky blue button down. He holds out his hand to me. "I'm Sam Merritt, the social worker. I was hoping we could talk, if that's okay with you."

  He waits for my agreement before dropping down onto the stool and rolling closer. Respectful and polite, which is reassuring.

  Swiping his tablet, he speaks while scanning the screen. "Extensive memory loss, unusual behavior bordering on criminal, and possible assault. Does all of that sound correct to you?"

  The hell from the past two days summed up in one simple sentence. Too bad my life is so much more complicated. "Yes."

  "Okay. I'm glad we're starting from the same place." He lays the device on his lap and looks up. A soft gaze that doesn't give away anything he's thinking. "That means you need some professional help to get you where you need to be. We could do an in-patient admission to get you intensiv
e therapy as well as a roof over your head for a while, if that would be agreeable to you."

  "Well it isn't agreeable to me. I'm taking my wife home."

  Michael.

  My entire body flames, and I start scooting back. Away from him. Away from the monster. The paper lining rustles under my legs. Ripping from the force. Sticking to my skin from the sweat already drenching me.

  He holds out his tattooed fingers. Anger stiffening his body as he jerks toward me. "Come on baby girl. Let's go."

  “No!” My back slams into the wall behind the exam table. I will never let that happen. I will never let him touch me again. I'm screaming, and I can't stop. Kicking and clawing and biting at every hand that reaches for me. “I’ll never go back to him. I’ll never go back!”

  They’re holding me down. I can’t breathe. I cannot breathe. A sharp sting shoots through my arm. I’m flopping, my tongue too thick to form words. I tear away from his cruel eyes and his arrogant smile. He thinks he’s won. He has won.

  I swallow down the last of my drink. Her favorite gin. My pussy ass even put in a lime wedge like she does.

  “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

  I hold out my hand, but only her eyes move. Gazing from my fingers to my face. Contemplating if she should trust me. Maybe questioning if she should trust herself. But, she doesn’t have to worry. I would never hurt her. Never make her do anything she doesn’t want to do. One, because I’m not an asshole. At least not to women anyway. Two, because I’ve known since she linked her slender arm through mine and I escorted her down the aisle that I was never going to let her go.

  “Okay.”

  The anticipation lilting her whisper sears me like lightening to my balls. She sets down her gin and tonic, and slides her small hand into mine. Letting me lead her away from the party. From the pulsing music and the raucous crowd. So it’s just the two of us. Quiet and alone.

  Down the hall and into the room where the bride and her attendants got ready. Make-up and hair shit strewn across the vanities. I close the door behind me, and she drops my hand. Stepping back with hesitation lining her beautiful face. Bright and flushed with the alcohol flowing through her. Tipsy but not drunk. Only three drinks throughout the celebration. Yeah, because I’m a motherfucking stalker who’s been counting. I’ve got to make sure she’s relaxed but sober enough to hear and understand me.

  I don’t move. Not yet anyway. Because fear of me can never darken her expression. “I want this to be us.”

  She looks around, her nose scrunching as she scans the messy space. Confused by my meaning. “You want to be a bridesmaid?”

  “No, I want you to be a bride.” I meet her perplexed gaze so my intentions are abundantly clear. “You’re going to be my wife.”

  Now she laughs. Her hunched shoulders falling soft. Relieved that I’m not an attacker. Just crazy. Or drunk. Probably both.

  But I’m neither. I just want her. Now.

  This time she reaches for me, soft fingers curling around mine. Attempting to tug me toward the exit. “Come on. Let’s go back to the reception.”

  Wasted effort. No way she can physically move me. Or stop me from convincing her of my sincerity. “Wait.”

  Her head cocks to the side. An indulgent grin lighting up her face. “What?”

  “Not yet. I want to taste you.”

  I cage her against the wall and stoop down to palm her ass cheeks, raising her to my eye level. Her pink lips part with a shivering intake of breath, ready to touch mine again. But that’s not where I want to put my mouth. I lift her higher and slowly curl each leg over my shoulders. She doesn’t protest. Just watches, mesmerized as my hands glide up the hem of her lavender dress revealing her toned thighs until my fingertips brush her purple thong.

  Fuck me. A sharp gasp fills the silence as I clutch the lacy edge of her panties and push the cottony fabric to the side. “You’re beautiful sunshine.”

  Before she can respond, I lick long and deep before sucking in her puckered clit. Her hips jerk forward, engulfing my face with her sweet pussy. I whisper against the smooth skin. “Marry me, Trinity.”

  She doesn’t need to answer. Her fingers driving through my hair say ‘yes’ without any words.

  It’s been a god damn fucking three fucking days. She’s still fucking gone. All the fucking power and money and deference in the world hasn’t gotten me a god damn fucking thing.

  Sitting in this stupid ass hotel room and getting wasted won’t help a god damn thing either. But I don’t know what to do without her. My fucking pussy ass cannot function any more. Not without her sunshine permeating my world. The fear that I’ll never see her again too insidious. Too deep and pervasive I can’t ignore the reality now that they're gone again. We get so fucking close, and every damn time they fucking slip away.

  I don’t even look up as Noah kicks my foot.

  "Sober up dumb ass."

  Nothing I give a damn about but drinking myself into unconsciousness. Where she’ll visit me in my dreams. Hold me tighter than I deserve. Kiss me harder than I can stand.

  “We found her.”

  Unable to move with the hope surging through my veins. The glass shatters in my pulsing hand. “I will fucking end you where you stand if you are fucking with me.”

  His gaze meets mine. Rare in this world for most men to look directly at me. In my eye. But my brother does. He fucking does. He’s telling the truth.

  I fly off the sofa. Everything a blur except for the paper I rip out of his hand.

  Trinity.

  Never fucking expecting to see her in a mug shot. Crazy short hair. Bruises on her face and throat that make my fingers ball into fists. But it’s her eyes that fucking destroy me. Not scared. Or mad. Just empty. Like she’s given up too.

  “She was taken in by the cops for a well-being check. A mental health examination after she spent the night in a closed library. Looks like she’d been hiding there from Butcher.”

  What the ever loving fuck? My brave girl escaping from that bastard. Pride beats in my chest. I knew she was tough and smart and resilient. Just so damn sorry she had to find out for herself this way.

  He fills me in on the rest while we hustle outside and climb into the SUV. Once again I have to let Noah drive. Too drunk and crazed to navigate the roads.

  “Police report confirms the amnesia. Says she doesn’t know her name or where she’s from. A 'Michael Wire' showed up when they were talking to her at the hospital and she freaked out. They had to sedate her and now she's locked up in the psych ward.”

  With sticky alcohol-covered fingers, I swipe my phone. Alerting the guys to track that motherfucker down now that we have his location. "Well, first we'll bust her out and then I'm finally going to fucking kill that son of a bitch."

  "It may not be that easy. We've got a lot explaining to do about the device. People aren't going to easily believe something that sounds like fucking science fiction."

  No fucking worries. I'll talk all fucking night if I have to. Bring in the fucking FBI. Empty my fucking bank account. Whatever it takes to get her back.

  12

  Chapter Twelve

  “There’s someone here to see you.”

  Panic heats my face as much as the rest of my body from the nurse's words, and my hand shakes so bad I drop the puzzle piece onto the table. They can’t force me to see him. They promised. “Please no…I…”

  “It’s not Michael.”

  My taut body relaxes but I still hug myself. Uncertainty seeping through my veins from the hesitation drawing down her round face. “Another doctor?”

  Kim shakes her head. The hopefulness in my tone sounds so pitiful to both of us.

  “He says he’s your husband. He brought paperwork, your ID, and pictures of the two of you.” I latch onto the optimism in her voice. My only friend. She wouldn’t lie to me. I don’t think. “He seems genuinely worried about you. Asking a whole bunch of questions and getting pretty upset when they wouldn’t let h
im in to see you right away.”

  “That sounds good.” I meet her cocoa eyes. So rich and deep and beautiful I'm sure I can see right to her angelic soul. “Doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it does.”

  My head and heart argue. Both of them too damaged to make good decisions. But the need to see him is so strong. To know if he's the one that I've been missing is more than I can ignore. “Will you go with me?”

  “Of course.”

  I run my fingers through my short hair. An old habit I guess because there’s nothing really left to style.

  Kim slowly slides open the door to the visitors lounge. A place I’ve never been. Never thought I ever would be invited to. No one but Michael wants to see me. I can’t stop shaking.

  A lone man stands in the middle of the room. He’s enormous. Tall and broad. Handsome too in his red polo and low slung jeans. Yet, tired. Dark circles rim his eyes harsher than my bruises. Thick black hair that looks ruffled from his fingers running through the strands. That I want to stroke too.

  He holds a child's pink backpack in his large hand. So tiny the contrast would be almost comical if I wasn’t so terrified.

  He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to. I can see the worry in his green eyes. Scanning me. My haphazard pixie cut. Baggy sweat pants and shirt that could fit someone twice my size. Once white socks now gray from the carpet they can’t seem to keep clean with all the other problems dirtying our existence.

  I don’t know if I look like what he remembers.

  “Friend, this is…”

  But she doesn’t have to finish. I know. It’s him. I don’t know his name. Or his relation to me. Or his reasons for being here. But I know him. That he loves me, and I am safe.

  I run to him. Coiling around him as he sweeps me up. My legs and arms and hands and mouth on his hot skin while he caresses my head. Whispering in my ear. Just like he used to. I remember that. I swear to God I remember his voice. His touch.

  “I’ve missed you sunshine.”

  Yes. Yes, I’ve missed you too. I can’t see. Or speak. Or move. I can only cling to him. And I’m never letting him go no matter what anyone says or does. Michael will have to kill me first before I’ll give him up.