by Loki Renard
“She never loved either of you,” my father says, but he’s looking away now, as if he’s realized his blunder and wants to take it back. We’ve made our every move the past years under the belief that our mother betrayed the family and left us for dead with a monster.
“I didn’t ask you if she loved us,” Leon says. “I asked if you sent her away.”
“Of course I did!” My father takes a glass of water sitting on his desk and whips it at the wall. It shatters on impact but neither of us flinch. We’re used to his tirades, and his loss of control makes him a much easier target. We need to antagonize him. Push him further. If he loses his mind, we can make our move.
But does Leon want to? The loose grip on my wrists says yes.
“So she had a lover, you say?” I ask, needling him. “You couldn’t keep her happy in bed?”
“Fuck you,” he hisses, but Leon speaks up next.
“What method did you use to make her leave?” Leon asks. “Did she really leave on her own? Or did you abuse her, too?”
Our father’s outnumbered now and he knows it. With a howl befitting an animal, he tears at the papers on his desk, ripping things in two with his hands and flinging them every which way. Confirming his guilt. When he clears his desktop with a sweep of his hand, I make my move. I tug my hands out of Leon’s, then dive for the floor and duck for cover. Out of the corner of my eye I see Leon reach for his gun. I can’t see my father from where I am, but I hear the scraping of metal. My father’s armed, too.
Leon removes his phone and holds it in his hand. “You’re gun’s empty. I’ve already taken the ammo.” He continues nonchalantly. “I’m calling off your men,” he says. “When I hit speaker, you tell them all to leave, or I’ll make your death more painful than it needs to be. Understand?”
“Leon. Jasmine.” My father’s voice rings hollow in my ears. He took my mother from me and let other men touch me. I heard him tell Rico I was disposable, and I heard the sincerity in his tone.
Leon punches a number on his phone and hits the speaker.
“Say it,” he mouths.
“Yeah, boss?”
There’s a pregnant pause. Leon cocks the gun.
“You men can go home,” my father says, his voice resigned. He has a brief conversation, and when he’s done I hear shuffling and footsteps retreating outside the door.
“Good,” Leon says. “Kneel.”
I hear the hoarse, terrified scream of my father a split second before the gunshot sounds, followed by the thud as his body hits the floor. He still doesn’t get my scream.
I wish I could feel something for the man whose blood leaks out from the wounds in his chest and head like crimson oil. I can’t. My only concern now is my brother and what he will do to me.
I get to my feet and my brother waves his gun at the door. “Go make sure we’re alone,” he says.
I walk out of the room with my head held high, prepared not to show any sign that anything’s amiss in case I do run into any of my father’s men, but I don’t. I do, however, take in every detail of my surrounding.
Just because my father’s dead doesn’t mean that Leon will let me anywhere near Rico. The FBI is still intent on taking down my entire family. There is no joyful outcome here.
“All clear,” I tell Leon. I scan the office for a cell phone but see nothing.
“I’ll call Fallon to clean up the body,” Leon says, his voice tight with control. I nod. It only makes sense he’d use his right-hand man for a job like this. “And you,” he says, his voice weary with resignation. “Call a meeting of all the men we have left.” When I look to him, his gun is pointed at me and there’s a coldness in his eyes that mimics my father’s.
“Rico is coming for you,” he says. “And when he does, we end him. You betrayed the family, Jasmine.” He shakes his head. Leon isn’t as ruthless as my father, but he’s unpredictable. “And I won’t go to jail over this. Your only chance of escaping with your life is to do exactly what I say.”
I roll my eyes. “Rico means nothing to me,” I lie with ease, having been well-trained to do so.
My brother cocks his head to the side and a corner of his lips quirks upward. “Say that again, Jasmine,” he says.
I’m not sure what he’s playing at. “Rico means nothing to me,” I tell him. “It was a very costly one-night stand.” I shrug a shoulder. “I screamed so I could get away. Not because I care.” The lie rends through me, and I hope I don’t flinch at the pain it causes.
Leon smiles and brings the phone in his pocket out, sliding his finger to the side. “That’ll do,” he says. “I’m sure Agent Rico is drying his tears now as we speak.”
He didn’t. Fuck. He didn’t.
Will Rico know I lied?
“You know the way this works,” Leon says, shutting his phone off and sliding it into his pocket. “You obey me now. But now that he’s gone, we split our profit fifty-fifty after expenses are doled out.” His attempt to be fair is laughable. With a frown, he hands me his phone. “Call them all. I want a meeting. Tonight. Baker’s Alley. Ten o’clock.”
It’s our favorite meeting place, a backroom in a French pastry shop my father owns. The front works well, and has limited hours, so late night meetings are convenient. My heart races with nerves as I make the phone calls. I intentionally lace my messages with French so that Leon doesn’t suspect the fourth call I make. I wait until he’s on the phone himself when I dial Rico.
At the sound of his deep baritone, I nearly drop the phone, my hand shakes that badly. “Petite Patisserie,” I whisper. “Dix heures.”
It will sound like any other message I’ve relayed to Leon’s distracted ears.
“Jasmine.” Rico’s voice is tight and hoarse, as if he’s been shouting my name on a search mission. Maybe he has. Tears spring to my eyes when I hear him, and it’s all I can do not to say anything more. I hang up the call with shaking hands while my brother continues his conversation, then quickly, before he notices a thing, delete the call log.
Now, I wait.
We eat in silence after the body’s removed. Fallon asks no questions and we give no answers. I’m surprised I have an appetite at all after what went down today, but apparently Rico’s trained me well. If I want to fight, I need my energy. Leon pours me a glass of wine, but I refrain, and take only water instead. I want absolute focus when we meet tonight.
“You know,” Leon says conversationally, as if we weren’t enemies and we didn’t just murder and hide the body of our father. “I always did suspect our mother never left of her own accord.”
“Did you?” I ask, genuinely surprised. “I was sure that she abandoned us.”
Leon shakes his head. “You were younger,” he said. “He influenced everything you thought. Every single night before you went to bed, when other parents were reading bedtime stories and tucking their children into bed, he reminded you that your mother left you and that you were left with him,” he says. I frown, and the memories flood back. “I was older and witnessed it go down. For years I allowed myself to believe it to be true, but it wasn’t until my adult years I began to question what he did.”
I nod mutely. I’m not sure what to say.
“I hate that so many years have passed,” he says. “Would she even remember us if we found her?”
I shake my head. “I have no idea.”
We finish our meal in silence, and as we make our way to the bakery, my stomach churns in anticipation. Will he come? Will I be able to escape? Will any harm come to him?
They can do anything they want to me. With the exception of death, there is no punishment or retribution I haven’t seen. I can handle whatever comes. But will they hurt Rico?
I greet everyone as they come, one at a time, and intentionally skirt the periphery of the room so I can plot my escape. Leon watches me but seems distracted, and I wonder if he is. It’s very likely. Is he watching me?
Ten minutes before we’re due to begin, I say loudly that I’m runnin
g to the ladies’ room. I walk to the bathroom on trembling legs. What do I do if he doesn’t come? What will happen if Leon knows the call I made? Will Rico know to find me here?
I walk with my head held high. I may not know what happens next, but I know one thing: I won’t go down without a fight.
At the entrance to the bathroom, I stifle a scream when someone grabs my arm, tugs me into a closet, and places a hand over my mouth before shutting the door. My body tenses with suppressed violence. My instinct is to defend myself, but the strong, woodsy smell of him fills my senses before I hear his voice in my ear.
“Be quiet, Jasmine.” I allow myself to slump back against him.
He’s here. He came for me. When he finally lets go of my mouth, I turn and burrow my head on his chest but lay my hand on the side of his cheek. Feeling him. Inhaling him. Letting him hold me.
“I lied,” is all I say.
“I know,” is all he needs to.
Chapter Eleven
Rico
Having her back in my arms, even in this small closet, is everything I need. I try to be gentle. She’s hurt. These bastards who call themselves family have hurt her again. She winces even as she leans into me, her tender body aching from their brutal treatment.
The beast in me wants to kill every single one of them, but I swore allegiance to the concept of justice, and I’m going to see it done.
“We have to be careful,” she whispers. “Leon is angry…”
“Don’t worry about Leon,” I murmur, picking up the radio from its catch on my belt. Looking into her beautiful, broken gaze, I give the order I’ve been waiting to give. “The lady is secure. Everybody in. Now.”
The Francoise boys fucked up this time. Taking Jasmine was one thing, but calling me was stupid. All calls to the FBI can be traced, even after they’re completed. Every carrier in the country answers to us. We had the location triangulated within minutes of hanging up.
To make things even easier, there was practically no resistance as we moved in. The guards and lookouts which usually serve to let the French Connection know they’re about to be raided were utterly absent. Bad time to take a day off.
As she hears me give the order to breach, Jasmine’s eyes go wide. Her body stiffens against mine. I can tell she’s surprised at the sudden change of fortune, but this is the opportunity we have been waiting for for a very long time. When they decided to take her from our safe house, they finally made the mistake we needed them to make, and I wasn’t going to waste it.
“What are you doing? You can’t…”
The sounds of heavy footsteps are already echoing outside. There’s shouting, authoritative noise from men who are going from room to room, clearing each of them until they find Jaques and Leon Francoise. I can’t wait to get Jaques in an interrogation room. I’m going to make that man pay for everything.
An increase in the volume of the shouting indicates they’ve found the Francoise men. I lead Jasmine out of the closet and entrust her to a small team of agents. I want to get in on this arrest. I want to see it happen.
Chaos erupts in what looks like an office. It’s Colt. He shouldn’t be here. He must have put himself on the breach team without my being aware of it. He is going to answer for that later. He’s also going to answer for the fact he is on top of Leon Francoise, beating the hell out of him. Big fists are flying back and forth in the air, pommeling the prone man.
“Get him off that suspect!”
It takes four agents to pull Colt off, still swinging like a man possessed. What he’s done is unacceptable, unprofessional, and entirely understandable.
I’ll read him the riot act later. Or not.
Right now, Leon is bleeding profusely from a very broken nose, and he seems to be missing a couple of teeth. That beautiful face has been messed the hell up.
He’s stoic though. Doesn’t care about the pain. He spits blood and a bit of tooth at Colt as retaliation, and the pair almost erupt into chaos again.
“This is my scene, not a brawl,” I remind Colt. “You’ve done what you came to do. Now get out of here.”
“You know what he did to Sonya,” Colt starts.
“Get him out of here,” I say to the other agents. I can’t blame Colt, but damn if he’s not a liability right now. A small swarm of fellow agents, who stood back and let him have at Leon, I note to myself, escort Colt out.
“Get him up. Cuff him.” I point at Leon, who is rolling about on his back, groaning and gurgling.
The remaining agents carry out my orders, bringing the dramatic young man up to his feet, while making sure his hands are well secured.
“I never touched the other agent,” Leon smirks, his smile blood-ridden. “That was my father.”
“Speaking of your dear dad, where is your father?”
“He went away.” Leon’s bloodied smile grows bolder and wider. “Really far away.”
“His phone is still pinging from this house.”
“I guess he took another phone. Or maybe he doesn’t need one where he is,” Leon laughs.
“Tais-toi!”
It’s Jasmine who intervenes, shooting off a rapid-fire series of exclamations at her brother. I swing around, scowling at the agents who let her in here.
“I told you to keep her safe!”
“She insisted, sir.” A hapless agent throws up her hands. “We didn’t want to physically restrain her. She has some bruises we could have made worse…”
“Whore,” Leon growls at Jasmine. “Traitorous little slut. You spread your legs for him and betrayed us all.”
“Watch your mouth,” I interject.
“Watch your back, Agent Rico. She can’t be trusted,” Leon smirks. “There’s a reason we beat her. That’s the only time you can trust her. She’s a lying, scheming, little slut. Always has been.”
It takes every bit of self-control I have not to reprise Colt’s routine on him, but I know revenge is best served twenty to life.
“Cuff him and take him in,” I order.
He is drawn out of the room, still managing an arrogant swagger even with steel around his wrists and blood caking under his nose.
“Don’t worry about what he says,” Jasmine excuses him. “He’s just…”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “He’s not just anything. He’s a co-conspirator in your kidnapping. He’s the man responsible for abusing you. I don’t ever want to hear a word out of your mouth trying to explain away what he’s done.”
She looks taken aback.
I wrap my arms around her, drop a gentle kiss on her forehead. “I am so sorry I let this happen to you. I should never have left you and Sonya. You should have had more protection. I should have been there…”
“It doesn’t matter,” she says, forcing brightness I don’t believe. “I’m okay.”
She doesn’t look okay. She looks exhausted. She looks bruised and battered. She looks like she needs to be taken home and taken care of - and that’s precisely what I intend to do.
“Hold Francoise overnight,” I order. “I’ll deal with him once we have his father in custody too.”
I’ve been waiting to bring the French Connection down for years. Right now, all I want to do is look after Jasmine. She’s been through more than anyone should have to go through, abuse at the hands of those who should have loved and protected her.
“I’m taking you to get checked out at the hospital,” I tell her. “And then we’re going to my home. I’m not leaving you alone again.”
“It doesn’t really matter now. You’ve got Leon.”
“But I don’t have your father,” I remind her.
“Oh. Right.”
There’s something kind of distant and far away about her. It makes my chest feel tight with anger. There are marks on her that no woman should ever wear. She’s been beaten. She’s been hurt. She’s suffered, and it’s because I didn’t protect her the way I said I would. I let her down. I won’t do that again, even if it means not letting her ou
t of my sight.
I lead her out of the house and we go to the hospital. She says very little to me, and when I try to speak to her, she has that tone in her voice, the one that makes me worry not just for her body, but for her soul.
I’m afraid those brutes she calls family seriously hurt her this time, but a medical examination reveals no serious issues. Bumps and bruises, the doctor calls them. He gives her an injectable painkiller to deal with the swelling and the pain, tells me it might make her sleepy and maybe a little woozy, but if I get her home to bed she should feel better in the morning.
I doubt that very much. When she wakes up, she’s still going to be sore. And she’s still going to have lost her family. I’ve dealt with cases like this far too many times. No matter how much a victim might loathe their abuser, when that person also bears the title father or brother, there’s a familial bond which is almost impossible to break.
She’s even more quiet on the way home.
“This is so messed up,” she slurs as I help her out of the car. She’s quite wobbly on her feet. They must have given her a real heavy dose of that medication.
“I know,” I agree.
“I mean… it’s messsssed up,” she drawls, swinging around in my arms. I have to sweep her up off her feet, carry her over the threshold of my home just to stop her from stumbling or falling into a wall.
“It’s going to be okay,” I reassure her. “I’ve got you now.”
“You’re the law,” she says as I settle her on the couch. “Leon fought the law, but the law won.”
“Mhm. Stay there, I’m going to get you some hot chocolate.”
“Heisse schokolade!” She declares. “That’s German for hot chocolate.”
“Is it?”
“Mein vater ist tot,” she adds with an odd smirk.
“What does that mean in English?”
“It means I would also like some cookies.”
I make her the hot chocolate and cookies and I set her up on the couch with a big soft blanket, turn the television on to something comforting and mindless. We can talk later. For now I want to give her space to recover a little.