Losing Lola (Mercy's Angels Book 5)

by Kirsty Dallas

  Flicking on a switch, the pale, grey tiled bathroom lit up, exposing an enormous shower stall. The toilet sat to one side, and a large mirror stretched along the wall opposite it with a wide, black countertop and black cabinets beneath it. Two glossy black sinks sat along its top.

  “There are basic necessities in here: toothpaste, soap, shampoo. Mercy went shopping for you today; she’s got some bags she’ll deliver tomorrow.” Dillon glanced at his watch. “I mean today.”

  Looking to my own watch I realized it was one in the morning. I peered over my shoulder and realized Lola was no longer with us.

  “I didn’t ask, but I assume you’ll be staying? If not, Mercy has offered to spend time here with Lola, so she’s not alone.”

  Of course I was staying. There was no way I was leaving her unprotected, even as secure as the apartment was. Rather than declare that out loud, I simply nodded and grunted, “I’m staying.”

  Larz stood in the small hallway and nodded towards the first bedroom we had stepped in. A quick look in the room found Lola sitting on the side of the bed, her gaze set on a black and white picture of a long, straight stretch of dirt road, surrounded by thick fir trees, rising high up into the sky full of dark, turbulent clouds. It was one of Braiden’s photos; the office downstairs was full of his pictures.

  “Kitchen is full. If there is anything else you need just let me know.”

  Dillon patted my shoulder as he and Larz walked back down towards the living and dining area. Following them, I raised my hand to run over my tired eyes, only to feel a sharp pain burning at my shoulder, reminding me I had been shot.

  Dillon handed me a piece of paper. “Passcode entry for the door into the apartment and access into the street is the same. You’ll need the fob.” He handed me a tear shaped plastic piece about the size of a fifty-cent coin. “Just flash that in front of the panel and enter the code. I still need to grab a second fob so you each have one. I’ll see you down in the office when you get up. We need to talk about things.”

  I nodded again, and my head felt heavier. Exhaustion was beginning to creep up on me.

  “I’ll run downstairs and grab the first aid kit. Don't fall asleep while I’m gone.” Larz chuckled, following Dillon out of the apartment, allowing the door to close with a resounding click.

  We were alone, and the silence was welcome. My head banged away, throbbing in time with the low hum that came from the heater. Flicking on the switch to the kettle, I stepped back down the short hallway and stood in the doorway to Lola’s room. Her eyes were still on the black and white photo.

  “It’s Braiden’s; he likes to take photos,” I explained, and she remained still. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

  She shook her head.

  “Why don’t you take a shower?”

  She nodded, her hand absently running up and down her forearm.

  “Are you staying?” she finally asked.

  “Yeah, that okay?”

  Lola slowly stood and turned to face me, her eyes full of fatigue and a whole lot of sadness. “It’s fine. I trust you.”

  Her words caused blossoming warmth to fill my chest. As she stepped past me and into the hallway, I turned and headed for the kitchen, pausing when I heard my name. I glanced over my shoulder.

  “Thank you.” And with that, she stepped into the bathroom, the door closing and the ominous click of the lock signaling the end of a crazy forty-eight hours.

  The despair in Lola’s gaze made the blossoming warmth I had felt a moment before turn to ice. It was a look I had seen before, that look of loss and hopelessness. I’d seen that look on plenty of people in the past, but it didn’t affect me the same as it did seeing it on Lola. She’d been a pillar of strength the entire time we’d been running, and now we’d stopped, it was as if all that strength bled from her body, leaving behind a girl who may not have been broken, but the cracks were damn well showing.

  A gentle knock on the apartment door drew my attention back into the living area. I knew it was Larz, but even so, years of training and two days of running had me err on the side of caution. Checking the peep hole, I almost smiled at Larz’s grinning face on the other side. I pulled the door open, and he stepped inside with a bag full of medical supplies.

  “Coffee?” I asked, moving to the kitchen to make myself a cup.

  Larz chuckled. “At one thirty in the morning? No thanks.”

  With a steaming hot mug in my hand, filling the apartment with the aroma of life, I sat down at the dining table and removed my shirt. Larz carefully pulled back the dressing.

  “Nice,” Larz commented from behind me. “Let’s clean her up first, then we can see how many stitches you win for your efforts today.”

  All I could manage was a grunt. Exhaustion pulled at every muscle, and the thought of a hot shower and warm bed lulled my body into a relaxed state which would more than likely see me pass out sooner rather than later, even with the caffeine running through my veins.

  “How’s Lola?” Larz asked, holding gauze under my wound as he used an anti-bacterial spray to re-clean the area.

  “She’s holding up well. Maybe a little quiet, but she’s exhausted.”

  “Hmmmm,” Larz said thoughtfully. “Em was quiet for a long time. Quiet isn’t always good; it allows them to get lost in their thoughts.”

  “How did you get Em out of her thoughts?”

  Emily Donovan’s story wasn’t a secret. Forced into a world of sexual slavery, Braiden had brought her back from the devil himself, and Larz had been her proverbial shadow for those first six months after she returned home.

  “She was getting therapy. She didn’t want it, and at the time, she would tell you she’d rather stick a fork in her eye than go, but it helped.”

  It occurred to me I didn’t know if Lola had talked to a therapist; it would be something I’d find out soon.

  “If Lola needs it, Mercy and David have a group session once every two weeks down at the shelter for survivors of sexual abuse. Maybe you should mention it to Lola, let her think on it a while.”

  I didn’t answer even though I thought it was a great idea. Instead, I focused on the discomfort of my wound being poked and prodded.

  “Anesthesia,” Larz mumbled before I felt the slight sting of a needle. “One thing I learned from Em, she doesn’t need pity. Don’t go feeling sorry for her or treating her like glass. She’ll be more comfortable if you’re not looking at her like you expect her to break every minute, and wipe that look off your face.”

  “What look?” I balked, wincing as Larz got a little heavy handed with my wound.

  “That pissed off look, like you wanna eat a kitten or somethin’. She needs your strength, not your anger.”

  “I don’t want to eat a fucking kitten.”

  “All you can do is be there for her when she needs someone to lean on,” Larz continued, ignoring me. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. It's the same way Braiden looks at Em, the same way Dillon looks at Annie.”

  “I don’t—”

  “You start off small, helping her find her way through each day, and eventually you’ll help her find her way into a better future,” he continued, cutting me off this time. “That cut on your bicep is shallow, it don’t need stichin’.”

  The relentless man finally went quiet as he cleaned the shallow knife wound and wrapped a dressing around it.

  “Four stitches, just a baby,” he said as he finished up.

  “Thanks, Dr. Phil, you can put your man pants back on and fuck off now.”

  Larz laughed, a deep belly laugh that reminded me of the times I once shared with my brothers.

  “Does it hurt?”

  We both went silent at the sound of Lola’s voice coming from the hallway, and I silently cringed, hoping she hadn’t heard Larz and me talking about her.

  “Trust me, darlin’, kicking a toe would hurt more. This is nothin’.” Larz had a way of making everything seem okay. “If he tries to tell you otherwise, he’s fi
shin’ for sympathy he don’t need.”

  Lola didn’t look convinced, her furrowed brow and disbelieving gaze set on Larz.

  “I’m okay. Might ache a little once the anesthesia wears off, but it won’t bother me,” I said truthfully.

  Biting on her bottom lip with her arms wrapped low around her stomach, she gave a nod.

  “Do I need to check out any scrapes or bumps on you?” Larz asked Lola as he packed up his bag.

  “No, Drew wouldn’t let me get a single one.”

  Larz smiled and moved towards the apartment door. “Sounds about right. He won’t even let Max walk around when he’s out and about, just in case he trips himself up on those short, stumpy legs.” With a nod to both of us, Larz left.

  “Where is he?” Lola asked, her gaze dropping to my chest. Her cheeks filled with a pink hue and I tried not to flex my pecs like a peacock. Instead, I stood and pulled on my bloody shirt.

  “Who?”

  “Max.”

  “Annie and Dillon have him. Eli’s become a little attached. He’s the official dog sitter.”

  Washing my now empty coffee mug, I discreetly watched Lola as she rubbed the back of her calf with her opposite foot, her arms folded. She was wearing loose fitting sweats and a baggy shirt. I hoped there was something clean for me to change into.

  “Why don’t you try and get some sleep?” I suggested.

  The moment felt awkward. This was the first time we had been alone, and we weren’t running for our lives. With Lola safe, the fact we were staying in the same apartment together felt more intimate.

  I wasn’t sure if Lola needed something, or if she was simply too wired to sleep. She nodded, though, and with a hesitant backward glance, she headed down the short hallway and disappeared into her room. The door quietly closing and the snick of a lock echoed loudly in the quiet apartment.

  CHAPTER 14

  LOLA

  Sitting on my bed with my legs splayed before me, I tried to gain back control of my breathing. Air heaved in and out my lungs too fast, and my heart beat in a frantic gallop, too hard. Sweat slipped down my neck and between my breasts. Clutching at the front of the flannel pajama top, I wiped the moisture from my neck and chest as I took in my surroundings. Sleeping with the light on helped. In the light, the unexplored shadows of my room disappeared, and the memories that lurked in my head couldn't manifest into obscure illusions in the darkness. This nightmare was a bad one, the pain from my attack felt fresh, and I checked my body for blood. Of course there was none, but the residual feeling of helplessness clung to me.

  Nightmares plagued my dreams every night for the last few weeks in my new home. Sometimes I would wake screaming like a wild banshee, and the sheets tangled around my body would only incite my panic further as it would make me feel trapped and tied down. On those nights, Drew’s heavy footsteps would reach my door, and he would gently knock and ask if I was okay. With my emotions so vulnerable after these nightmares, I wouldn’t open the door to him, but just knowing he was in the apartment with me gave me some semblance of peace. Drew would retreat to the kitchen where he would make a cup of coffee for himself, a cup of tea for me. Calming my frayed nerves always took several long minutes; I would wrap myself in soft throw blanket and make my way into the living area, where Drew would flick on the TV. We would both sit there, no words, no awkward glances, simply Drew giving me something I needed: a quiet moment to wash away the bitter taste that lingered from my nightmare.

  Now I sat in silence, having awoken from this nightmare without the wild screams. My nightmares had become few and far between in Thailand. My insomnia, though, was just as aggressive then as it was now. Sleep had become both my enemy and an elusive burning need.

  My nightmares were always different, yet featured the same demonic star, Ben. I couldn’t remember my sexual assault. My mind only divulged snippets of that night, much like a flickering TV screen, racing through images in no particular order. I once read somewhere that we don’t dream in color, but I disagree. My nightmares were full of red blood. Sometimes, I dreamed of being pinned down by a heavy weight; sometimes a fist or object would fly at my face, and I’d jerk myself awake right before impact. Occasionally I would dream that I was back in my room, tied to my bed, and unable to move or make a single sound. The entire apartment would be in silence and that silence terrified me. Not being able to see or hear the monster in your dreams was even more terrifying than seeing it. Even though I couldn’t recall the moment Ben had torn through my innocence, my mind became pretty adept at making up for the loss of memory. Swallowing down bile, I jumped from my bed and glanced around the heavy blackout curtains that prevented me from knowing if it was day or night. Distraction and denial was a comforting bitch and was how I coped with my new life and the constant terror that swirled in the box of thoughts and emotions I refused to acknowledge. Forcing the bad thoughts away and embracing anything else that might drown out the misery, I focused on the new day I found behind the curtains. It was grey; a light sheen of rain fell onto the busy street. A soft sigh of contentment spilled from my lips. While some people hated the cold rain in Claymont, I loved it. The rain and the billowing clouds that brought it were like a soft blanket that protected me from the world outside. Perhaps it was the fact that rain forced you indoors that made me feel so at ease. The rain was soothing for my preferred isolation and fell perfectly into my avoidance technique. If it was wet and cold out, then there was no better excuse for staying in.

  The whisper of voices from outside the door caught my attention, and I stuffed my feet into a pair of piggy novelty slippers that Rebecca had gifted me. They were fun and unusual with their soft pink fur and cute as a button pig snout at the toes. Pressing my ear to the locked door, I immediately recognized Mercy’s and Drew’s voices; however, the third voice eluded me. It was a man, his voice deep and refined, and he laughed at something Mercy said, the sound comforting and genuine. Knowing Drew was out there gave me the confidence to unlock the door and push through it. It didn’t worry me that they would see me in my pajamas. In fact, they felt like a comforting barrier of thick layers that protected my body from the view of others. Over the last year I had begun to heal emotionally from my attack, but Ben’s reappearance in my life was forcing scabbed over wounds to bleed again. The feeling that I needed to protect myself, even with barriers of clothing, had come back with vengeance. Maybe it also had something to do with the fact that in Thailand I felt like a nobody, a wisp of air that floated on the breeze. Here, I felt like a performer in a circus, and everyone was watching me, waiting, expecting something to happen, but nobody quite sure what that would be. I was probably being ridiculous and seeing something that wasn’t even there. After-all, nobody was treating me any differently from before I went away, except for Drew, whose distant observation was now up close and personal.

  Reaching the end of the hallway, Mercy jumped up from the small kitchen table and wrapped her arms around me. She smelled nice, like lavender.

  “We brought breakfast,” she whispered in my ear.

  Mercy stepped away yet kept a hold of my hand. Drew was sitting with a worried look on his face, a look I had become accustomed to over the last few weeks. The rare smiles he had let escape in Thailand were gone, replaced with an unspoken concern that turned his handsome face into a granite look of fear and uncertainty.

  He didn’t say anything as I approached the small table, simply pulled out a chair for me to sit between him and Mercy. Sitting directly across from me was Mercy’s husband, David. We had only been in the same room a couple of times, but I recognized him instantly. He was a charming looking man, with kind eyes, greying hair, and gentle features. Even though he looked like one of the most approachable, kind men I knew, knowing he was a psychologist immediately made my protective walls snap into place. Was he analyzing me now? Would every move I make and word I spoke be tucked away into a place which he would soon label? PTSD? Depression? Crazy?

  His smile caused the small
wrinkles at the corner of his eyes to pinch. “Mercy was trying to convince Drew and me that bowling is therapeutic.”

  Drew’s snort from beside me caught me off guard, and I cast him a questioning look. He shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. “Noise, lights, people, nothing therapeutic about it.”

  “Drew, when you roll a ten-pound ball down the lane, and do so smoothly, the only noise you will hear are the pins being struck at the other end, and that feeling when you hit them . . .” Mercy smiled, “. . . it's invigorating.”

  Drew placed a bacon and egg bagel on a plate before me. “Coffee?”

  “Yes, please,” I murmured, and without another word, he slipped away from the table and made me a cup.

  “So, I’m breaking you out of this prison today.”

  The bagel, which was on a one-way track from the plate to my salivating mouth, paused, and I glanced at Mercy. Nerves immediately began to flutter in my stomach, and my appetite fled. I placed my breakfast back down on the plate.

  “It’s not such a great day to be out. It's raining,” I pointed out.

  “It’s just water, and it’s not like we’re going to be walking around in it. I’ve made an appointment for you and me to visit my hair salon.” One of Mercy’s hands gently tugged on a strand of my long hair. “This has grown out a lot and could use trim.” She then sighed. “And my greys appear to have gone to war with the blonde. I need to cover those suckers before they take over.”

  “I’m not sure it’s safe,” I pressed, glancing to Drew who took a seat beside me once more and placed a steaming hot cup of coffee by my plate.

  “I’ll be tagging along,” he confessed. “And Gabbie, too.”

  “Gabriella’s back?” Mercy exclaimed. Drew simply nodded, and Mercy’s bright smile swung my way once more. “Then it’s settled. A girl’s day at the salon.”

  Drew grunted; David smiled and shrugged; and I looked to the windows and the pouring rain outside, hoping some sort of divine intervention would take place, causing me to be trapped within the walls of this apartment.