“You sure this is it?” I’ve got two guns on me in holsters, and another in my lap. I chamber the round and lean forward in my seat, looking at the rundown warehouse. They better fucking be in there. It’s been forty minutes. That’s too fucking long. I watched that video over and over, looking for any kind of clue. My gut sinks, and my fists clench. My poor Becca. She doesn’t deserve this shit. I got her into this mess, and I’m gonna get her out.
“This is it, boss,” Johnny answers. Vince leans between the two front seats as the car behind us parks.
“Time to kill some De Luca fuckers.”
“Let’s go.” I’m the first out of the car. If they’ve got eyes on the parking lot, they’re gonna see us coming. There’s no way around it. It’s a warehouse in the middle of nowhere on a huge concrete pad with a runway for planes. There’s no hiding. No getting in or out undetected.
I hear the guys get out and come up behind me as another one of our cars pulls in. I don’t wait though. I’ve waited long enough. All of us will come. The entire family is coming to kill these fuckers. You don’t mess with one of us and get away with it. We’ll find you. We’ll hunt you down, and make you pay.
That’s what we do.
Jack is the only one not here. But he’d be here if he could. I know he would.
We form a V, with me leading the way to the large steel double doors. There’s a chain and a lock on them. Anthony comes up behind me with the bolt cutters while we all keep our guns raised. The heavy steel chain drops to the ground with a loud clank, and he quickly bends and pulls it away so I can pull the doors apart. They open with a loud groan.
They definitely know we’re here.
A cold sweat breaks out across my body. They better not have touched her. That image that flashed through my mind yesterday, of her cold and dead on the ground, flashes into my vision again. I try to blink it away, but it won’t disappear. I shake my head and grind my teeth, keeping my gun held high. The huge room is empty, with concrete floors that are rundown, but bare. No place to hide. Which is good and bad. It’s two stories with a thin hall lining the upper level. It’s made of rickety wire mesh flooring so each inch is visible. Six doors are on each level, with two on each side and the back wall.
She’s behind one of them. Twelve doors to look through.
My gun moves to each door, each corner. Empty.
“Start at the left. Bottom floor,” I call out with determination and confidence.
“We splittin’, Dom?” Pops' voice rings out, but I shake my head. I’m calling the shots. My problem, and my girl. I’m grateful Pops is ready to back me up. I don’t know how many of them there are. I want our numbers high.
I lower my gun as I reach the first door. I look back at the crew as I test the handle. Locked. I bet they’re all fucking locked. They’re steel doors. Not fucking easy to break down, but we got this.
I put my gun up to the keyhole and fire. Once, twice, three times. I give it a hard kick, and it jostles slightly. Another shot, and another kick. Everyone has their guns ready to fire as the doors open. They swing open with a bang, crashing into the walls. Boxes are piled high, nearly to the ceiling in several rows. I take a step in with caution, keeping my gun in front of me as I sweep the room. But a faint muffled sound from a distance makes me stop.
I motion for everyone to be still. I swear I heard something. I swear I did. I almost move forward, but then I hear it again. She's not in this room. I hustle my ass past everyone and move on to the next door. My Becca. I hear the sound clearer as I reach the door in the back left corner.
Locked.
Bang! Bang! Bang! I kick it open with no mercy, making my leg scream in pain. Again I fire, and then so does Johnny. We fire together, kick together. The door swings open, and my heart stops. My Becca is hanging upside down, tied up by her ankles over a sink to the right of the room. Her head has her just barely balanced on the edge of a sink that’s overflowing. Her hair is soaked.
They left her to drown. They tied her up, and put her head in a sink and filled it. As I take in the sight of her, she slips and her head falls back into the water. I run to her as her body thrashes, and she tries to swing herself to the edge again. I pull her head out as soon as I get to her. Guns fire around me. I don’t even know where mine is. I don’t bother looking up. A bullet whizzes by my head as men shoot. My family and others return fire. Footsteps ring out on the steel stairs at the back of the room. More gunshots. But all I can really hear is my doll breathing, gasping for air.
My fighter. My survivor. I rip the soaked blindfold off her eyes and turn off the faucet.
“It’s alright. I got you.”
“Dom!” she screams out, and sputters up water.
“It’s me, doll. I got you.” She shudders in my arms as I lift her weight up and try to cradle her body as best I can. My entire body is trembling. Loud, heavy footsteps race toward me. The screaming has stopped. The guns aren’t firing anymore.
“They got away, boss!” I barely hear Johnny yell. I don’t care.
“Jax?” Becca’s head falls back, heavy against my arm. She shaking from the freezing water. Her skin is ice cold and pale. Her teeth chatter, and her eyes refuse to focus on me.
“He’s safe, doll. You’re both safe. I got you.”
At my words, her body goes limp. Her eyes close. Fuck no. I jostle her in my arms, but she’s still.
“Help her!” I hold her closer to me and shake her body to try to wake her as I scream. “Somebody help me get her down!”
Dom
“You sure, Dom?” Jack’s voice echoes in my head, and I scowl.
I want to smash his fucking teeth in. I get that his woman, his wife, was ready to rat on him. I fucking understand that. But this isn’t his woman. Becca isn’t a rat. I got her into that shit. She’s not at fault in any way.
And what he’s implying is unforgivable. My voice is low and deadly as I turn to face him and stare straight into his eyes with my hard gaze. I want what I say to be heard and understood. “If anyone touches her, or implies that any harm should come to her or her son, I will slit your fucking throat open.”
“Just calm down, Dom.” I look at my father like he’s the one who said it, because he’s keeping me from destroying Jack. My fists are clenched so tight my knuckles are white. How could he fucking imply that we should kill her?
“She’s just seen a lot is all.” He leans back against the bookshelves in the office, and I turn my head slowly to stare him down. Vince, Pops, Jack and I are in the office. Pops' office. It’s a dark room with thick curtains and dark chestnut bookshelves lining the walls. They’re filled to the brim. Pops loves to read, but he also likes to hide shit. I know some of the books are for his secrets. I just don’t know which books, or which secrets.
Vince paces by the door with his hands in his pockets, head bowed, staring at the antique rug as he walks. He doesn’t look up to respond to Jack, “She hasn’t even come to. We don’t know what she’s seen.”
“She was conscious when we were shooting. It doesn’t matter that we saved her. She could blab. She could sell us out.”
My father’s hands come down hard on my chest and then move to my shoulders, shoving me into the seat in front of his desk. My breath is caught in my throat, and adrenaline courses through my blood.
“That’s enough, Jack!” he yells at Jack, but his eyes are on me. I can feel them boring into me, but I’m not looking back at him. My eyes are shooting daggers at Jack. I fucking told him to shut his mouth. I don’t give a shit that he’s the underboss. Pops knows it. Jack’s days are numbered. I won’t allow it. I won’t allow anyone to keep breathing if they so much as think of touching my girl.
I shove Pops away and sit back in my seat, crossing my arms. I can’t turn my face neutral. I look pissed 'cause I am pissed. But I’ll bide my time, I’ll wait. But I’m not going to let De Luca live.
“You need to calm down, Dom; just think this through.” My father’s voice is calm a
nd even. My brow furrows, and I glare at him. He can’t be fucking serious. A look of shock crosses his face as he says, “Between you and Jack. Just calm down, think it through.”
My tense shoulders relax slightly. I nod my head. He means me fucking up Jack. Thank fuck. I don’t know what I would do if he was talking about my doll. I swallow thickly and spear my hands through my hair and then grip it while I lean back in my seat. I stare blankly at the office ceiling.
I just can’t get the image of her hanging there out of my head. Her face is bruised. Her eye, her cheek. She obviously hit her head more than a few times trying to balance herself on the edge of that industrial steel sink. But it’s more than that. The bruises, the blood, they really fucked her up. All because of me.
She’s in my bedroom. My old bedroom at my parents' house. Just a few doors down from Pops' office. She hasn’t woken up yet, and that scares the shit out of me. Her skin was ice cold and pale. When the doctor stripped her down I saw the stab wounds on her legs. They didn’t show any mercy. Tears prick at my eyes, but I will them down. It’s all because of me. 'Cause I couldn’t keep my dick in my pants.
Jax is downstairs playing with Gino. I’m glad the two of them hit it off. Jimmy brought some remote-controlled monster trucks over, and the kids are crashing them into each other. He keeps asking for her, looking around all worried. Ma’s got it taken care of though. I’m sure as hell not letting him see his mom like that. I don’t want to scare him. I have to protect the little guy as best I can. Luckily Paulie’s the only one those fuckers managed to hit, and it was only his leg. Doc took care of that with some quick stitches. A few days off and some whiskey will have Paulie good as new.
“What you need to be worrying about is De Luca and his gang.” Pops' voice rings out through the office.
They fucking got away. They were waiting, ready to ambush us. But they didn’t expect the numbers. They fled like the cowards they are. We got one of theirs. But you can’t question a dead body. We know their territory though. We know where they hang out. It’s fucking over.
“If I’d been there I would’ve told you guys to split.” Jack decides to chime in again. Silence greets him. He’s not the boss. He knows it, and so does Pops. But for some reason, my father lets him get away with that shit. “Someone always needs to be outside.”
“If we’d split up, they wouldn’t have run. But then we wouldn’t have had the numbers.” I finally look back at him. “I made that call, and I’m fucking good with it.” I sit forward in my seat. “Pops was there,” I look at my father, “and if he wasn’t good with it, he would’ve said so.” My father nods once in agreement. “If we’re going to go in for the kill, it’ll be on our terms. We were only there to get Becca. Nothing else.”
Pops squeezes my shoulder and walks around to sit at his desk. He sinks into the leather wingback chair and then clasps his hands and rests his elbows on the mahogany desk. His fingers steeple and the tips rest at his lips. “We had to lay low because of you, Jack. We don’t now.”
I shake my head. “I’m not ready. I’m not going anywhere until I know she’s alright.”
“Since when do you come on hits, Dom?” It’s not a question. Well, that’s not quite the question he’s asking, anyway. He knows there’s no way I’m not going after them. But I never have before. I don’t work the streets. I have my own business. I’m only in this family because he runs it. I have my bookie business, and that’s good enough for me. I work the familia’s books and that keeps me in, but that’s it.
“Things change.” I can’t look him in the eyes.
A knock at the door interrupts us. “Enter,” Pops says, pausing a conversation I’m not really sure I want to have.
The doctor walks in and gently shuts the door behind him. He’s an older man with short white hair and pale blue eyes surrounded by well-earned wrinkles. His glasses make him look distinguished even if he is wearing faded jeans and a thin V-neck sweater.
This isn’t the first time he’s been here, and it won’t be the last. Nearly a decade ago, his son got into problems with a gang on the west side. He begged my father for help. Pops knows a good man when he sees him. That, and it’s nice to have a doctor available for house visits on short notice for cash payments.
“She’s stable and from what I can tell, her injuries are purely external.”
“Is she going to be alright?”
“She’ll be perfectly fine.”
“Did they-?” I can’t finish the question. I swallow thickly and search his eyes. He knows what I’m asking.
“The rape kit came back negative.” I cringe at his answer but nod my head and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I’ll never forgive myself for what they did to her. But I am relieved to know they didn’t abuse her like that. She deserves better. She sure as fuck deserves better than me, but after what happened, I can’t let her go just yet. They know where she lives. Where she works. The doctor and Pops have a few words, but I don’t listen. I’m just focused on the fact that she’s alright.
Right now she’s alone though. I don’t like that. I want to be there when she wakes up. I stand up, ready to go see her. “Where are you going?” Jack asks me as I grab the door handle.
Where the fuck does he think I’m going? I stare at him for a minute, just so he can squirm under my gaze. I didn’t forget what he said. And he sure as shit better not forget what I told him. After a moment I leave, shutting the door a little harder than I should.
I wish Jack’s fucking head was between the door and the frame. I shake off my anger and try to calm myself. If she’s awake, she’s not gonna like me storming in there with a temper.
I open the door slowly and walk into my childhood bedroom. Not that it looks like one. Statistics books and other textbooks line the back of my desk, lined up in a neat row. Other than the books, the desk is cleared off. Exactly how I like it. The desk is solid maple and stained dark espresso in color. It’s modern, and reflects the rest of the furniture in the room. My sheets and comforter are perfectly white, and the walls are a cool grey. The only personality is provided by a simple framed, enlarged photograph on the wall. It’s an abstract shot with bursts of colors. I don’t know why I like it. But I do. Other than the framed photograph, my room displays order and discipline. It’s how I grew up. It’s how I stayed out of the mafia.
Lying under the sheets is Becca. The white sheets bring color to her complexion. I’m grateful for it. She’s completely still with her arms placed at her sides, and her eyes are closed. Without the color, she would look dead. I pull the desk chair to the side of the bed and sit next to her, taking her hand in mine. She’s warm. I watch her chest rise and fall gently. My heart seems to slow to beat in time with hers.
Bruises still cover her face and arms and the rest of her body. Even worse, the rope burns on her wrists may actually scar. On the nightstand next to the bed are ointments and bandages. The doctor applied them before he left, but I’ll take care of her from here on out. I’ll make sure this doesn’t scar her. Not in any way. She inhales a deep breath and winces in pain. I know she’s on pain meds, but maybe not enough.
“Becca?” My voice is hopeful, just as I am. I need her to wake up. I need her to tell me everything. And I need to apologize.
Her eyelids slowly open in a daze, either from a concussion or the meds, or maybe just exhaustion. I take her hand to my lips and kiss her knuckles, keeping my eyes on her face. Watching her every movement.
“I’m here, doll. You’re alright.” Her eyes blink slowly and she turns her head, rubbing her cheek against the pillow. It takes a moment, but her eyes find mine. They seem to widen slightly, but she's still dazed.
“Jax?” She barely breathes his name.
I give her a reassuring smile. “He’s downstairs playing. He has no idea.” She closes her eyes and lets out a long exhale before slowly opening them again.
“Thank you.” Her hand weakly squeezes mine. Her head turns, and she winces in pain again
before staring at nothing. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” My throat starts to close, so I grunt a cough and clear my throat. “It’s my fault, doll. I’m sorry.” I fucking hate that I’m apologizing. Not that I shouldn’t be, but that I’ve hurt her again.
She shakes her head slowly and then takes a deep, shuddering breath. She rubs her eyes and tries to get up, but I gently push her shoulders down.
She looks at me like I punched her. “I need to get Jax.”
“He’s downstairs.” She’s fucking crazy to think she’s going anywhere.
“I need to take him home.” Fuck that. That shit’s not happening.
“You’ll come home with me tonight.” I’m already dreading the drive, but we aren’t staying with my parents. I have a house and a room for her and Jax. I’ll take care of them.
She pushes me away, but then seems to consider my words. “Are they going to come back?”
“They will never hurt you again. I’m going to find them. I’ll take care of this.” Tears well in her eyes.
“I can’t just stay here.” Her voice is pained.
“Don’t worry, Becca. I’ll take care of everything.”
She shakes her head and says, “You don’t understand. I have work; Jax has school and soccer. I have a life.” She takes in a strangled breath. “I had a life.” Her knees pull into her chest, and she rolls over and buries her face in her hands. She sobs, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to tell her.
She can’t just go to work. She wouldn’t want to if she got a look at herself anyway. She can’t go home. I can’t let her out of my sight. I’m not going to give them another chance to hurt her.
“Phone!” She pops up too quickly for me to stop her.
“Doll, lie back down.” I try to get her to lie back, but she’s on her feet and looking around the room for her clothes. She’s holding a sheet draped around her.
“I need my phone and my clothes.” What the hell is wrong with her?
Those Boys Are Trouble Page 9