by Eden Ashley
“I know,” she whispered. If not for Palmer, Davey would have already gotten a firsthand taste of the drug lord’s infamous dealings with the opposite sex.
Ethan took her shoulders, looking furious enough to try and rattle some sense into her. His hands were desperate but surprisingly gentle—a stark contrast to the violent emotions displayed only moments before. He visibly struggled to calm himself. “I can’t stand the thought of him touching you,” he finally said. “Marx could kill you.” Ethan gritted his teeth. “And I don’t know what I would do if that happened.”
But hopefully, Ethan would never have to find out.
Steeling her thoughts to prevent them from straying to the worst, Davey kept walking toward Marx’s warehouse. Two goons stood at the entrance, waiting to escort her inside. She found some consolation in that somewhere out there, Ethan was watching over her and those thugs would never see him coming. Still, Davey wished it had been possible for her to carry a gun, but it was too risky. Marx had already been shot once in her presence, and would certainly have her searched. He couldn’t know her intent to not go peacefully until Hogan was safe.
Now only four wooden steps separated Davey from where the goons stood, when she stopped, keeping her feet rooted to the pavement a little while longer. “I’m Daveigh Little,” she called up to the men. “I’m here to see Marx.”
The taller of the two nodded. “Come on up.”
Smirking, the shorter and older second goon greedily eyed her as she slowly complied. “The boss will be so happy to see you again, Miss Little. I hear the two of ya got some unfinished business.” He whistled as she walked by. “I can see why. That’s one sweet ass.”
Clenching her hands into fists, Davey held her head a little higher, seriously wishing she could have brought the Beretta.
Once inside, she was led to a fairly large office where bookshelves and file cabinets alternately lined brick walls painted pale green. There was a couch, a desk, and several lamps, giving the space a surprisingly homely feel. Marx’s guy left without a word and closed the door behind him. The catcalls from goon two didn’t compare to coming face to face with Marx again. Seeing him made Davey’s heart stutter, mouth dry out, and palms dampen with moisture. In a leather armchair posted in one corner of the room, the kingpin sat with legs crossed and hands relaxed at his knees. The suit, tie, and shoes he wore probably could have fetched enough cash to pay for two semesters of college. But fine tailoring did nothing to mask the danger that brimmed from Marx’s presence. His aura was practically alive with menace, and within his dark gaze was the promise of a cruelty greater than what Davey could possibly imagine. She struggled not to look away.
“So at last, we meet again, Miss Little. I’ve gone through a lot of trouble to get you here.”
She tried to swallow but it was like nails were lodged in her throat. “You murdered my parents and kidnapped my baby brother,” she said hoarsely. “I’m sorry that was so much trouble for you.”
An almost imperceptible change occurred in Marx’s demeanor, and the very air seemed to chill between them. The drug lord leaned forward, folding long fingers beneath his thin beard. “A pound of flesh is a pound of flesh, Miss Little. Had you taken responsibility for your actions and paid your dues at the time I requested, then such terrible violence would have never been necessary.”
It was the truth. Davey had already accepted her role in this, but still, Marx’s words stung deeply. She lifted her chin higher. If she was hurting, this piece of shit didn’t have to know it. “Well, I’m here now. Let my brother go.”
In an instant, Marx’s cool demeanor completely vanished and he stood up, charging forward like a grizzly. His fist flashed out, striking Davey in the cheek with a blow hard enough to knock her to the floor. Landing roughly on her hands and knees, she didn’t cry out but bore the dizzying pain through clenched teeth, waiting for her vision to clear and ears to stop ringing.
“I give the orders around here. That is the only warning you will get.”
Pushing to her feet hurt like hell. She would have rather curled into a ball and waited for the agony to go away, but stood up, wiped the blood from her mouth and met Marx’s homicidal stare. “Understood,” she said. “Anything else you need to warn me about?”
“You have a smart mouth, girl.” A tremor went through Marx’s jaw. At his side, his fingers curled and relaxed. Davey mentally braced herself for more violence. Marx bared his teeth in a vicious smile. “You also have a fine spirit. I look forward to the fun I will have breaking it.”
“Do whatever you want to me, but please let my brother go. You gave your word,” she added, though knowing Marx’s vessel of integrity probably held little water in the current scenario.
The kingpin waved his hand dismissively. “Of course. Your brother was never in any danger. I don’t hurt children, Miss Little. I’m not a monster.”
The persistent ringing in her ears served as a painful reminder to bite her tongue. Over the years, she had endured a fair share of being knocked around by adults, but never before had anyone dealt this level of punishment. Her gut told her it was only the beginning of what was to come. “May I see him?”
Instead of replying, Marx stared at her expectantly.
“Please,” she amended after a beat of hesitation.
Removing a sleek phone from his front pocket, Marx typed a quick message and slipped the cell back inside his thousand-dollar dress slacks. He came closer, circling around her position to lean in and smell her hair, but she didn’t flinch. Davey refused to succumb to the feeling of cowardice brewing in the pit of her stomach beneath the withering heat of Marx’s greedy gaze. Closing her eyes, she thought of the first time Ethan had touched her while standing on her grandmother’s dilapidated porch, so when Marx’s fingers grazed the length of her forearm, it was Ethan’s cool touch that burned the gentle trail against her skin.
A small, frightened voice called her name, dispelling the fantasy. Opening her eyes, she ran to Hogan, scooping his tiny frame into her arms. Fresh tears wet her face as she pressed her unbruised cheek to his. “Hi, Monkey.”
Hogan laughed. “Hello. Did you come to take me home?”
“Yeah.” She took a quivering breath. “It’s time for you to go home now.”
Staring over her shoulder with a wide gaze, Hogan looked from Marx to Davey and back again. “Bad men hurt Momma and Daddy.” Huge tears welled up in his eyes. “Are bad men still there?”
“No, Monkey. The bad men are gone, and they won’t bother ever you again. I promise.”
“Okay, Davey,” Hogan said and threw his arms around her neck, squeezing her tight. “Let’s go home.”
Feeling helpless, Davey hugged him back as hard as she could without breaking him. Soon, she would have to let go. Knowing it useless, she glanced at Marx who observed the exchange between them with a bored expression. There was nothing human about this man. No heart strings to pull.
“Get on with it, girl,” he ordered.
Nodding quickly lest the bastard rip Hogan from her arms, she set her brother on the floor. “Listen to me, kiddo. I can’t go home with you right now, but I will be there soon. Okay?”
Hogan started shaking his head before she even finished. “No, Davey.”
“We can’t argue about it, Monkey. You have to go. A friend is waiting for you outside. Her name is Lana, and she’s going to take you somewhere safe.” That had been a part of the deal. Davey was allowed to bring along one friend to take Hogan away from the warehouse, but Marx had made sure she knew that he would know if her accomplice was a cop. He claimed to have every badge within a three county radius on radar. The friend had to be female and had to remain outside, waiting there for Hogan’s release. If she alerted the police, her family would suffer the same fate as Davey’s. It had taken some convincing, but Ethan was able to locate Lana without alerting suspicion, and the girl surprisingly jumped at the chance to help. Pity clouded her voice when she and Davey spoke on the phone, but
Davey was too grateful to care. Hogan would be safe, and that was all that mattered.
But now the five-year-old’s quick intelligence had decided to rear its head. He leveled a shrewd stare at Marx. “Don’t stay with him, Davey.”
“Hogan, I have to. Please,” she said. Squeezing his hand, she looked up at Marx. “Let me take him to her? I won’t run. I promise.”
Marx gave a stiff nod. “I’ll allow it, but be quick, girl. We have matters to discuss.”
A shiver rippled through Davey’s body, but for Hogan’s sake, she did her best to suppress it. Keeping his little hand grasped firmly within hers, she took him away from that evil space and into the main room of the warehouse. Thankfully, none of the thugs harassed them and Davey was able to step into fresh air with Hogan at her side—possibly for the last time. The sad thought threatened to crush her beneath its weight.
Lana stood waiting as promised but appeared to be worried, moving an anxious gaze back and forth between Davey and the two men guarding the warehouse entrance. Ethan had cautioned Lana remain as calm as possible and give no indication she was not alone. He had also instructed her to promptly take Hogan to safety and not look back. Davey sincerely hoped Lana had taken his counsel to heart. Right now, her life depended on it.
Really, she was surprised Lana had even agreed to get involved in this whole mess. Before today, Davey would have considered it a stretch to call the cheerleader a friend. And yet, here she was, putting herself at risk to help.
“Hogan, this is Lana,” she said as they drew close enough to speak comfortably. “She’s a friend who is going to make sure you are taken care of. I want you to go with her, okay?”
Hogan stared up at Lana with wide eyes. Then he looked at his sister. “For how long?”
A sharp pang ripped through Davey’s chest. She couldn’t lie to him. She just couldn’t. “Hopefully for just a little while.”
Seeming to accept this, Hogan nodded bravely. “Hi, Lana.”
The cheerleader flashed a smile capable of charming any guy, no matter his age. “Hello, handsome.”
Passing his hand into Lana’s, Davey clutched the girl’s forearm. Gratitude and fear were all rolling into one huge cloud of emotion. Davey swallowed. “Lana, I can’t thank you enough.”
Lana shook her head. There were tears in her eyes. “I wish you would let me go to the police.”
“You can’t. Ethan explained this. You would only get hurt.”
“I know. I know.” Lana took a deep breath. “I just feel like shit leaving you here.”
Davey looked pointedly down at Hogan. “You aren’t around kids much, huh?”
Realizing her mistake, Lana was instantly apologetic. “Shit. I’m sorry.” She clamped her free hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she mumbled.
“It’s okay.” Davey smiled. “He’s probably heard worse.”
“Yeah, I’m the youngest of three. But I promise that bad language is the worst that will happen while the little guy is with me.”
Behind them, one of the goons cleared his throat. “I’m coming!” Davey quickly called back. Kneeling to the pavement, she pressed a tender but lingering kiss to Hogan’s forehead. “Be a good boy,” she whispered.
“I will.”
She held up her little finger. “Pinky swear it.”
Grinning, Hogan wrapped his smallest finger in hers and all but yelled, “Pinky swear!”
Pulling him close so he wouldn’t see her tears, she held him tightly for several long seconds. Then she stood and walked away, carefully wiping her eyes.
23
Bruised and bloodied, Davey sat staring at the floor in Marx’s office. Only moments after returning from saying goodbye to Hogan, he had wasted no time forcing her to strip down to her underwear. With an oddly detached interest, she studied the blanket of welts spreading across her arms and legs. The marks—a product of nearly two dozen lashings from a leather belt Marx had pulled from his waist—gradually darkened to angry shades of red and purple. Davey had counted every blow and processed the hurt. Each time the belt struck her flesh the pain became less than it was before. Now she couldn’t feel anything. At least physically. In her mind, an unnamed emotion had taken seed and slowly pushed through the fog of numbness that dulled her other senses.
She had lost track of time since the beating started. What felt like hours could have actually only been minutes. Help would come. She knew that. But Ethan had sworn not to interfere until her brother was far away and Marx’s thugs would not be able to lay a finger on him. For Hogan, Davey could endure anything. Even this. But when Marx undid the zipper of his pants, something inside of her snapped.
Suddenly, survival was no longer the goal. Marx had to pay. He had to suffer for everything he’d done. Palmer. Her parents. Hogan. Every one of them had been hurt at the behest of this monster. Tonight, that reign of terror would end…even if Davey had to die stopping it.
Staring coldly at the bulge centered at the crotch of Marx’s pants, a scornful laugh passed through her lips. “Your dick is a joke. It’s no wonder you hit women. We wouldn’t feel anything otherwise.”
Marx reacted instantly. Lashing out, his knuckles struck Davey’s face with blinding force and everything went dark. Shaking her head to make sure it was still there, she opened her eyes and found herself staring up at the ceiling. The blow had knocked her flat on her back. If this plan didn’t work, at least she would be unconscious for the worst of it—the part when he shoved his filthy cock inside of her.
Her entire head felt like a giant toothache, but Davey wasn’t about to let a little pain stop her. “I bet your mother didn’t care about your tiny dick. It doesn’t take much to satisfy a whore.”
The remark earned another dose of punishment as Marx buried his shoe into Davey’s ribcage, inciting a cascade of agony along her right side. Every molecule of air expelled from her lungs in a whoosh. Reflexively she tucked into a ball, curling herself around the pain but also shielding herself from the next kick destined for her damaged body. When his foot found its target, Davey was lifted from the floor with the force of the blow. Landing on her hands and knees, she crawled forward, coughing as her lungs struggled to retrieve enough air to keep her conscious. Blood trickled down her chin, splattering against her hands and onto the floor just before she collapsed. The pain was relentless. Breathing was pure torture. Each time her lungs expanded, the hurt was enough to make her black out. Davey gritted her teeth. She couldn’t allow that. She had to finish it.
Moving slowly toward her, Marx bent over until his face was directly in front of Davey’s. “I promised this would be fun. Are you having fun yet?”
Pushing herself up until she sat somewhat upright, she wiped the blood from her mouth. “Time of my life.” Even though it felt like smiling would split her face apart, she dared to anyway. “Was it only your mother who screwed you? Or did Daddy touch you too?”
Marx growled. “Bitch.” Grabbing a fistful of her hair, he pulled until it felt as if Davey’s neck would snap in two. His voice was a quiet fury as he whispered next to her ear. “How about I cut off your fingers and stuff them into that whore mouth?”
Laughing was probably the worst thing she could have done, but somehow she managed it, and her ribs protested with an explosion of pain that made her gasp. “You could just stuff my mouth with your cock. Then again, I’d still have plenty of room to talk.”
That was it. The last shred of control in Marx’s possession dissolved with a display of ungoverned rage as he flung Davey’s body with all of his might. Sailing wildly across the room, she crashed over the armchair, knocking the lamp on top of her as the bookcase abruptly—and painfully—ended her momentum. She lay stock-still, listening to the strange rasping of her breath as she assessed her injuries and wondered if she would even be able to move now that she had what she needed. But Marx’s approaching footsteps meant there was no time to figure it out. If she was going to make a move, she would have to do it now.
Taking as deep a breath as she could, Davey slid her hand beneath her chest and grabbed the cold steel of Marx’s pistol. Before the beating started, he had removed the revolver from its holster, setting it aside in favor of the leather belt.
Waiting until what she thought was the best moment, Davey rolled and lifted the gun, aiming for center mass. Marx’s expression widened with surprise and he halted mid-step. Then his eyes narrowed with recognition. With a furious snarl, he charged forward.
Her vision was blurred and out of focus, but Davey’s hands remained steady. Hesitating long enough to be sure of her aim, she pulled the trigger once, twice, and then a third time. Marx dropped like a stone. The remaining breaths in his body gurgled from his mouth and the new holes in his chest. Turning his head to Davey, he reached out for her with clawed a hand, trying to speak but unable to form the words. Locking eyes with him, Davey watched the life leech from his face as the light in those monstrous eyes vanished forever.
And then men were shouting. Repeated banging sounded outside the locked office. Only four bullets were left in the revolver—not nearly enough to take out the dozen loyal thugs who clamored to get inside.
Suddenly dizzy, she lurched sideways and the room spun around her. Her arms were heavy and the gun felt as if it weighed one hundred pounds. Scooting backward, she propped her back against the bookcase and did her best to keep the revolver trained on the doorway. Whoever came through first was destined to eat one of the remaining bullets. The pounding continued. So did the shouting. Maybe they were calling for Marx, but Davey couldn’t make out the words because the ringing in her ears drowned out every detail.
Suddenly, the pounding ceased, replaced by screams of pure horror and panic. Multiple guns went off, a booming cacophony of chaos that shook the floor beneath her feet. Davey didn’t know what to think. She was frightened. Whatever was happening was bad. The noise outside didn’t sound like a group of thugs defending themselves against a single man. It sounded as if a full blown war was raging, and the intensity of it threatened to split her skull apart.