by Tate James
“Yes,” I breathed.
With every second that passed, Remy grew more and more anxious, and I was worried he could hear something we couldn't.
The mariachi band playing from the restaurant was loud, but there was a brief moment between songs that made us both go rigid with fear. There, between one note and the next, was a sound eerily like a gunshot, sharp and piercing through the night. It came from the apartment. I let out a gasp, and Remy took off, running up the steps, eager to get to the source of the noise.
"Stay here!" Tatum yelled before running after him.
I balled my hands into fists, the urge to follow almost unbearable. I could hear my heartbeat thundering in my ears even over the cacophony, and fear was like a living thing inside me, making it hard to breathe.
Panicked questions exploded in my mind. Was Denver in there? Was Krew? Had Denver been shot while Tatum and I stood out here uselessly?
A fear I didn’t want to even consider, a fear that spread horror though me like poison, that made it feel like my heart was being torn to shreds, rose above the rest.
What if Krew had just shot Denver?
17
“Well well well,” a sickly familiar voice whispered from the darkness behind me. “Looks like I'm getting a two-for-one deal.”
Sucking in a startled breath, I whipped around then froze when I saw Randall Strickland emerge from the gloom with Denver gagged and handcuffed at his side. My eyes watered with relief at seeing Denver alive, even as I took in the bruises covering his shadowed face and the way he was hunched over, as if in pain. I saw his expression twist with fear at the sight of me and his shoulders slumped.
“I wasn't expecting so much company tonight,” Mr. Strickland chatted conversationally, like we’d just happened upon each other in a grocery store instead of a dark alley with someone I loved beaten and held prisoner.
I stayed silent, not acknowledging him, as I darted a look at the three men flanking Randall and Denver. Two were wearing the leather vests I recognized from the surveillance photos I’d found in my father’s office. The other was dressed in normal clothes, but there was something cold, something ominous and threatening about him.
I briefly contemplated running, but I couldn’t force my feet to move. I couldn’t go, not if it meant leaving Denver, Tatum, and Remy behind. I blinked back the tears and stood tall, forcing myself to not give into the fear and adrenaline flooding me.
I exchanged a brief glance with Denver, apologizing with my eyes. I was too late. We hadn’t gotten there in time to warn him.
I gasped and jerked back when one of the men in vests suddenly lunged at me, but I wasn’t fast enough to avoid the meaty hand that grabbed my arm. I winced but managed to swallow my whimper when he squeezed hard enough to bruise.
Randall chuckled at the pain I’m sure was on my face then turned to the tall, menacing looking man next to him and handed him a black, leather briefcase.
“Your bounty. Thank you for collecting him for me,” Mr. Strickland said before dismissing him with a slight wave of his hand.
Randall wasted no time forcing us up the steps to the building in which Remy and Tatum had just disappeared. I wanted to call out a warning for them to leave, to run before they were caught, but I knew that would alert Randall to their presence when there was a chance they could avoid detection otherwise. I could only hope they were safe and able to get us help.
The goon holding me swung the door open, letting it bang back against the wall. Inside was dimly lit with bare fluorescent bulbs attached to the high ceiling, illuminating an open space roughly forty feet long and wide. Exposed brick covered all of the walls, giving the loft an industrial feel. In the center, aluminum tables were lined up.
On the closest tables were digital scales, then huge rolls of plastic wrap and tape on the next, and a variety of bags and boxes on the last tables. It looked like a makeshift assembly-line. There was a strange smell I couldn’t identify, almost like burning plastic with an undertone of perfume or incense, that seemed to permeate the space.
Outside, you could still hear the loud sounds of the restaurant. I strained to listen for Remy or Tatum, but heard nothing. I scanned the room past the tables, searching for places where they might be hidden, but the far end was cloaked in shadow, and I couldn’t see any likely spots.
“What is this place?” I wondered aloud.
I don’t know what I’d expected to see in here, but it wasn’t this mostly empty room with the odd smell and weird set up. The burly man with his hand on my arm yanked me forward as soon as I spoke, making me stumble and almost face-plant on the concrete floor. It was only his punishing grip that kept me from falling. He spun me around so I could see one of the other lackeys grab Denver by the shoulders and force him down into a metal chair.
“I thought you were smarter than this,” Mr. Strickland tsked with a sneer on his hard, weathered face. His eyes, the same green as Krew’s, were cold and cruel as he stared at me. “I was lenient before. I even let your father send you out of town, but if you’re too stupid to stay away, then there’s nothing I can do about that. Odd though that you’ll die here too.” He smiled evilly as he motioned to the room around us.
All at once, I understood. The man who was holding me up gripped me tighter when I staggered.
No. Nonono. This is where Daddy died?
I must’ve thought that out loud, because Randall sliced his gaze to me. His smile widened, and a mean glint entered his eyes. He enjoyed knowing I was in pain.
“Your daddy,” he said mockingly, “had been trying to take down my organization for over fifteen years. At first, he was harmless. Just an eager patrol officer with something to prove. But when he started sticking his nose where it don’t belong, I had to make an example of him.”
Randall flicked his fingers at me, and the man holding me ripped the camera strap over my head then smashed it into the concrete. He twisted me around then began patting me down. I struggled, trying to escape him when his hand lingered on my breast, then whimpered in fear and disgust when he rubbed up against me as he took my phone out of my pocket. I was shaking when he held my phone in front of my face and didn’t understand what he wanted at first.
“Unlock it, or I’ll make you unlock it,” he hissed meaningfully, yanking at my arm so I fell into him.
I understood his threat perfectly. With a trembling hand, I quickly unlocked my phone. He chuckled lowly but let me put a few inches of distance between us while he scrolled through my list of recent calls.
“She hasn’t called the cops. Dialed Krew’s number, though,” he grunted.
Randall sneered at me as the lackey holding me dropped my cell phone to the ground with a clatter and ground it in the concrete with the heel of his boot. Hearing the crunch of the glass made my stomach tighten with fear. We’d made a huge mistake coming here.
“It’s a good thing I sent Krew to do a pick up today. I remember how he used to follow you around as a kid. He’s always had a weak spot for pretty girls.”
I swallowed deeply, ignoring the barb he threw, implying I was only a piece of ass to Krew, and opened my mouth to ask the questions bubbling up within me. I wanted answers, but I also wanted to buy time. I still didn’t know where Tatum and Remy were, but I desperately hoped that wherever he was, he was calling the cops.
Randall cut me off before I could say anything. “Your daddy tried to bring me down, but I’ve got too many people protecting me. We've got a nice little set up, and enough happy politicians with fat pockets, willing to hide whatever I want them to.”
He walked along the rows of tables as he talked, his boots thudding on the concrete in time to the music below us. “He was fighting a losing battle. It became an obsession for him. Nothing good ever comes from an obsessed man,” he quipped, cutting his eyes back to Denver.
I looked at Denver, wondering if that's what he was. Was he obsessed with avenging my father's death? Was he obsessed with saving Krew? I gazed at him, wishing I could ask him
all the questions swarming my brain, but also wondering if I'd ever get the chance to. Randall looped back around, coming to a stop at my side. He stared down at me with a look of sick anticipation before casually pulling a pistol from his holster.
“I once told your daddy that I was gonna kill you. I'm a man of my word, Merritt.” He leaned down so his hot breath fanned over the side of my face and whispered, “I'll be honest, I’m looking forward to seeing you both in the ground."
I squeezed my eyes shut as he stretched his arm out and pointed the pistol at me, listening to Denver bellow behind his gag. His words were inarticulate, but the fury, fear, and panic were clear. I wished I could go back to that morning, when my biggest worry was loving three men and knowing I couldn’t choose between them.
Gritting my teeth, I held back the sob that wanted to escape when the cold metal of the barrel touched my temple. I felt the guard holding my arm move out of the way and knew I was about to die.
He doesn’t want to get my blood on him.
The thought was oddly calm, as if I was making a detached observation instead of facing death.
18
Denver’s voice rang out, startling me so badly I jumped, making the gun barrel scrape painfully against my skin. My eyes flew open, and I saw that he’d managed to loosen the fabric gagging him.
“I know where the missing drive is!” he shouted, his eyes glittering with hatred as he glared at Randall.
I stared at him slack-jawed as another little piece of the puzzle fell into place. My dad and Denver both knew about the drive. Randall dropped the pistol to his side and jerked around to face Denver, an ugly scowl twisting his features.
“Isn’t that what you’ve been looking for? Isn’t that why you put a hit on me?” Denver pressed.
Denver’s grin was smug, but when his gaze flicked to me, I could see the hollow expression beneath telling me how worried he was. I knew that fear was reserved for me and me alone. He wasn’t scared for himself, and that only served to make me scared for him.
Randall’s face turned a bright red as he marched closer to Denver. Looming over him, he growled, “You’re playing with things you don’t understand, boy.”
Denver looked defiantly up at Mr. Strickland, his face settling into an expression of calm confidence, before speaking. “I think I understand plenty.”
Randall lifted the hand still holding the pistol and hit Denver on the side of his head. I cried out when the blow whipped Denver’s head to the side and split the skin over his temple.
Denver slumped to the side in the chair. I thought for one terrifying second that he’d been knocked out, but he groaned and heaved himself upright. He looked horrifying, blood from the gash already coating half his face and dripping down to stain his dark shirt, but he smirked up at Randall as though unconcerned.
“I hear you’ve been looking for it for a while now. Bet you’ve got some suppliers that are hounding you to find their little program. If something like that fell into the wrong hands, you might have a bit of a problem, right?” Denver’s words were low and knowing.
Randall raised his hand to hit him once more, and I screamed, “No! I have it!”
I knew the chances of us surviving this night were slim to none, but I couldn’t just stand there and watch as the man I loved was beaten. I had to do something to try to save Denver. One more blow to the head and he would pass out, and I’d be left to fight alone.
Denver went rigid and cut his gaze to me with a desperate shake of his head. His cool, self-assured demeanor completely disappeared as he wordlessly urged me to shut up.
I grimaced. I didn’t understand his plan but realized I’d just fucked it up.
Denver let out a slow breath and tried to smooth out his expression, but it was too late. My shouted words hung in the air like they were tangible, and Mr. Strickland had watched our less than subtle exchange with sharp, shrewd eyes. I glanced at Randall in time to see his gaze widen and a slow smile spread across his face.
“I’d been thinking all this time it was Denver that had the drive,” he muttered, staring at me, “but it makes perfect sense. It wasn’t stolen the night I killed your father. He had it before then. Miller stole my goddamn network,” Randall fumed before stalking closer to me. His cheeks were red and angry as he puffed out air and paced.
“I killed him thinking he was here to steal evidence. I didn’t think he already had it.” He jerked around to focus on me then stalked closer. Gripping my shirt in his fist, he yanked me to him.
“Where is it?!” he screamed.
I flinched but stood still, trying my best to keep steady and not give in to my fear.
“Let Denver go, and I’ll tell you where it is,” I retorted, watching him warily.
Mr. Strickland didn’t seem phased by my demand. He blinked at me then chuckled, gazing at me with a mocking kind of amusement like I was a whining child before it abruptly shifted to fury.
“You don’t get to make demands, Miller,” he seethed then threw me to the floor.
Denver shouted a denial just as my head whipped back to crack against the concrete. Burning pain radiated down my neck and back, and the impact of my body against the hard floor knocked the breath from me. I couldn’t even cry out. I lay there trying frantically to fill my seized lungs while Randall paced at my feet. The pounding of his boots seemed to bounce off the walls of my skull, intensifying the hammering agony.
“I just don’t understand why Miller came back here that night. If he already had the evidence he needed, why was he here?” he muttered to himself.
As soon as I managed to suck in a labored breath, I started crawling on the concrete, trying to get away from the men above me and over to Denver. I had no idea how to pick handcuffs, but maybe I could figure something out.
That was the only clear thought through the pain and haze throbbing inside my skull. Fear and regret were a toxic mess trying to crush me under their weight, but I kept inching forward, refusing to give up.
It wouldn’t be hard for Randall to break in and search my dad’s house. Tatum and I had left the drive there, not wanting to risk taking it with us just in case anything happened. Glancing over my shoulder when I heard Randall’s footsteps stop, I saw him reaching in the pocket of his jeans, probably about to call someone to check, when another sound directed my attention towards the entrance of the warehouse.
A growl. A low, menacing growl.
“He was coming to save me,” Krew answered as he stepped into the flickering fluorescent light. Tatum and Remy were with him. “Someone saw me steal the network. He was here to make sure you didn’t find out.”
I couldn’t tell if Krew was slurring his words or if I had a concussion and it was warping my perception. Randall looked like he was a split-second from exploding. Rage and the threat of violence were terrifyingly clear on his hard face. He wordlessly stomped towards Denver. In one swoop, he ripped open Denver’s dark, bloodstained shirt, revealing that he was wired with a microphone.
“You picked him? Over your family?” Randall asked slowly, menacingly, as he slowly twisted his head back to Krew.
The sound of sirens in the distance seemed to grow louder as I changed direction to shuffle closer to the wall. I pressed my back against the brick and tried to suppress the bile rising up in my throat.
I felt Krew’s eyes rest on me for a moment before he turned back to his father. “The Millers have always been more of a family to me than you’ll ever be,” he spat.
There is a moment when you know trauma is coming, when the second it takes for the blow to land feels like an eternity, when the anticipation of pain slows time so you can live in that too-long second and know, with brutal clarity, that you can’t escape it.
Maybe it was the crack to my head, but the time between when I saw Randall lunge at me, saw him draw his foot back, and when the blow landed seemed like it took forever.
He kicked me in the gut so hard that my body lifted off the ground a little. Agony, the l
ikes of which I’d never felt, exploded through me, making me feel like my insides were rupturing. I opened my mouth to scream, but all that came out was a wheeze. I instinctively curled up into a ball, trying to protect my middle for the next hit. But it never came.
Through the pounding in my head and the tears blinding me, I heard a vicious growl and saw a blur of dark fur lunge past me. Randall screamed in pain. I blinked, trying to focus through my hazy vision, and saw Remy latched onto Randall’s arm, biting through skin, muscle, and tendon in a savage spray of blood and gore. Randall struggled, trying to beat Remy off, but finally fell to the ground under my dog’s weight. That was the last thing I squeezed my eyelids shut.
I tried to block out the noise of fighting, of my dog’s snarling, of blows landing as my men bellowed. I waited, wishing for the encroaching darkness to finally swallow me down into its pain-free depths.
I was teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when I felt gentle hands slide under my body and pick me up, bringing me to a warm, comforting chest. I knew he was trying to be as careful as possible, but I cried out in pain as I was moved. My ribs hurt, and my entire middle ached fiercely from where Randall kicked me.
“I’m so sorry, Butterfly,” Tatum whispered, sounding tortured.
“Are we safe?” I slurred, the words feeling too big in my mouth.
“Yeah, baby, you’re safe. We’re safe. It’s over, Butterfly. It’s all over.”
19
I woke to a cadence of slow, steady beeps gradually picking up speed in time with my ascent into wakefulness. When I pried my eyes open, I was met with a white ceiling, dim lighting, and the faint scent of disinfectants.
“She’s awake,” I heard Krew whisper beside me.
“Thank fuck,” came Tatum’s heartfelt exclamation.
I rolled my head to the side when I felt a hand settle on my thigh through the thin blankets covering me, squinting through the pain and haziness. My head was pounding, though thankfully not as badly as it had been in the loft, and even the low light seemed too bright.