by Kelli Walker
The address they shared when they were married.
There were five distinct calls, and all of them initiated by Alicia. The police reports had varying degrees of difference. Sometimes Alicia was crying, sometimes she was yelling. But every single time, the police officer noted the distinct lack of emotion coming from Langley. Even when answering the officers questions, they felt the need to note that Langley was never as worked up as her.
If ever.
Which was curious, because police officers didn’t usually notate shit like that.
But Alicia was right. If she had been physically injured by Langley, there was no proof of it. The police reported that she wasn’t wounded and there were no hospital visits to any of the nearby medical facilities that had files on her. So I dug into Langley’s basic life.
His work. His family. His reputation.
He ran his own business in town. A general merchandising facility. And apparently, it was pretty popular. The Yelp reviews on it were outstanding and people were constantly boasting of how nice and helpful Langley was. He had three of them strewn across New York. Some idiotic mash-up between a high-end thrift store and a fucking Big Lots.
But people seemed to enjoy it.
And him.
A simple internet search brought up multiple articles. The ribbon-cutting ceremony for his first store, where Alicia looked dead-eyed with her fake smile and her put-together outfit. I’d never seen her dressed that way. She was in a conservative dress with a high neckline, no sleeves, and her hair pulled back from her face. She was hiding behind those thin-rimmed glasses I saw her wearing in the picture of her file, and it started me wondering.
I kept scrolling through the articles, finding more pictures of them to confirm my theory.
Picture after picture, and it was all the same. Langley was in a tailored suit and Alicia was in some sort of conservative dress. Enough to show her off and boast to the community the kind of woman he could have, but covered up enough for men to find her boring. Tasteless. Bland. Always in heels, always with those damn pearls in her ears, and always with her fucking hair up.
She didn’t dress in the baggy clothes because of him.
She dressed in them because it was the exact opposite of what she had been wearing.
What she was probably forced to wear.
I gripped my phone so tightly I thought it was going to break. That motherfucker was going to pay. No woman should ever have to endure the manipulation and the emotional abuse Alicia had endured.
I was on a rampage. I found their wedding announcement and noted how happy they looked. Back when Alicia didn’t understand the type of man she was about to marry. Her smile was genuine and her eyes were crinkled. I could see the light in her eyes as she held onto Langley, looking straight into the camera and rejoicing in her soon-to-be union.
And then, there was him.
That asshole.
Staring down at her with the fakest fucking smile and the blackest of eyes.
I found his social media accounts and scrolled through everything. His updates. His pictures. His events. His announcements. And with each flick of my finger there was Alicia. With a light in her eyes dimmer than the last. It was like a horror movie playing out in front of my eyes. I was watching her slowly die in those photos. Slowly slip away into someone she wasn’t. Caught between fleeing and enduring, yet not having the energy to do either.
This man wasn't going to touch Alicia.
Never again.
I sat there and looked down the hallway. The light underneath Alicia’s door was off. I checked the clock and realized I’d been sitting there for three fucking hours scrolling through shit.
The fucking hours that bastard had sucked from my life.
The hairs on my arm began to stand on end. My eyes drifted towards the window and I felt a tug to get up and look. Something was wrong. I could sense it. My neck was bristling and my muscles were aching to jump into action. Planting my hands on the arms of the chair, I stood. Slowly. Steadily. So as to not make a sound and wake Alicia. I could charge like a rhino and creep like a cat. And for some reason, I felt the need to be quiet.
Silent.
Attentive.
I walked over to the window and peered down to the street. And there he was, with those beady blue eyes and that stringy blonde hair. Staring up at her fucking apartment. I resisted the urge to run after him again. I resisted the urge to jump out the fucking window and chase after him. Instead, our eyes locked and I rolled my shoulders back.
Alicia was protected, and he was going to know that.
His eyes fell from mine before he wrestled with something in his pocket. I took my gun off my hip and held it at my side, ready to raise it up and put a bullet in that bastard’s head. A car in front of him blinked and he got in, his eyes glancing up at me one last time.
I was tempted to level my fucking gun at him anyway.
He got into the car and cranked it up. I traded my gun for my phone and pulled up the camera so I could take some pictures. I caught several angles of the car, including two decent shots of the license plate.
I sent them off to Yoake, asking him to run the plates for me.
I stood there and watched him drive off into the night. I wasn’t going to chase him and leave Alicia vulnerable. That wasn’t my role. It was my role to keep her safe. My men would track this asshole down for Brendan. I stepped back from the window and holstered my gun, then tossed my head down the hallway.
Should I wake Alicia up? Tell her what had happened?
No. There was no other reason to panic her for the day. I had it covered, and we were two steps closer than we were just a few hours ago.
No reason to wake her and make her panic.
I sat back down in the chair and leaned into the cushions. I closed my eyes, allowing them a brief moment’s rest before I opened them again. Two sightings in one day didn’t allow me the privilege of sleeping on the job. I needed to stay alert in case he grew ballsy in the middle of the night.
Because if he came knocking on that door, he’d be met with my fist against his nose.
My phone rang on my hip and I snapped my eyes open. I shoved my hand into my pocket, muting the ringer before I picked it up. I looked down the hallway to see if I had woken Alicia, and when I couldn’t hear her shuffling around I leaned back into the chair.
“Whatcha got, Yoake?”
“Already got some hits on that license plate,” he said.
“Some hits?” I asked.
“Yep. The car’s a rental. But the company’s shady as fuck. The one he was driving has been used in petty thefts and drive-by’s. Even a damn kidnapping, Smith.”
“How the hell is the thing still on the road?”
“That’s why the company’s shady. The license plate got all these hits, but the car doesn’t match the description in the police reports.”
“What?” I asked.
“Yeah. One police report has that license plate on a black and blue van, and the other report has it on a white beat-up SUV.”
“Okay. I’m gonna need you guys for groundwork tomorrow. I want to know why the hell this company’s still in operation and how they’re planting license plates on cars they don’t belong to and getting away with it,” I said.
“I can already answer that. The rental car company is local. One shop in the heart of the city. It’s run by Diego Martella.”
“That’s not possible. Martella’s been in prison for half a fucking decade.”
“Exactly, so I looked into it. Apparently, Martella passed it down to his son, Roberto. He’s been running the place since his father went to prison. And guess who he’s pals with?”
“Langley.”
“Yep. Got them at lunch together. Coffee together. Walking down the street together. A regular fucking couple, these two.”
“Send it to me, then gather it all in a file,” I said. “I want you to track Roberto’s movements throughout the city. If they’re so damn ch
ummy, maybe his ass will lead us to wherever Langley’s holed up.”
“On it boss. Files incoming.”
I hung up the phone with Yoake and my phone began to light up. Email after email with gigabytes of attachments. Each time it shook in my hand, my grip tightened. Diego Martella was busted five years ago by my fucking team for trafficking hundreds of pounds of heroin into the city through its ports. It was the biggest fucking score my company ever made. Put us on the damn map for our services.
Which was why Langley wasn’t approaching the apartment with me in it.
He knew who I was.
Alicia
I tossed and turned all night, trying my best to get comfortable. I tried to settle my mind enough to sleep, but it wasn’t working. Ryder was in my apartment. In my living room. In the same space as me. A man I never thought I would see again or experience again had knocked on my door, claiming he could protect me. If I wasn’t staring at the ceiling and thinking of him sleeping down the hallway I was worrying about Langley.
About where he could be and what he was doing when he wasn’t lurking outside my window.
My fitful night’s rest called for a massive pot of coffee. The sun was beginning to rise over the horizon and my body ached with exhaustion. I pulled myself from bed and dragged myself to the bathroom, splashing some water in my face. I tried to clean myself up as best as I could, then I went and changed my clothes.
That was the best part of being away from Langley. I was no longer a slave to what he wanted me to wear. I didn’t want to see another dress as long as I fucking lived. Those damned pearl earrings and those blessed heels. I’d nursed more popped blisters underneath the disgusted eye of my ex-husband than at any other time in my life. It had taken years to save up enough money underneath his nose to leave. Ten dollars here. Six dollars there. Change in the car and whatever else I found in his pockets. I had a fireproof box I kept in the guest bedroom filled with the money that took me seven years to collect.
And when I left, the first thing I bought was a new wardrobe.
Baggy shirts and jeans and cardigans I could wrap around myself three times. Massive sweaters and leggings and flats and fuzzy socks. Absolutely no fucking jewelry and hair ties to throw my hair up with and new glasses so I could relish in breaking the old ones.
Those idiotic thin rims he demanded I wear for him.
I shuffled out across the living room and into the kitchen. Ryder was awake and alert, and I wondered if he’d been up all night like that. His massive frame dwarfed the chair he was sitting in, and if I wasn’t so tired from not sleeping I would’ve giggled.
Laughed, even.
Not that I did that much anymore.
“Coffee?” I asked.
“Please.”
“Do you take it with anything?”
“I can get it.”
“No, no, no. You stay seated.”
My back tensed with the phrase and I felt Ryder’s eyes on my body. He had trained me well, my ex-husband. That was our exchange every morning. I was up before him to cook breakfast, and he would come downstairs and sit. I would offer him coffee, he would take some. I’d ask him how he took it, he would say he could get it. And I would coo at him.
Tell him to stay seated.
Like he was some hardworking man who didn’t need to be on his feet at home.
I ripped the cabinet door open and pulled out two mugs. The strong scent of coffee relaxed my body, but I could still feel Ryder’s gaze. I heard the chair creak underneath his body weight before the floorboards groaned, his heavy footfalls carrying him towards me.
“I’ve got it,” he said. “Go sit down.”
I bit down on my tongue to keep from fighting him. To keep from playing the game I’d played for over a decade. It felt unnatural to me. For a man to get me something. Even after being divorced for over a year, it still felt wrong.
I hated myself for it.
I relinquished the coffee pot to him and went over to the couch. I flopped down onto the cushions, hearing the sigh underneath my body weight. I leaned my head back against the frame and closed my eyes as the smell of coffee traveled closer.
Nearer.
Until the steam was wafting up my nose.
“Thanks,” I said.
“No problem.”
“Any plans for the day?”
“Just watching out for you.”
“Well, you’ve got lunch off,” I said.
“Why?”
“I’m going out with Becca,” I said. “We have these weekly lunch dates now, though I’ve bailed on the last two.”
“Then I’m coming.”
“Ryder, it’s fine. It’s just Becca.”
“I’m still coming.”
“No you’re not,” I said.
“Everywhere you go, I go,” he said.
“So if I take too long in the bathroom, you gonna come busting in?”
“If you don’t respond to my calls for you, yes.”
“It’s a friendly outing. You aren’t needed at it,” I said.
“As a professional, I don’t agree.”
“And as the woman being hunted, I do.”
“For a woman who’s being hunted, as you so delicately put it, you don’t seem concerned about being attacked in public.”
“He’s never attacked me, period. He won’t touch me in public. It would ruin his perfect little image.”
“Alicia, I need to go with you. I can stay in the car. I don’t have to be right there next to you. But someone needs to-”
“No,” I said.
I brought my mug of coffee to my lips as Ryder’s gaze hardened on me. It wasn’t happening. He wasn’t coming. It was time I gained some control back in my own life. It had been ripped from me. Slowly. Torturously. Without my knowing it until it was too late. And I wasn’t going to be taking orders from yet another man after getting away from a set of orders I didn’t want to follow in the first damn place.
“You’re going to text me when you get there, and every hour beyond that,” Ryder said.
“Fine,” I said. “That I can do.”
“And if you don’t text. I’m not calling. I’m not reporting. I’m coming. For you.”
“Wouldn't expect anything less,” I said.
“Though you really should let me come.”
“Can it, Smith.”
He clenched his jaw and I drew in a deep breath.
I finished off my coffee and went back to my room. I called Becca to make sure we were still meeting up, then I left the apartment around eleven. I could feel Ryder watching me from the apartment as I drove off, but I kept my eyes trained on the cars behind me.
It was hard to shake the feeling that I was being followed.
“Alicia! What did you do? Hit every red light from here to the coast?”
“Practically,” I said with a grin.
I embraced my friend and held onto her for a long time in the middle of the parking lot.
“You’re always a sight for sore eyes,” I said.
“Then you shouldn’t keep bailing on me,” Becca said.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re here now. Ready to go get some food?”
“I’ve got so much to talk to you about.”
“You act like we haven’t talked in weeks,” she said with a giggle.
“It feels like it.”
“Alicia, we talked yesterday. What happened?”
“So. Fucking. Much. Come on. I’ll fill you in.”
I walked into the restaurant with Becca and the hostess sat us down. My head was on a swivel, searching for Langley as we scooted into a booth. I pulled out my phone and sent a text to Ryder letting him know I was there, then I set an alarm to go off after an hour.
“What’s that for?” Becca asked.
“That’s the story I have to tell you,” I said.
“What’s going on? You're worrying me.”
“You
remember that call from my lawyer that interrupted us?”
“Yeah? So what?”
“That was him letting me know he called in a favor with a friend of his.”
“Is your lawyer hot?”
“What the hell does that have to do with anything?” I asked.
“Because only men who like women call in favors,” Becca said.
“No. It’s nothing like that. He called in a favor with a friend to help find Langley. There’s this security company or whatever in town and he knows the guy who owns it.”
“I’m not following.”
“The company specializes in protecting people and hunting people down. He asked his friend to help him find Langley and, in the process, the company agreed to keep me safe. You know, since there’s proof Langley’s coming out of the woodwork.”
“So you’ve got some super secret security team following you around now? Are they were? Oh, are they in all black? Sunglasses? Ready to delete my memory if I know too much?”
“I hate you sometimes, you know that?” I asked.
“I keep you on your toes,” she said, giggling. “But I like the sound of all this. People actively seeking out Langley instead of ignoring you like the fucking police did.”
“Right? So after I hang up the phone with my lawyer, someone knock at my door. And I’m panicking because my gut instinct is Langley. But it’s not. It’s the guy who’s agreed to protect me. Free of charge, by the way.”
“Please tell me he’s hot.”
“What is it with you right now? No. I mean, just… damn it, Becca.”
“So he is hot! What’s he look like? Tall? Dark? Muscular? Big dick?”
“Becca, the man’s my fucking ex from high school.”
Her mouth dropped open as our waitress refilled our drinks.
“What?!” she asked.
“He’s a guy I dated in high school,” I said.
“The guy from this security company is your ex from high school.”
“Yes.”
“You’re kidding.”
“You know, I really wish I was,” I said.
“What’s his name? What happened with you guys?”