Love Burns

by Mandi Beck

  “No. Take me.” I step in their path. My voice is steady, my heart is not. It’s beating so frantically at the thought of them trying to take Frankie, it makes even my skin pulse. My blood bubbling past the hand I have clamped over the wound on my shoulder with every beat. If they attempt to leave with her, I will get us killed, but not before I take down each and every one of them.

  “Why the fuck would we take you?” he sneers.

  “Do you know who I am? If I go missing, it will be all over every news channel in the state, hell, the country. They’ll be scrambling to get you what you want in order to look good for the media.” I have no fucking clue if that’s true; in fact, taking a pregnant woman is probably a better bargaining chip, but it’s all I have, and as long as she’s not the one they’re holding, I don’t care. “If Frankie has what you think she does, she can convince them to tell her what to look for. They aren’t gonna give me shit if you take her. They’re just going to come at you guns blazing, and I have no idea where Andrew would hide anything anywhere. She does.”

  Holding my breath, I wait and hope like hell he believes my bullshit theories. O’Reilly looks ready to argue, so I hurry to ask, “Frankie, you can do this, right? You can make them tell you what he hid?” I try to keep my tone encouraging, nodding at her to agree. When she does nothing but stare at me blankly, I go on. “As soon as they catch wind that I’m gone, the Federation is going to put out a press release and contact every media source they can. You need that kind of circus to get them to act. Once they do, you can take your evidence and slink off to the hole you crawled out of and nobody will know shit.”

  I can’t see if what I’m saying is sinking in since he’s standing behind me, but I know the moment he decides that what I’m saying might work by the look on Frankie’s face as she watches him over my shoulder. O’Reilly holsters his gun and gives her a shake, “Give me your phone.” He begins to drag her over to the blanket when I call out, “She didn’t bring hers, but mine is hooked up to the radio in my truck.” Frankie’s eyes widen at the lie. Hers is the one in the Rover, mine is tucked away in the picnic basket. If they’re going to leave her stranded out here, I don’t want them to know that Reggie knows where to find her, and since I texted him from my phone when we arrived, they might see that message. Plus, I have her cell phone finder on. All Reggie has to do is track her phone and he’ll know where these fuckers are.

  “Get her phone and keys. She can figure out how to make it out of here on her bleedin’ own. She won’t be taggin’ along to fuck this up more than she already has,” Kieran commands.

  I stand, stoic and unmoving, trying to convey whatever strength and confidence inside of me to Frankie. She looks like she’s going to faint from all that has happened, and I need her to be strong. O’Reilly comes back with the phone and keys, a smug smile across his bastard face.

  “Have fun walking, darlin’,” he sing-songs as he walks to stand beside Kieran and I.

  “We’ll be in touch in twenty-four hours. Don’t be stupid, and fuck this up. No coppers. I’ll flat line him if you betray us,” Kieran warns a trembling Frankie.

  Suddenly, I’m surrounded by his men as they move me toward one of the idling vehicles. I call out to her, “You can do this, Princess. Fuck keeping anyone but you and the baby safe. You hear me? You do what Sonny and Mav tell you to. They’ll know what to do!” I yell over her cries as they push me into the back of the SUV. It’s all too reminiscent of the night I was arrested for beating Andrew’s ass.

  “I love you, Deacon!” she calls out to me on a sob that echoes off the lake.

  They box me in on both sides so that I have no way of escaping before I get a chance to reply. Kieran settles in the front seat, and as we drive away, I duck my head to look at Frankie standing next to our picnic. I reach past the sweaty fucker to my left and place my palm against the glass. I do it to reassure her. To tell her that I love her. To express that I have faith in her. I’m not sure if it does all of that, but knowing that she’s safe as long as I’m with them soothes me enough to make a promise to myself that if they harm her in any way, they all fucking die.

  Red.

  Red.

  All I see is red.

  Blood.

  So much bright, red blood.

  It’s like déjà vu. I stand alone and watch the man that I love, my world, my everything, be driven away in the backseat of a car. Bleeding out from a gunshot wound, and I am absolutely powerless to stop them. This time though, it’s not the cops, the good guys, that have him. It’s the Irish Mafia. The bad guys, the Mob. The. Mob. How do we fight them and win? How can we not? They have Deacon—there’s no other option.

  My breath is coming in short hiccupping puffs as I try to calm myself. I have to think. Deac said to be his fierce girl. It’s up to me to save him. Oh God. It’s up to me to save him. As the enormity of that sinks in, I stumble to the blanket and the picnic basket where Deacon’s phone is. I don’t know why he told them I didn’t bring mine. At the moment I don’t care. As long as I have some way to call for help. Upending the basket, I riffle through our leftovers until I locate the phone. My hands are shaking so badly, it takes me three tries to get to the contacts. Who do I call first? Sonny, Mav, or Reggie? I can feel the panic rising and the pangs in my belly have started again.

  I kneel down and rub a hand over my baby. “Please, little Love, please be okay in there. I can’t handle anymore. I can’t stay strong for daddy without you,” I tell him, my voice cracking as I swallow past the tears that haven’t stopped raining down my face since they wrenched me out of Deacon’s arms.

  With a deep breath I decide to call Reggie first. He has more connections and would know what to do. I rock back and forth on my knees as I wait for him to answer, my breathing becoming more and more labored with each second that ticks by. When I finally hear the deep rumble of his voice, I completely break.

  “Yo, brotha. What’s up, you done playing hide and seek in the forest now?”

  “Re-eggie,” I stutter between gasping, soul-shaking sobs.

  “Frankie? What’s happened?” When I can’t get anything out beyond my nearly silent breath-stealing crying, “I need you to breathe, girl. Just breathe,” he demands gently.

  “They-they t-took h-him. They took Deacon. They sh-shot him and then they m-made him go with them,” I wail.

  “Motherfucker. Motherfucker!” he roars. Then there’s a lot of commotion on the other end of the line. The rest of my Loves must be there. I can faintly hear Sonny in the background. “Where are you, Princess? We’re coming for you now,” Reggie tells me in a more gentle voice.

  “At th-the lake. They took the k-keys and my phone.”

  “Okay, okay. We’re driving now. Get in the truck if you can and lock the doors for me, okay?” His voice is commanding and soft all at once. It helps to calm me. Makes me feel less alone in this moment where I am so very much alone. My world crumbling around me with every tear that falls.

  It takes them thirty-five minutes to get to me. Thirty-five minutes that felt like hours upon hours. Thirty-five minutes where I had nothing to think about other than the fact that the Irish Mafia had the father of my unborn child, my soul mate, my best friend, and I have no clue where they have taken him. Deacon was shot trying to protect me. SHOT. I try not to dwell on that and just pray that he’s okay. Pray that these men of deplorable dishonor so desperate to get the evidence that they need that they will keep him alive and unharmed. I know who and what Deacon is, and I know that he can take whatever beating they deliver. I just wish for him to not have to endure any of that pain. Not over me. Certainly not over Andrew. The fact that they shot him troubles me more and more as the minutes tick on.

  By the time they arrive, I am a tear-stained, weeping mess. I jump from the Rover and lunge at Sonny, babbling incoherently, just trying to explain to them what happened, but I can’t. I cannot get a single coherent syllable out, and then I hear Deac’s voice in my mind, I need my fierce girl right n
ow. He does need her. He deserves her. My body won’t stop trembling and the fine sheen of sweat brought on by anxiety makes my skin sticky, but I straighten my spine in determination and pull on all of my resolve and strength. Resolutely, I wipe the tears tracking down my face and blow out a breath and explain to them in as steady a voice as I can muster exactly what went down.

  When I finish, I look at them one by one expectantly. “What do we do now? Do we call Adams and Flores, the marshals, who?” I implore anxiously.

  The fear is written all over each of them in varying degrees, and I just want to shut my eyes and ignore it because it terrifies me even more that they’re scared.

  “First, let’s get the fuck out of here. Once we’re back at the house we can figure out how to move forward,” Reggie insists.

  Mav touches my temple gently. “You have a bruise here. Did they hurt you? Should we take you to the hospital?” The concern in his voice is evident. I haven’t felt any more pain in my abdomen and that’s my only concern for myself at the moment.

  “No, I’m fine. Deacon didn’t give them the chance to hurt me too badly.”

  He nods and wraps an arm around my shoulder, ushering me to the truck and helping me in. I watch as Trent cleans up our picnic and stows everything in the back of Deac’s Rover. Reg tosses him the key. “You drive D’s truck, we’ll meet you at the house.”

  Once Reggie and the Loves are all in the vehicles, we take off in a silence crackling with tension. Nobody speaks because we’re all lost in our own debilitating thoughts. Reg breaks the silence. “Frankie, you sure they were Irish?” he asks, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror.

  I nod solemnly. “Positive. I could tell by their names and accents, but they also used the word ‘gaff’ instead of house, so I’m pretty certain.” His mouth set in a grim line, I can almost see his thoughts as they flicker across his face. “Tell me right now that we can get him back, Reggie. Tell me that we will,” I plead.

  Blasting me with his ebony gaze, he utters with utmost certainty, “We will get him back, Frankie. No matter what we have to do. What laws we have to break. You understand me?” he asks sternly.

  Sonny turns in his seat toward me and Mav tucks me more firmly into his side and squeezes my shoulder. “My little brother will come home safe and in one piece, Princess. There’s nothing that will keep him from coming back to you. Not even the Mob,” Sonny assures me. “We just have to do all that we can on this end to make it happen,” he states before turning around in his seat again.

  Once back at the house, they bombard me with more questions. “Where was he shot? How bad was he bleeding? Why did they take him and what in the hell do they think you have that can put them away?” I answer each one in a detached, monotone voice. The longer he’s gone, the more distraught I become.

  “They said twenty-four hours is when they’ll call. They have my phone; couldn’t we just call them?” I ask. All I want is to hear his voice, have him tell me that he’s okay.

  Reggie’s head pops up. “They have your cell, Princess?”

  “Yes, for some reason Deac lied to them and had them take my phone instead of his. I’m not sure why,” I say, confused.

  “That brilliant motherfucker. Looks like our time in the sandbox stuck with him. OORAH, brother!” We all stare at him, baffled by his outburst. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he starts explaining. “While you were in the hospital that time, he downloaded one of those phone finder app things. As long as it’s not shut off, we will at least be able to track the phone from my phone and his,” Reg says, smiling for the first time since they came to my rescue.

  Sonny chimes in, “So we’ll know where he is? Then what?”

  “We won’t necessarily know where he is, but we’ll have a location on the phone, so we can at least go to it and force whoever has it to bring us to Deac. It’s definitely not our first course of action, but it’s a solid Plan B.”

  “Okay, what about Plan A, bro?” Mav asks him, pacing the room.

  “I think that we should have Frankie call the marshals and ask, again, why these guys think that she has anything. They gave her their card, let’s use it. Feel them out a bit and go from there. One of those guys is still alive, right?” He takes a deep breath and his eyes dart to mine. “Not to be dramatic or anything, but we call the cops, they’re not gonna want to negotiate shit and the Irish will feel betrayed and . . .” His voice trails off.

  “They’ll kill him,” I finish for him. “Won’t they? They’ll kill him because . . . just because.” My voice is tinged with a low-lying panic, bordering on hysteria, hovering right at the precipice and dying to bubble over. None of them answer me. They don’t need to. “I’ll go find my purse and the card,” I tell them absently as I head for the hall table where I left it.

  Making my way back to them, I doubt our ability to bring him home and I immediately feel guilty. They love him as much as I do and they won’t give up on Deacon. I can’t either. Reggie hands me Deac’s phone. “Just tell him that the letters are coming more frequently and becoming more aggressive, Frankie.” I look up at him startled—I had no clue. “Don’t give them more than you have to just yet.” I nod and take the phone from him, dialing in Deputy Riley’s number and listening to it ring over and over before I get his voice mail.

  Hanging up, I try the other number on the card for his partner, Deputy Baird, and get the same thing. Frustrated, I thumb the end button. “Nothing. Neither of them are answering.”

  Sonny is pacing along with Mav now, stabbing his fingers over and over through his short dark hair, his usually clean-shaven face sporting a five o’clock shadow. “Why don’t we go to the house and look around. Frankie might be able to find something that they couldn’t or at least maybe something that would point us in the right direction.”

  Reggie stands. “That’s actually a good idea. You still have your keys, right?”

  “Yeah, I have them. I don’t know if I’ll find anything that they couldn’t, but I need to do something.”

  We all move as one toward the door when Mav stops abruptly. “We need to call Pop. He’s on his way here to talk about the fight and the new promo. He needs to know. Oh fuck. How are we gonna tell him, Sonny?” Just then the door opens and Joe and my dad both walk through it, smiling when they see us and then just as quickly their smiles slip when they notice our solemn expressions.

  “Che cosa, bella?” my dad asks worriedly. We all look from one to the other. I can feel the tears starting to prick at the backs of my eyes. The thought of having to tell them, having to relive it all again, is almost unbearable. My father must be able to see the pain written across my face because he starts speaking to me in Italian, not giving me a second to answer him. Immediately he thinks it must be something with the baby.

  “No, Dad. The baby is fine,” I tell him in English so that the Loves know what we’re talking about. When my dad gets overly emotional, whether it be mad, sad, excited, whatever, he reverts to Italian.

  Joe looks to Sonny, his eldest son. “What’s going on, Jameson? Where’s Deacon?” he asks warily. A tiny sob escapes me, causing them all to turn in my direction.

  “Pop, Guy, let’s go sit down for a second and talk,” Sonny says. Then turning to us, “You guys go ahead, Trent and I will catch up.”

  “Are you sure, Sonny? We can wait,” Mav assures him.

  “No, you go.” They’re using words to speak, but they’re communicating more through looks and some silent understanding that I can’t figure out.

  “All right, brother.”

  That said, they lead me out the door and to the house I haven’t been back to in all this time.

  When we pull up into the driveway, Reggie turns in his seat as much as his large frame will allow. “Now, I don’t know how much they’ve cleaned up since that night. When Trent and I were here, it was a mess and I doubt it’ll be much better now. I just want you to be prepared. Okay?” I look out the window and stare at the house I called home and sh
iver as I remember the last time I was inside. Reaching for the door handle, I nod in agreement and step out of the truck. The three of us meet at the front of the vehicle and slowly make our way to the front door. Me fumbling with the keys and them close behind me, looking over their shoulders for what, I don’t know, while I unlock the door. I stop and face them. “Are we even allowed in here?” The thought never even occurred to me until now.

  “Do you care?” Reggie deadpans. An answer isn’t necessary. I don’t give a single fuck if we are allowed or not. If it means getting Deac back, I will break every goddamn rule known to man.

  Stepping in the front door, I’m taken back to that night. I was happy here for a very short time, but the memories of my attack wipe every happy moment I ever had in this place. I flip the switch for the hall light not expecting anything. I’m surprised when it actually goes on. “So where do you want to start?” I begin and then stop abruptly when we turn the corner and I see the dining table and two of the chairs overturned, russet stains smeared on the material and the oak floors.

  Mav places himself between me and the mess in front of me. “Princess, I know this is hard being back here. I know it is. But, Frankie, we have to try to find whatever it is that they’re looking for if we want to save Deac, okay? If there was any other way, we wouldn’t be here.” I swallow past the lump of fear, aggravation, and just plain damn hurt and head for Andrew’s office. “I’ll look in here first then.”

  “There’s our girl,” Mav says encouragingly.

  Slowly, I push open the door that leads into the office and gasp at the mess I find. Drawers are dumped and tossed aside, picture frames smashed and broken, leather chair and love seat slashed, stuffing spewing from the cushions. It’s like every damn cop movie I’ve ever seen. Careful not to touch anything I don’t have to, I make my way to the desk and see that even the locked drawer has been somehow opened. I pick my way through the chaos and over to the floor to ceiling bookshelves, none of which hold any books since they’ve all been torn from the shelves, and reach behind it to pull the lock. I then slide the entire shelf to the side revealing Andrew’s safe. He was so excited when they installed these cases and the carpenter gave him the idea to have them lock and roll together or apart.