by Mandi Beck
Face to face with the safe, I try to remember what book he had the combination written in. He never told me, but I had seen him in and out of it enough. It was a poetry book, collections by Christopher Poindexter. The only reason I remember is because he’s one of my favorites too and I recognized it. I survey the mess I’m standing in. How will I ever find the book I need amongst all of them scattered around the room? Crying out in frustration, I whip a book at the wall safe, dropping to my knees, and let the feelings of desperation and desolation overcome me.
Great big wracking sobs drown out the muffled sounds coming from the other rooms, leaving me alone yet again with my pain. I place my forehead to the carpet, my arms wrapped around my belly, my baby. Trying to hold on to the one thing of Deacon’s that I can. The one thing that I know will keep me fighting when all I want to do is lie here and give up. The tears fall, faster and faster, but I do my best to regulate my breathing so that I’m able to think.
My mind racing, I let my thoughts take me to Deac. I've spent my life being protected by him, loved by him in every capacity. But he also taught me to always fight for myself. Now, I have to fight for both of us. It’s my past that’s threatening to destroy all that I am, all that we are. I have to prove I'm fierce enough. I'd die for him. He went to war for me. Now it's my turn. He’s my man and I love him. I’m ready to fight. He’s mine and they can’t have him. None of them can. He. Is. Mine.
My resolve firmly in place, I pick myself up off the floor both figuratively and literally and walk over to the safe again. I pick my way through the debris, keeping watch for the book that will give me the code. Toeing books aside and flipping them over. Frustrated when I’ve been through nearly all of them and still haven’t found it. My fingers thrust in my hair, I spin in a circle, not knowing what to do, when I catch sight of a familiar book underneath the desk. Rushing over, I crawl under as quickly as I can and snatch the book up, crying out in relief when I see that it’s indeed the one I am looking for. Carefully backing out and standing, I start flipping through the book slowly until I find the page I’m looking for. I shuffle forward and stop in front of the safe saying a little Hail Mary that it holds the answers.
My hands are shaking as I key in the code. When the lock tumbles and the safe beeps, I close my eyes as I swing open the heavy door. Almost afraid of what I might find. After a second, I open my eyes and am instantly deflated. There’s nothing inside other than two stacks of money that I couldn’t give a shit about. I slam the door closed. “Fuck. Where the hell is it, you asshole?” I ask the room, not caring about speaking ill of the dead. If anything happens to Deac . . .
Going into the bathroom connected to his office, I go under the sink and pull out the yellow gloves that Andrew’s maid always used to clean and put them on. I want to be able to comb through this whole damn house and not have to worry about what the hell I touch. I stalk back into the room and start flipping through every book I see, putting them in a pile when I’m finished. When I still find nothing, I turn with determination to the paperwork scattered all over. There must be something here that they missed.
Sitting on the floor with utter destruction surrounding me, I blow out a frustrated breath. My back aches from being hunched over, reading over every scrap of paper I come across. Legs asleep from the awkward way I’ve been sitting, I stretch them in front of me to try to relieve the numbness. Reggie fills the doorway, making me jump. “You scared the shit out of me, Reg,” I breathe, holding a hand to my chest, trying to calm my racing heart.
“Sorry, Frankie. You find anything?”
“No, nothing,” I answer in a deflated voice. “You?”
“Nope. We’ve been through the whole fucking house. There’s nothing here,” Reggie tells me, his disappointment obvious. He kicks shit out of his way and holds out a hand to me. “Come on, we should get out of here.”
My gaze shoots to him. “We can’t give up. I won’t give up,” I insist, batting his hand away.
“I don’t expect you to, Frankie. We just have to regroup. We don’t have time to waste time here.” His eyes bore into me and I know he’s right. Reggie would never quit Deac—none of us would.
“Okay,” I reply quietly, taking the hand he’s once again offered. “Did Sonny and Trent ever make it back here?”
“Yeah. A couple hours ago,” he answers.
I gasp in shock. “We’ve been here that long?” He nods that we have.
I feel the panic welling up when Mav says from the door, “You okay, Princess?” Shaking my head no, he reaches for me and envelopes me in a hug.
A noise from the living room has us all turning. Before I have a chance to say anything, Mav is pushing me behind him, back through the doorway. Reggie has a gun in his hand heading toward the sound, motioning for us to stay put. My heart is lodged in my throat at the thought of any more violence, which is ironic considering what the man I love does for a living and where I grew up.
“Mav, Frankie? Where are you?” Sonny calls out, allowing me to let go of the breath I’d been holding.
“Motherfucker,” Reggie grumbles. “You about got your ass shot up, Jameson!” he bellows down the hall. Trent and Sonny follow the sound of our voices and fill the doorway.
“Sorry, brother. You guys find anything?” Sonny asks, taking in the mess before him.
Mav takes my hand and starts to lead me through the room, forcing everyone into the hall. He doesn’t stop until we’re out of the house. “No. Let’s go back to Deac’s. I’m done being here.” Nodding in agreement, I climb into the back of the truck and sit quietly, allowing them to recount the last hour.
“Pop and Guy are getting in touch with the EWF right now. Let’s get the Princess home,” Sonny says softly, closing the door as Mav and Reggie agree with him.
It feels good to let them take charge for the moment so that I can think. I know that Deacon doesn’t want me to put anyone in danger, least of all myself, but he has to know that I’m prepared to do anything to get him back. Now I just have to decide how to do that.
After a sleepless night, I walk downstairs feeling like a zombie. I’m completely numb. We have nothing and they have everything. They have everything. The ache in the pit of my stomach is nothing compared to the hurt in my heart. I don’t know what to do. I only know that I have to get him back. That’s the only option. Wandering into the empty kitchen, I walk over to the Keurig and pop in a decaf coffee. What I wouldn’t do for a regular right now. As the machine sputters and hisses, I walk over to the glass bowl on the counter that holds all of our keys, change, and extra little bits. Deacon’s dry cleaning slip is sitting there with a note reminding him to pick it up as well as “flowers for the pregnant one.” A sob from somewhere deep within bubbles to the surface. Letting out a cry, I throw the bowl against the wall and watch in fascinated horror as it shatters all over the floor, the glass glittering in the light like hundreds of little stars scattered about. I watch them, mesmerized. By their ability to be so pretty though so broken.
“Princess?” Sonny says from somewhere behind me. The concern in his voice makes me sad that I wasn’t able to keep it together.
“I’m okay, I’m sorry.” My voice is flat with remorse.
“Nothing to be sorry about. This is hard on all of us. You’re entitled to be upset.” He walks up behind me and lays a hand to the middle of my back. “Your coffee is ready. We’ll get this cleaned up later.” His tone is soothing, steady. So Sonny. That’s all it takes. I lean into him, clutching his shirt as I start to cry silently.
Sonny rocks with me in his arms, talking softly to calm me. Finally my tears subside, leaving me a hiccupping, tear-stained mess. “I am so sorry. Again.” I do my best to give him a smile, but I just can’t manage it. He takes my arm and leads me over to the island, helping me onto a stool.
“Cream and sugar, right?”
I nod.
When he’s finished doctoring my shitty excuse for coffee, he sets it in front of me.
; “Everyone okay in here?” Reggie asks as he enters the kitchen. It’s obvious that he witnessed my little breakdown by the sympathetic look on his face.
Sonny answers him so I don’t have to. “We’re fine now, Reg.”
Reggie walks by us, patting my shoulder as he does. Crunching through the remnants of the bowl, he goes to the closet and pulls out the broom and dustpan. “Please don’t. I’ll get all that in just a minute.”
“I got it. You’re too pregnant to be cleaning,” he teases, pulling a slight smile from me.
Reggie pauses in his sweeping, bending to pick something up. “These your keys, Frankie?” He holds up my keys, the heart locket popped open, the picture askew.
“Yes.”
“What’s up, Reggie?” Sonny asks, walking over to him.
Leaning the broom against the counter, Reggie taps the heart against the counter and something falls out. I can’t see what from where I’m sitting. “Who gave you this locket?”
“Drew did for my birthday,” I answer puzzled. “Why?”
Between a thumb and forefinger, he holds up a tiny little chip. “Did you put this SM card behind the picture?”
“No. He must ha—Oh my God. Is that what they’re looking for?” I ask, hopping down and going to where they stand.
“I think that it might just be,” Reggie tells us.
With trembling fingers, I pluck the tiny chip from him. My throat is raw from crying, my voice barely a whisper. “It was in my locket? It’s been there the whole time?” I cry, covering my hands with my face. “Why didn’t he just tell me?”
“Probably because he was worried that your house, your cars, the phone lines were all bugged. If he’d told you and they were, they would have come looking for you harder than they have.” He grunts out, “Don’t get me wrong, he’s no fucking hero because he should have never planted shit on you in the first place, but I believe that’s why he didn’t tell you.”
That bastard.
I’m not sure how long these fuckers have had me here, tied to this damn chair, but it feels like forever. And not because one of them thinks he’s the next Conor fucking McGregor and gets hard off sucker punching me every time he comes in the room. Nah, he’ll get his. It feels like forever because I’m worried about my girl. This is a lot of stress for one person to take on. She’s a warrior, my warrior Princess, but this is life or death shit and she’s pregnant. My brothers and Reggie will help her, but I also know Frankie and that she’s carrying the weight of this and won’t rest until she wins the war.
“Rise and shine, bud. Time to call yer bleedin’ bird. Best hope she listened and didn’t call the coppers,” O’Reilly warns. “I would love to finish what I started at her gaff. Make ya watch before I kill ya both,” he cackles.
I spit at his feet, the stream of blood hitting its mark, leaving a coppery stain. “You keep me tied up because you know I’ll fucking kill you if you don’t. Be a man. Untie me and then say some shit like that, yeah?” I snarl.
We’re interrupted by Kieran followed by the aspiring McGregor himself. Living up to my expectations, he walks straight up to me and smiles, just before delivering a solid right hook that connects with my nose, blood spurting instantly. He chuckles gleefully.
“Hard to look rough and tough when yer nose is broken and yer covered in blood,” he chortles.
“Even harder to look like a badass when the only way you can break someone’s nose is if their arms and legs are tied to a chair.” I smile at him, the blood dripping down my face and off my chin. It’s not the first time I’ve broken my nose and it definitely won’t be the last. These hits are nothing I’m not used to. This is simply training for me.
“Fuck you, you bleedin’ arsehole!” he shouts, kicking the legs of the chair, trying to topple me but not succeeding. I laugh at his failed attempt. I shouldn’t goad them, I know, but I can’t help it. This little motherfucker is begging for an ass whippin.’ He better pray that they keep me tied up while he’s around.
“For fuck sake, are ya done now, Rayo?” Kieran asks the young punk in disgust. “If yer looking for a pissin’ contest, look somewhere else. I don’t have the bleedin’ time to scrape ya off the ground when he’s done with ya.” He shakes his head. “I wanna get what we came here for and get back to The Pale. I don’ have time for yer bleedin’ shenanigans.
Turning to me, “I apologize for me brother. He fancies himself a fighter. Boys a bleedin’ spanner,” he says in a bored tone. “You would do well to be nice to the man, Rayo—he’s probably mates with your idol,” Kieran calls over his shoulder, snickering.
I look over to where the fucker stands sulking. His brother obviously has the same thoughts about his aspirations as I do. Spitting in his direction to clear my mouth of blood, I smile, “He’s no McGregor. He hits like a pussy.” Incensed, he rushes forward, but Kiernan catches him up before he can get to me. “That’ll be enough, ya eejit. I can’t have you manglin’ him anymore than ya have.” Setting him aside, he turns to me. “Ya ready to call your bird? Hopefully she’s come through or else I’ll let me brother here have at ya,” Kiernan tells me cheerily. “Ya keep changing the bleedin’ digits on us so I can’t dial her, the fuckin’ cheek of ya,” he tsks. “Best be giving it to me so we can call her up.”
Eyes narrowed, I recite my own telephone number to him and listen to it ring when he switches it over to speaker. My fingers are throbbing from how tightly the ropes are tied, my feet have long since gone numb, and my shoulder is a constant ache from the bullet most likely still lodged there. They were kind enough to pour whiskey over that to make sure it didn’t get infected once they got me strapped to the chair yesterday. Upset with my unwillingness to cooperate, they’d pistol whipped me and trussed me up while I was unconscious. None of that matters though because Frankie is safe.
Sonny picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”
I look at Kiernan, waiting for instruction. He lifts his chin in my direction, indicating for me to go ahead.
“Sonny, it’s me. Can you hear me? Put the Princess on for me.”
“Hey, brother, I hear you. Are you okay?” Jameson asks, the worry evident in his voice.
“Yeah, bro, I’m good. Getting a little bit of training in with this kid who doesn’t like my face too much,” I try to joke, glancing at Kiernan when he kicks at my ankle, motioning with his hand to move it along. “Sonny, is Frankie there? They want to speak to her.”
“Yeah, she was afraid to answer. She’s right here beside me, Deac.”
“D—Deacon?” she stammers in a raw voice.
“I’m here, baby. You doing okay? The baby?”
“Yes, we’re fine.” Her voice cracks and I just want to reach through the phone and hold her.
“That’s enough of the chatter. Did youz find what we’re lookin’ for, darlin’?” Kiernan asks. “Better be sayin’ yeah, otherwise yer fella here is gonna get battered.”
“No! Don’t hurt him. Please. I found something that was hidden, a memory card. I didn’t look at it. Andrew had it well hidden though so it must be what you’re after,” she rushes to say.
“Good, good. You meet us at the lake where we picked ya up in an hour. Come alone and if in fact you have what I think ya do, I’ll hand over yer fella.”
“Frankie, don’t you dare come alone! You bring Reggie and my broth—oomph.” I’m knocked stupid with the butt of a gun, my head lolling forward, skull feeling as if it’s on the verge of exploding.
“You bring the law and I’ll flat line ya both quick as ya please. Don’ be testin’ me, darlin’. One hour, not a minute past,” he orders and disconnects the call.
“Yer a fuckin’ eejit. Tryin’ to get yer lady killed I reckon. You better hope that she’s smarter than you are.”
Arms zip-tied behind me, pulling at my shoulder, I wince as we drive over the uneven dirt road that leads out to the lake. They didn’t bother trying to clean my face of all the blood; I’m sure I look like I just went three rounds in
the Cage. As we come into the clearing, the SUV rocks to a halt, the engine idling as the three other vehicles following pull up beside us. Across from us, I see my Rover parked, but can’t see who’s in it, the glare from the sun shielding the tinted windows.
Kiernan is sitting in the front seat, same as when we left this peaceful place just a little over twenty-four hours ago. He turns to me, gun in hand, “Now don’ be goin’ doin’ anythin’ stupid. Me mate will check the card that yer bird has and if it’s good, we’ll cut ya loose. Ya go actin’ mad though and I’ll fuckin’ shoot ya right between your fuckin’ eyes and piss off to The Pale without a care.” I nod my understanding and follow the burly fucker they brought along out of the backseat. I don’t believe for a second that they’re going to let us just leave after this transaction is done. They’re the fucking mob—they don’t make deals. They dig shallow graves.
I straighten to my full height, my feet set in anticipation. I have no clue what to expect, no idea how this is gonna play out, but I need to be ready for shit to get real . . . and quick. Doing my best to get my blood-matted hair out of my face, I give my head a shake, ignoring the pain that rockets around my skull. It takes a second for my vision to clear and my eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight. When they do, I see Frankie, my brothers, and Reggie all standing beside the Range Rover. Frankie still has on her clothes from the day before, her hair a messy bun on top of her head.
I’m prodded into motion by Wannabe McGregor and his Glock digging into my spine. “Let’s go, bud.”
As we close in on them, I see the anger on my brothers’ faces, anguish on my girl’s. Reggie’s mask is in place; he’s in “mission” mode. I try to smile reassuringly at Frankie, but I can’t quite pull it off. My gut is screaming at me to act. To start doing harm any way that I can and run like hell with my girl. Making eye contact with Reggie, it’s clear that he’s thinking the same thing. He nods imperceptibly. Just that one signal and I know that no matter what he’ll put Frankie and her safety first.