by Hype, Jenn
The threatening glares he got from Scarface didn't stop his howling. When Scarface pistol whipped my face, the laughs stopped immediately. It was that moment that I knew Scarface's people despised him. Maybe not enough to stand up to him on their own, but I had a sneaking suspicion that when the time came, Deebo would end up on my side, not his. Knowing I had a potential ally in the situation helped lessen the stinging sensation in my cheek.
"You know," Scarface snarled, his face close enough to mine that spit sprayed from his mouth, landing on my cheek and nose, "I had planned to kill your mother first, but maybe I'll do you first. See how funny it is when the barrel of my gun is shoved inside that sassy mouth of yours."
I don't know what came over me. Maybe the stress of the last week had finally gotten to me. Maybe I'd finally just lost that last thread of sanity. We probably will never know. What I do know is that I became less compliant and more sarcastic every time he spoke.
Using the sleeve of my shirt, I wiped his spit off my face. "Can you back up when you talk? I'm going to need checked for Hepatitis C now."
Fury radiated off of him, almost palpable in the confined room. This time when he reared back to hit me, I saw it coming and was able to dodge another blow to the face. Of course, that only pissed him off even more. He lunged at me, but an arm the size of a tree trunk shot out, holding him back. Deebo said something low in Scarface's ear. I couldn't catch it, but whatever it was, it calmed him down. Scarface smoothed the lapels of his oversized suit and ran his hand through his hair before looking at me again.
"Hold up. Slow your roll. Back up. Rewind." Scarface growled impatiently at me, so I got to the point. "When you went all trigger happy a few minutes ago and said say goodbye to your daughter but my mom was completely passed out. What was that about?"
Scarface's lip curled up into an ugly sneer. "Oh, well, see, I wasn't speaking to your mother. I was speaking to your father."
He paused to let that sink in. Of course, it had crossed my mind a few times growing up that Officer K and I seemed to look a lot alike. Nothing so overt that it couldn't be written off as coincidence, though. Certainly not enough for me to assume he was my father. Though the majority of my childhood was spent wishing he was my father.
I looked to Officer K, or Jack, or whoever the hell he was for some kind of sign that Scarface was just nuts and spouting out crazy stuff. What I was met with was sad eyes that refused to meet mine and a deep frown.
"How could you?" Officer K looked up when he heard my choked whisper. "Who are you really? Tell me the truth. I deserve the truth for once in my goddam life." The shock was wearing off, being quickly replaced by fury. "I mourned you! I mourned a father I never had. Then I mourned the loss of the man who had filled the roll of that absent father. We had a funeral! Did mom know?"
His eyes flicked back to the ground, giving me my answer. Somewhere in the back of my head I heard Scarface laughing, but I couldn't have cared less. My whole fucking world was just thrown upside down then set aflame. Everything I thought I knew, every memory, suddenly flooded my mind. How much of it was lies? Was anything real?
Blinding rage overtook my senses. I saw white, then red, then nothing. My eyes squeezed shut as I tried to block out everything. The betrayal, the anger, the hurt, the shittiness of the whole situation. It didn't work. Instead, it amplified. I heard Scarface laugh, and I just... snapped.
His eyes widened when he saw me lunge for him. He expected me to attack him. I would have enjoyed getting in a punch or two, but that's all it would be before he had control again. So instead of attacking him, I attacked his hand. Before he even knew I'd taken the gun from his hand, it was pointed at his face. When he took a step towards me, I released the safety. He paused briefly, but then took another step. I let the gun tip down and pulled the trigger, narrowly missing his foot. Intentionally.
"One more step and I won't miss."
He looked over my shoulder to Deebo, and I half expected to be tackled, but seconds passed and nothing. I spared a quick glance over my shoulder to see him poised in the same position he'd been in the whole time. He winked at me.
Yes. I knew it.
"Fred!" Scarface yelled.
"Hey! Don't talk to Deebo like that!" I yelled right back. "Tell me your name. Unless you want me to keep referring to you as Scarface."
"Kevin," he bit out.
"Hmm. That's disappointing. Neck tats usually coincide with badass names. Though yours is of a dinosaur, so I guess it makes sense your name would be boring." I shrugged, Kevin growled.
"If you must know, it's a Spinosaurus. Largest, and most deadliest dinosaur to ever have existed."
He said it with a straight face, while mine scrunched up in disbelief.
"That dinosaur from the third Jurassic Park movie? What are you? Twelve? That's the lamest reason for having a dinosaur tattoo ever. I'm also not sure it's even accurate. You should come up with a better reason before you tell anyone else, because seriously, dude... lame-o."
His face turned bright red. He looked like he wanted to strangle me. So naturally, I decided to screw with him. Flipping the safety back on, I used the barrel of the gun to scratch my head while I looked up to the ceiling.
"Nah, I think I'm just gonna keep calling you Scarface. Way cooler. And honestly, I'm a little disappointed. The guys you sent after me were pretty tough, so I expected the final showdown to be a massacre. In the very least, I thought you'd have an elaborate plan. But putting us all in a room and talking? Seriously? Worst action plot ever. You'll never get your own movie. Then you let me take your gun more easily than taking candy from a toddler. Are you even a criminal? Is this your first day on the job? Is the real mastermind hiding somewhere, just letting things build up for his climactic entrance? Because I-"
Scarface moved towards me again, and easier than inhaling a breath, I flipped the safety off again and shot his foot.
"I told you not to do that," I taunted as he hopped around, clutching his foot in his hands before falling onto his ass when he lost his balance. He'd probably lost a pinky toe, but he'd live. Wuss.
Slow clapping from behind me pulled my attention away from Scarface, who was writhing around on the ground. An older man, much more menacing, stood in the doorway.
"I must admit," he said in a stiff, formal tone that indicated a pricey education and haughty upbringing, "it has been most entertaining to watch you torment my son, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to step in before he loses any other body parts. Fatherly obligation, and all." He looked down at Scarface with disgust. "Even if he is quite the disappointment."
He motioned to Deebo, who promptly gripped Scarface under his arms and walked backwards, dragging him out of the room. When my eyes met the only man left standing in the room, I took a second to observe him. Cold, bottomless eyes. Impeccably fitted suit that probably cost more than my car. Gray hair sprinkled evenly throughout a head of thick, black hair, which was gelled into a sophisticated style. He oozed money and charm, and under other circumstances, I might have thought him to be one of the good guys.
But his smile didn't reach his eyes, and when I took his outstretched hand in mine, his skin was cold. Not clammy, just cold. I imagined it to be similar to shaking the hand of a dead person. Or a vampire. Shit, was he a vampire? Guns don't kill vampires, do they? Crap. I should have watched more movies.
"So, Pops, you wanna fill me in on what's going on here?"
He looked over my shoulder at Officer K and then back at me. If the fact that I had a gun aimed at him bothered him, he didn't show it. We might as well have been sharing afternoon tea together. His confidence and cool demeanor was intimidating, and my confidence faltered. Only a little.
"Please, Brooke, have a seat." When I didn't move, he smoothly sauntered over to an empty chair against the wall and carried it over to me. I didn't sit down until he carried over his own chair and took a seat first. He crossed one leg over the other and sat back, smoothing down his jacket and picking at a piece of
imaginary lent. "You know, you can put that gun away now. Though if it makes you more comfortable, I'll allow you to keep it."
Oh, so he was going to allow me to keep the gun? Smug bastard.
Instead of responding, I crossed my legs at the knee. My wrists lay relaxed over my knee, crossed with the gun still pointed casually at his chest. I didn't feel the least bit comfortable, but I hoped I was convincing him otherwise.
"I loved your mother at one time."
My eyes probably bugged out of my head like they do in cartoons. "Say what now?"
He laughed, like my reaction was over the top. "Yes, we were quite serious. There was a point in time that I planned to ask her to marry me."
I looked over my shoulder to see my mom's body still limp, the only thing holding her upright being the ties from the chair to her wrists. I'd been avoiding looking at her and Officer K since coming into the room. Every time I did, I wanted to run to them, which would be a mistake. I had to play the game if I wanted all of us to get out of there alive.
"If this is how you treat the women you love, then it's no wonder you didn't end up together."
His wistful smile fell, and I caught a glimpse of the real man behind the cool facade.
"Your mother deserves everything she gets," he spat out. "I would have done anything for her. Gave her the world. She would have been a Queen. Instead, she betrayed me. Sold me out as if I meant nothing to her."
"Always the victim."
I had to grip the seat of my chair to keep from leaping up and running to my mom. You could tell she was struggling to even get the words out. So much pain in her voice. The only reason I didn't was because of the sarcasm overpowering that pain. Jumping up and getting emotional wouldn't heal her. I had to stay put until I figured out a plan.
"Oh, Maria. Even on the brink of death you can't help but let your attitude show. I should have seen just how classless you really were."
My fingers gripped the chair so hard I thought a blood vessel might pop. The need to defend my mom was strong. Until I heard her laugh. It was weak and barely sounded like her, but it was genuine.
"It's Mary now. I left Maria behind when I left your lying, scheming ass. You're rewriting history. You never loved me. You're not capable. Psychopaths don't have the ability. Plus, I'm pretty sure your heart is made of black coal. Nothing but evil inside of you."
Mom went into a fit of coughing, and for the first time, the suave man in front of me dropped his mask entirely. He stood up so fast his chair tipped back and toppled over, the metal clanging loudly against the concrete floor. When he reared back, like he intended to hit my mom, I jammed the gun into his side.
"Don't," I ground out between clenched teeth. Part of me just wanted to shoot the asshole right there on the spot, but would his minions come after me if I killed him? I couldn't carry both my mom and Officer K out myself, and neither were in any shape to walk. Without knowing what waited for me if I tried to escape, pissing off more people by killing their leader didn't sound smart. So I hoped he would heed my warning and just back off.
He didn't.
His hand gripped my wrist and twisted. The gun went off, ricocheting off the wall, and I screamed in pain when I felt my wrist snap. One freaking twist of his hand and he rendered me completely useless. With my right wrist broken, I wouldn't be able to defend myself, let alone get us out of there.
"Stupid girl," he growled, shoving me back into the seat. Silent tears streamed down my cheeks, but I worked hard to not let any more fall. The pain was excruciating, but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
Turning away from me, he aimed the gun at my mom. "Almost three decades I've been looking for you. Waiting for this moment, for my revenge. Three long decades in prison, dreaming of the day I'd get to punish you. Not much else to do inside. The first few years were..." He trailed off, and sucked in a ragged breath. "You have no idea what those animals are capable of. The guards do nothing, they just watch it happen. It tooks years to work my way into a place of power from the inside, but in the end, it benefited me. I made a lot of valuable connections to men way more dangerous than myself. The favors I had to cash in to get you here are going to leave me in debt to others the rest of my life, but it was worth it."
"Boss, we have a problem," Deebo shouted after whipping the door open so hard it slammed against the wall. The smooth talking psycho turned his head to look at Deebo, keeping the gun trained on my mom, his face completely expressionless.
Time stood still, and I watched with horror as his finger tugged on the trigger. I tried to lunge for him, and I managed to knock him over. The pain to my wrist was excruciating, but it was nothing compared to the agony in my chest.
It was too late. She was gone.
Chapter Twenty
Here Comes The Cavalry
Grant
Gunfire.
Screams.
Yelling.
More gunfire.
My legs wouldn't move fast enough. It felt like I was running in quicksand. Those screams were Brooke's. The yelling was a man's voice. Both stopped with the second round of shots.
When we'd first entered the warehouse, we were accosted by men who looked to be your typical thugs. Like a scene out of a cheesy mafia film, men in suits came out of nowhere holding automatic weapons. The man I'd taken hostage had warned us of the set up. If he hadn't, we would all have been goners. I felt a little bad about using him as the bait, but better him than me. I would get Brooke to safety. He would have her tortured and beaten. Yeah, definitely no guilt.
After shouting into the warehouse, drawing the men out of hiding, I threw the hostage - literally - into the room before ducking behind a shelf. They all had their weapons trained on him, so they were easy to knock off one by one. Idiots.
Once we felt the coast was clear, we made our way along a dark wall towards the back of the warehouse, where we were informed we could find Brooke.
In assembly, we moved slowly, staying vigilant. That is, until the first shot rang out.
The door was locked. I heard Brooke scream, and a man yell at her, but I couldn't get to her. I aimed my gun at the doorknob and fired. Immediately I kicked my leg up, shoving the knob through the hole. The door swung open and we were greeted with two hallways. All the sounds had stopped, and I wasn't sure which direction to go.
Until I heard soft cries. So soft I barely heard them over my hammering heart.
Brooke.
Taking a left, I followed the sounds of her cries until I found her. Slumped over a body, covered in blood. She was mumbling "I'm sorry" over and over again. Behind her was another lifeless body, this one wearing a suit stained from the blood pooling around it. And in a chair to her left was Jack, bound and broken, his head hanging low. His body was wracked with silent sobs.
Alice ran to Jack. I stood frozen in place. I should have gotten there sooner. Brooke lost her mom because of me. Part of me was too afraid to run to her for fear of her rejecting me. Telling me she hated me for not pulling through for her. She'd counted on me, and I'd let her down.
Her head whipped up and her eyes honed in on me. The devastation and despair written on her face put me back into motion. Three long strides and I was at her side, holding her while she held her mom. Her sobs deepened and I tightened my grip around her body. The sound of nearby sirens rang out over her cries. We had called 911 before storming into the warehouse. If only someone had been here just a few minutes earlier.
Selfishly I was just thankful for Brooke to be alive. I could withstand and survive losing anyone but her. My life would never be the same, because it was no longer my own. Brooke was as vital to me as breathing, and as soon as the time was right, I was going to tell her just that.
#
~
"Did you know?"
Neither one of us had said a word for the last two hours. They'd let me ride in the ambulance with her. Let me hold her other hand while they reset her wrist and wrapped it in a cast. They let me stay by her side
when the police came in to question her, and then let me ride with her down to the station to give a statement. The cops had given her the option of going in the next day so she could rest, but Brooke was insistent on doing it right away. Stubborn girl.
An officer had just taken her statement and left us alone in an interrogation room. I was anxious to get her out of there. Wasn't sure where we would go. HQ was destroyed. The safe houses were destroyed. There was a good chance that the building we all lived in was in bad shape as well.
It didn't matter, though. What mattered was that when we walked out that door, it would be together. Even if she hated me. Even if she said she never wanted to see my face again. She wasn't getting away that easy.
"Yes," I finally answered. She tried to look away from me, but I gripped her chin and forced her to look me in the eye. "I knew Jack and Officer K were the same person shortly after we met. I wasn't sure how to tell you. I didn't know about him being your father until we were on our way to save you."
Her eyes darted back and forth, searching. I wondered what she saw. Could she see that I was being honest? How much it hurt me to admit that I'd known and not told her? Could she see how much it hurt to be right next to her, wanting so badly to take away her pain, but not knowing how?
Then her mouth turned up into a small smile. "You didn't need to save me. I told you I was badass. Totally saved the day all on my own."
The familiar teasing was tinged with sorrow. She was trying to lighten the mood, but the weight of her mom's death was hanging heavily in the air.
"Brooke, it's not your fault. I should have been there to help. It wasn't-"
"I know," she cut me off. "For the last few hours I've gone over it again and again. Could I have done something different? Would it have mattered? I've always hated the "what if" game, though. Beating myself up isn't going to bring her back." My thumb swiped away a tear running down her cheek and she leaned into my touch before straightening back up and narrowing her eyes at me. "But it's not your fault either, Grant. The blame rests solely in the hands of that asshat that now has six bullets in his head, thanks to yours truly. I refuse to let the blame weigh down my own shoulders, so like hell is it going to take up residence on yours. Be thankful for what we have, that's what my mom would want."