Committed

by Sidney Bristol

  “What was that about?” She handed him a cup of coffee.

  “The old ‘I’ll have your badge’ threat. He’s pissed at me. Nothing new.” He didn’t need the caffeine to make him any more jittery, but he took it anyway.

  “Do you keep track of how many times he threatens you?” Gio asked, peering up at him.

  “Nope. Not worth my time.”

  “What’s he pissed about this time?”

  “The briefcase.”

  “Ah.”

  He sipped the coffee and watched the two officers. They spoke to each other, tilted their heads to listen to a radio, then spoke some more.

  “Why are you watching them?” Gio asked.

  “I have a lead. Patrol is checking it out.”

  Helms straightened and turned toward Damien, beckoning him closer.

  “Patrol says there’s been a high number of car thefts in the area lately,” Helms said.

  “I think it’s him,” Damien said. “It’s a gut feeling.”

  Helms nodded. “We’re going to load up SWAT and go in. He’s calling the warrant in now and we’ll get it on the road.”

  Damien shook his head. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “We’re going to get your girl back, son.” Helms clapped him on the shoulder. “Get your vest on and ride over with SWAT. The rest of your team can follow, with Cooper’s blessing.” The slight curl of his mouth said more than words could capture. Damien wasn’t the only one fed up with Cooper.

  “Thank you, sir.” Damien jogged to his truck. All at once the scene became a flurry of activity, people moving as Helms took control and steered the ship away from disaster.

  They would get Poppy. She had to be at this house.

  Tears slid down her cheeks, heating her skin. Poppy squeezed her eyes shut, willing it to be just an ugly dream. If she tried hard enough, she could still hear Damien’s voice in her head, but it was becoming harder to do so.

  Damien wasn’t coming for her.

  Emilio was going to kill her.

  “Oh, don’t close your eyes. We’re getting to the good part.” Emilio grabbed the front of her dress and pulled, dragging her and the chair out of her dark prison. She couldn’t cry out, couldn’t even move. He’d wound tape around her limbs and face to keep her from escaping or making noise.

  He lifted her forward on the front two legs and her heart pounded harder. They were in the kitchen now. She recognized it from the brief glance she’d gotten when she tried to make her escape.

  “There, that’s what I want to see.” He stared back at her, his face so close she could see the crazy in his eyes. His breath stank of sour cream and onions. “Fear. I want to see your fear.”

  Poppy wanted to be strong. She wanted to spit in his face and tell him she feared nothing, but she wasn’t that strong. She was scared and alone. Her neck ached and her face hurt. It was hard to see out of her left eye. She couldn’t quite remember what had happened.

  “Let’s get you out of this chair.”

  He let her fall back, the legs jarring her as she hit the floor. She groaned as pain shot up and down her spine.

  Emilio flipped open his knife once more and slashed it down her forearm. Sharp, bright pain lit up her arm. If she weren’t gagged she would have screamed.

  “Don’t be such a baby. It’s just a cut.” Emilio grinned with glee, his eyes lighting up with his manic laughter.

  He slashed her other arm and her hands were free. She cradled them to her chest while he hacked at the restraints around her legs, wincing as she felt his hand brush her leg. Blood ran down her arms, mixing in with the sweat and adhesive on her skin to make a sticky mess.

  She didn’t even have the energy to kick him, though she wanted to. She wanted to scratch his eyes out, shove that knife down his throat, but she could barely remain upright on her own.

  “Now, we dance.” Emilio stood and jerked her out of the chair. She stumbled, one shoe gone, and grabbed hold of his arm. He hauled her to the right and the room spun around her.

  Her hip hit the kitchen table. Emilio pushed her back, up onto the flat surface.

  Poppy could get away. She had to try.

  She rolled toward the other side of the table. There were windows, with big, black curtains over them. Or maybe plastic bags. Emilio caught her around the waist and pulled her back. She tried to kick and scratch his arm, but her grip was slippery.

  “No, no, no. You don’t get away that easily.”

  He put his hand on her throat and pressed down. She clawed at his hand, her heart pounding. It hurt. His nails dug into her skin and the heel of his hand cut off all oxygen. Her lungs screamed for air and her vision swam.

  “Do you know why you’re suffering instead of him?” Emilio bent until he could whisper in her ear. “He killed my wife, so now I’ll kill you. Fair is fair.”

  I’m going to die …

  He ran the flat of the blade along her cheek. Her whole body shook. She had no more strength to fight back. She couldn’t even cry.

  “I would love to hear you scream, but what would the neighbors think?” He tossed his head back and laughed, the edge of the blade biting into her skin. She thrashed, tried to get away, but he was too strong and she was too weak.

  This man was crazy. Worse than crazy, he was a sociopath.

  Bang.

  For a moment everything paused. What was that?

  Bang.

  It was coming from the front of the house.

  Emilio turned.

  Bang.

  “Freeze! Police!”

  Poppy scrambled off the table, and rolled off the side. She landed on the floor on her hands and knees. Pain lit up her limbs like wildfire, but adrenaline gave her the illusion of strength.

  People yelled. There were lights slashing across her vision. The house was suddenly full of too much light and noise.

  Where was Damien?

  Emilio grabbed her by the hair and hauled her backward, dragging her across the tile floor. She kicked and twisted in his hold, but he only twisted his hand and laid the blade of his knife against her throat. Pain stabbed her skull so hard her vision swam, but she was still dimly aware of being dragged back in to her closet-prison.

  Panic gave her the ability to fight. She grabbed the doorjamb and kicked backward. Emilio grunted as she connected with his leg. The knife at her throat slid along her skin, burning as he sliced her. He yanked her harder. Her fingers slipped and she stumbled backward.

  No!

  “Get back,” Emilio roared.

  The fuck she would.

  Poppy grabbed the only thing she could, a thick wooden dowel, the one she’d torn off the wall to use as a battering ram. This time, she swung it, aiming high. The end hit something and the hand holding her hair loosened.

  She dove for the door, stumbling as she lunged into the kitchen. The lights were too bright. She stumbled into something, hit her arm on the edge of the counter, and almost passed out from the pain. Large, warm hands grabbed her, helping hands that hauled her up off her feet. She heard Emilio yell something at her, but the only thing she could truly hear was the rush of blood in her ears.

  A gunshot ripped through the house, and her savior ducked out through the front door, cradling her close. Each footstep sent jarring pain up and down her neck, arms, and legs, but it didn’t matter. It was the kind of pain that told her she was still alive.

  It was gray outside, as if it would rain soon, but to her it might as well have been blue skies and rainbows. She blinked through the haze clouding her vision, red and blue lights swirling on the street.

  Poppy? Babe?

  Damien’s voice was back in her head. She could hear him almost as if he were right there.

  A hand brushed her face and she flinched away from it.

  No more pain. No more. She couldn’t handle any more.

  But it wasn’t Emilio. She’d left him in her prison.

  She tilted her head back, but it felt too heavy. Her one good eye focused
for a moment on the face hovering over her. Dark-chocolate skin stretched over high cheekbones, a mouth pursed in worry, and golden-brown eyes peered at her with so much emotion in them, she couldn’t take it all in.

  “Poppy, I’m here.”

  He wasn’t in her head.

  All the fight drained out of her.

  Damien was there.

  He’d come for her.

  God, she loved this man.

  Her vision grew dim and the voices were suddenly very distant. She couldn’t hold on, but it was okay. Damien had her. He wouldn’t let her hurt anymore.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Damien strode through the hospital corridors with their uniform slate-and-blue tile. The very air smelled sterile. He clenched a bouquet of roses, anxious to cross the distance faster.

  This was no place for Poppy.

  He hadn’t seen her for almost a whole day. A fucking day. Between the red tape and doctors, his last glimpse of her had been when she was being taken out of the ambulance on a gurney, a small army of nurses, paramedics, and doctors surrounding her. Since he wasn’t family, he’d been excluded from that moment on. Knowing she was safe hadn’t helped him through the night. He’d paced the ER until Cooper sent Gio to get him that morning.

  He checked the room number he’d been given—finally—and followed the signs.

  The door stood open, no officer posted outside. He’d been assured someone would be standing guard at all times. He stepped through the door and stopped.

  An orderly paused in the process of mopping the floor.

  “Can I help you?” the young man asked.

  “I’m looking for someone who was supposed to be in this room. Poppy Mercer?”

  He dunked his mop in the bucket. “Blond? Really nice?”

  To a T.

  Damien nodded.

  “She was released. Went home an hour ago. Sorry.”

  Damien gritted his teeth. Already gone?

  “Thanks, man.” He pivoted and stalked back the way he’d come.

  Poppy was out—and she hadn’t called him? Emilio had disposed of her phone, no doubt, but still. He should have heard from her. Chances were her mother was involved. He had no idea how extensive her wounds were.

  He needed to see Poppy. He needed to hold her and convince himself this nightmare was over.

  Poppy clenched the armrest as the van hit every bump, pothole, and crevice in the road.

  God, I do not miss House drivers!

  Since the commune residents didn’t all need cars, there was a small fleet, and a group of drivers who served the general community. Her luck, the oldest and most chatty had been sent with her mother to pick her up.

  If I survive this, I’ll walk everywhere.

  The painkillers were beginning to wear off, but the sense of being in a fog hadn’t gone away. The only thing that seemed to pierce it was the jolt of pain to her neck every few moments.

  “Almost home.” Her mother squeezed her hand, which was a different kind of torture.

  The gashes Emilio had administered to her arms had all needed stitches, and even her mother’s little squeeze was painful.

  Why was she going to The House? She couldn’t remember.

  “What about my cats?” she mumbled, unable to master her voice any better than that. Her tongue was thick in her mouth, and dry. She’d never have enough water after this.

  Where was Damien? Why hadn’t he come to see her?

  “Your friends came by and got the key to go take care of them. Everything is fine. We’re almost home.” Her mother’s smile was tight, her cheeriness fake as the diamonds glued on her glasses, but she was trying.

  “Friends? Which ones?” Who had her mother unwittingly allowed into her home?

  “An Asian man in a suit and a dark-haired woman. Foul language.” Her mother frowned and shook her head.

  Nikki and Kyle.

  Poppy breathed a sigh of relief. At least her cats would be in good hands. She didn’t know if she could say the same for herself.

  Her torment finally ended when they drove into the half-circle drive of The House. A few people hung out in front of the building, younger faces she didn’t recognize. Probably new additions. The House was a haven for all sorts of people.

  The driver helped her out of the van and her mother held the doors for her. Residents paused in the entry to smile or say something to her, but the noise melded together. All the talking felt like someone trying to drive an ice pick into her skull.

  “Mom, I just want to go home,” she mumbled.

  “You are home, honey. We’ll go upstairs in a second. I just need to grab the mail and say hi.”

  She didn’t want to go upstairs. She wanted to go home. To her little apartment, with her cats, and hair everywhere. She wanted Damien. Not exactly in that order. But she didn’t even have keys to her place anymore. Her purse was a distant memory, probably long gone by now.

  Poppy glanced over her shoulder and jiggled her knee. It didn’t feel safe here, not without Damien. She couldn’t even hear him in her head anymore.

  Damien groped for his phone in the darkness.

  Figures, as soon as I fall asleep, someone calls.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Damien?” a woman said on the other end of the line.

  “Yeah. Who is this?” He glanced at the clock. Only a little past two. Great.

  “It’s Rose.”

  Poppy’s sister.

  “Rose. What’s wrong?” He swung his legs out of bed and turned on the light.

  “I’m worried about Poppy.”

  “Why?”

  “Mom didn’t want me to call, but whatever. She’s been asking for you. Won’t sleep. She’s barely eaten anything, and if she doesn’t eat she can’t take her pain medicine. She’s in pain, too. I’m worried.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Here, at The House. I just woke up because of the baby and ran into mom in the hallway. I think she was going to hunt for movies for Poppy.” He could hear the baby gurgling and making noises.

  “What do you want me to do?” He knew what he wanted to do. Go get Poppy, take her to her home, and never let her go.

  “Come here, of course, but I know it’s late.” Rose groaned. “I shouldn’t have called. I just don’t know what to do for her.”

  “No, no. I’ve been calling all day but the desk people won’t put me through.” He’d almost gone to The House, but Matías had talked him out of that decision. He couldn’t force himself on the family without an invitation.

  Rose sighed. “Mom probably did that. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m coming over. It’ll take me half an hour to get there.”

  “I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

  “Rose?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks.”

  He hung up the phone and got ready as fast as he could. On the off chance he wouldn’t come home for a few days, he tossed the necessities in a bag and left in less than fifteen minutes. He was on the highway headed toward North Shore Drive minutes later, willing the streets clear and the cops to look the other way.

  He tapped the steering wheel and glanced at the clock every few seconds, the sense of anticipation increasing the closer he got to Poppy’s neighborhood. The streets were dark and lined with cars. There wasn’t a soul to be seen at this hour. He took a chance and squeezed the truck into a sliver of open space at the end of the circular drive in front of the building. He might get a ticket, but he couldn’t find it in him to care.

  True to her word, Rose was waiting for him in the lobby once the desk worker buzzed him in, the same baby he’d seen earlier nestled in her arms.

  “Hi,” she said as she turned toward the elevators. Her face was lined from stress.

  “How is she?”

  “I think Mom found a movie, but I’m guessing she’s about the same.”

  “What about her physical injuries?”

  “The eye and her n
eck are really hurting her. I think her arms are the worst of it. She’s got a lot of bruises. I think she was hit a lot.” Rose kissed the baby’s head, her face twisted in pain.

  Damien knew the truth. A lot of those bruises were not left by Emilio. They were Damien’s marks. He felt sick to his stomach at the idea that the marks she’d begged him for were now mixed with signs of the abuse she’d received at Emilio’s hand.

  The elevator dinged and they stepped off on the third floor. The hall was painted in horizontal spearmint and pale-green stripes. The effect was sickening, sort of like a madhouse.

  “Some decorating,” Damien said before he could think better of it.

  Rose merely laughed. “I’ve started a petition to get it painted. It makes me sick just looking at it, but the biggest family apartments are on this floor, so we make do.” She paused by a door painted emerald green and tapped.

  The door creaked open a hair and Poppy’s mother peeked through. Her brow drew down and she quickly slid through the space, closing it behind her.

  “I told you not to call him,” she whispered to Rose, ignoring Damien.

  Rose rolled her eyes. “Mom, Poppy’s not a child. You can’t make the rules for her. All she keeps saying is she wants to go home and she wants to see him.”

  “I’m her mother. I know best.”

  “Maybe, but you have to let her make her own choices.” Rose bounced the baby as she spoke.

  “She’s my baby.” Her mother glanced at him, then Rose. There were cracks in her stubborn facade.

  “I know, Mom. We all want to take care of her.” Rose nodded at him. “Go in.”

  “Wait, we can’t leave them alone together.” Her mother shielded the door with her body.

  Rose rolled her eyes. “Mother, please. She’s in no shape to do anything except sit there. Let’s give them a little privacy. He can go in, get her to relax a bit, you and I can go get something she might eat, and maybe she’ll finally sleep a little.”

  Her mother’s lip quivered and her shoulders slumped. “Fine.”

  “Ma’am, I’d never disrespect you or your daughter.” If he had to follow the house rules, he could. He’d played that game a few times in his life.

  “See, Mom?” Rose said.