My mouth was dry—so dry! The black words blurred on the page... I forced my eyes to focus, to look. And then I saw her name, in between all the other hazy words:
...Jackie...
I started to cry—
“Look at the paper’s date,” Edmond said. His voice might as well be in another galaxy.
I didn’t do it.
“Look at the date!” he commanded.
I looked at the date of the paper—it was dated...tomorrow?
What? Is she dead? Isn’t she!?
I was reeling, spinning, feeling my food solidly in my throat.
“This is a joke,” I managed. I couldn’t hold the paper still my fingers trembled so badly.
Edmond said nothing.
“Is she dead? Is Jackie dead!? Answer me!”
Edmond said nothing. I hit him! “What did you do to her!?”
Was it a trick? Did he have this printed on some printing press he happened to keep hidden away at home? I flipped through the pages. It looked like a real newspaper. “What game are you pulling!?” I hit him again!
King Kong Number Two behind me held my wrists!
Edmond smirked evilly. “It’s tomorrow’s newspaper, dear. And the newspaper only prints the truth.”
“JUST TELL ME IF SHE’S ALIVE!”
He stood abruptly, put his gloves back on, looked down at me.
“I’ve done you the courtesy of booking you your plane ticket already. Francis and Conall will be a while at Hyde Park—”
“You. You were behind that!”
“No, Conall suggested the meeting. I merely jumped on the opportunity. You are to leave immediately. Do not pack. Do not contact Conall. Do not contact your friends. I am willing to remunerate you for your troubles, as I have already said.” He continued to hold his checkbook. “Try me, Leora. As I told you earlier, I always keep my word! This here?” He picked up the newspaper and shook it in my face. “Is an example of my word.”
Oh, my God, all the double-meanings! The ambiguity in the things he was saying! What was his word—Jackie’s death? Or the financial news on page three?
My heart caromed like a bullet in a lead container in my chest. Jackie, oh my God. I hardly even knew you. Knew—past tense—or Know—present?
I couldn’t risk it. I was terrified. Completely terrified for the people I loved.
“I don’t need your money,” I said. “I will leave without it.”
And then I puked on King Kong’s feet.
-9-
He had me driven to the airport. He had me write Conall an email, breaking up with him. Edmond was an absolute mastermind at lying! He told me to “be honest” and to tell Conall I was breaking up with him because of Edmond! Adding a small truth to a lie makes the lie completely believable, he said.
I wrote:
Dear Conall,
Your father has convinced me without a doubt that I will never be a part of the Williams family, and that, should I remain with you, my life will be made a living hell, as well as the lives of those I love.
It breaks my heart to do this, but I must leave you. Please don’t contact me. It is for the best.
All my love, eternally,
Your Leora
Genius, eh? Edmond was more than prepared to take Conall’s flak directly. Conall would never discover the extent of Edmond’s influence, of course. Edmond would make sure of it. I think it was also merely another way of getting Conall to appear at the house again so Edmond could try and convince him once more to take over the business. Perhaps the email was even intended to fill him with some kind of “awe” at how his father was so “powerful” because of his “friends” or whatever, and so make Conall hungry for that same family power.
It still amazes me how little this man actually knew about the character of his son.
Then Edmond had me email Kayla. I was forbidden from calling her, lest she question me too closely and get too much information out of me. And this is where he made his first mistake, and where I got a small inkling of the fact that Edmond might not have all his sitting ducks in a row regarding this coup he was attempting. You see, he might have had a ton of photos of my friends and family, but he clearly didn’t know that Kayla and I have an agreement to always answer each other’s calls—no matter what! That he didn’t know.
So Kayla had called Trey because she was suspicious, and afraid.
But the doubt I felt sitting in his limousine, writing these emails, was not enough to appease the terror in my mind. I believed completely that Edmond could and would do everything he threatened to.
When I arrived at the airport, Trey was there. Alone.
When he saw me, he reached out his hand and started saying, “Leor—”
And then he saw Edmond Williams behind me.
Trey stepped back, turned around, and walked away. I saw him talking into his lapel, and then he disappeared.
If I’d had any doubts as to Edmond’s power before that, they were now completely gone. The man might be a bullshitter, but there’d been enough truth in what he’d said to have me go along with him. Because Trey is scared of no one.
Now I was really scared.
Edmond told me there’d be someone to meet me at JFK and then I’d be taken home by that person. That’s when I put my foot down. “Listen, bud, you’ve got me. I’m leaving. I’ll never be back. But if you think I’m going to knowingly step off that plane into your damn clutches again, then you’re fucking dreaming!” I was whispering, but growling through clenched teeth. We were at the airport terminal. “That’s where I draw the line.”
“You’re willing to risk your friends’...comfort...like that?”
Comfort, hell, what a euphemism!
If I were dead, I wouldn’t be able to do anything to help my friends! If I had any hopes of ever coming out of this, I’d have to, er, be alive. It was all or nothing. “This is non-negotiable, buddy. I get my own ride out of JFK.”
Edmond looked around, clearly flustered. “Fine, bloody hell! But use my telephone to arrange it!” He’d made me turn my phone off in the car and didn’t want me putting it back on until I got back to New York.
I knew I was going to have to go dark when I got to New York. I was damn sure he would be keeping his eyes on me, and I didn’t want that. If I had any hopes of ever getting together with Conall again, I needed to get off of Edmond’s radar.
I knew only one person who could help me do that.
I called my dad.
-10-
It was three A.M. in New York. It was getting to be a habit calling my dad at this time.
The truth of what was happening was slamming down so hard on me now that it was taking all the strength I had not to break down in shattering tears.
“Dis is Tony.”
“Pops,” I said, “I’m...I’m...” And then I collapsed.
“Baby, baby, what’s up! Whose number is dis!? You been hurt?”
Edmond stood near me. Four of his men towered around me! This was no time to lose it! “I’m...coming home, pops. I need you to pick me up. I’ll explain when I’m there.” I saw Edmond’s gloved hand twitch, as if he’d wanted to rip the phone out of my hand.
I was suddenly afraid for my father. Would Edmond’s goons get to him?
But I was swimming in the Atlantic, being sucked deep south down into it, and my father was the only lifeline I could think of holding on to.
Dad asked no questions. “Gimme your flight number, babe.”
I wanted to warn him. I wanted to tell him to watch out! I wanted him to know he might be at risk!
“Baby? Whose number is dis?” he said again.
I looked up at Edmond. He was looking around.
“It’s...a friend’s,” I lied.
“A friend?”
I said nothing. The tears were coming back full force.
“Lemme talk to dis ‘friend,’” my dad said.
“I don’t think that’s...”
“I see. I undastand
totally, babe. Totally. And all you gotta know is dis: You’re a Caivano. And we got our own friends, kapish? Lots of em! You don’t got nuttin ta worry about, babe. I promise you.”
I believed him.
-11-
More evidence that Edmond wasn’t all hot air: I was through security in a matter of seconds. I was escorted into the waiting lounge and watched until boarding—not by airport staff, but by one of Edmond’s goons who’d simply been allowed through security!
Just before boarding, the goon took my phone away.
I didn’t even put up a fight.
-12-
I can’t tell you how often I expected the plane to go down in exploding flames. Every bump, every jostle, made me think that Edmond and his dragon friends had rigged this thing up to explode.
I felt sick most of the way.
Mostly, the gnawing, aching, life-stealing sense of complete and utter desolation came home more and more to me, with every mile: I might never see Conall again. And he wouldn’t even know why.
I wept. For seven straight hours.
In less than a day, I’d lost everything.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
-1-
JFK Airport. At my dad’s side, his hand gripping mine. He was talking low: “Stay by my side, keep movin. Two guys—dere, dere—not ours.” My dad pointed with his eyes. “Keep your eyes forward, honey. But doze two guys—dere, dere—they’re mine.”
Before I knew it, we were in a black limousine, speeding out of JFK.
“Babe, you got a phone on you?”
I shook my head.
“Good. Den dey can’t trace us wit it. Any other electronics?”
I didn’t have any.
“Good, very good. Now, dis car is bug-free. We had it scanned. Da driver there—Federico—he’s one of ours.”
Ours?
“Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
I did. My dad didn’t bat an eyelid. This seemed par for the course for him!
After I’d spoken all of it, told him about all the photos, about the threats, about Jackie, my dad said, “No problem, honey. Dis is usual for us. We’s used to dealin wit gangsters like dis. It’s how we made our fortune. We’ll have you an’ Conall back together in no time.”
After what I’d been through, I didn’t believe him. But I did believe he’d at least keep me alive.
-2-
We changed cars seven times. Always in an underground garage. There’d be a new driver there waiting. I was glad I had no luggage! We’d drive into a garage, and drive out in another car—different color, different make, different driver. But always tinted windows.
“Dad,” I asked, after car number six, “are you in the mafia?”
My dad looked behind him. He hesitated. “Well, not really babe. I mean, yeah, and no. We’re da good guys. I swear to you.”
-3-
We ended up in Nevada, out in a place in the middle of nowhere. We’d been on the road for nearly forty hours, non-stop. Always a different driver, always a different car.
“Dirty secrets, dis desert,” my dad said as we arrived.
It was nighttime, cold. And dark, very dark.
“I need to reach Conall,” I told my dad as he walked me to what would be my room in an underground shelter for...how long?
My dad shook his head. “I’m sorry, babe. But dat’s gonna have to wait. It’s too risky. Not until we know what pies dis Edmond fella has his fingers into.”
I didn’t argue. My father was right.
But it didn’t make the pain feel any less at all.
-4-
I spent over two weeks waiting, always underground, never in touch with anybody. There were no computers at this place, no contact to the outside world. I’d told my dad about Layla, the hacker, and about Trey. Dad was using his “connections” to try and get a hold of them without alerting anybody. The biggest problem was the mystery. It was clear that Edmond was a powerful man, exceedingly powerful, but how many people did he really know?
We couldn’t risk it. I’d needed to disappear to make him feel like he’d gotten rid of me, and that’s what I’d done in his eyes.
My dad had someone stay with me in the bunker—a guy by the name of Luciano. Big guy, probably late twenties. Thick black hair, but young eyes. He was bulky, had a small pot belly. He had a ring on his finger, carried a gun on his side. Most of the time he just jumped out to get me anything I needed—food, drinks, books. He taught me how to play poker, how to cheat at poker, how to play blackjack, and how to count cards.
He wasn’t a bad conversationalist. I asked him if my dad was some type of Capo of a familia or something. Luciano just grinned and said, “I’m sorry, miss. I ain’t allowed to tell nobody nuttin about Mr. Caivano.”
-5-
My dad did get one piece of information for me that I couldn’t get out of my mind. I’d begged him to look for it. I just had to know!
Through a friend of a friend of a friend, and at great danger to himself, he did find the following out: Jackie was missing. Dead? Nobody knew. She’d gone missing the day after I’d left England—the same day that “newspaper” had reported her suicide.
He’d gotten a copy of the actual Seaford newspaper for that day. There was no mention of her in it, and no mention of any death either.
But, from what I could remember, the rest of the newspaper looked exactly the same as the issue Edmond had showed to me.
-6-
Pops slept with me in the bomb shelter, different room. The place was rigged with alarms. I was pretty sure there were guns in it somewhere. My entire access to it was my room, what passed as a kitchen, and the main “living room”—if you could call it that.
But there were plenty of other rooms.
Nights were the worst. I woke up screaming more than once. And then, after waking up, I simply couldn’t fall asleep.
We had no information on Conall, Kayla, Dani—nobody!
Had I pissed Edmond off by not getting picked up by one of his men? Was he retaliating as a result of it? My dad told me it wasn’t safe to use the internet anywhere. If they were looking for us, they’d have filters set up on certain keywords and we’d trigger something that would help them hone in on us.
My head ached with terror.
Would Edmond hurt his own son? Logic told me he wouldn’t—he wanted Conall to “repent his ways” or some crap and take over the family business and “keep the family name pure.”
But Logic was not my friend when my emotions were running so high.
I was pretty certain that Conall had had it out with his father after my email. But what could he do? He didn’t know anything about Edmond’s blackmail. As far as he knew, Edmond had scared me off somehow—and now I was hiding. And for Trey to have turned his back—Edmond is not some guy to fool with!
I was bleary-eyed in the mornings. “Just a little bit longer,” my dad would tell me each morning. “Just a little bit longer and we’ll know more.”
Every minute felt like an hour. Every hour felt like a century.
The clock ticked and ticked and ticked and ticked and ticked.
And ticked.
I thought of Kayla, and whether or not she was OK. And then, thinking for just a second that she might not be, I’d crash into wracking sobs of fitful agony.
-7-
But that wasn’t the worst. The worst was when I recalled the happy moments: Conall squeezing my hand as I’d stood up so grandly to his father. Conall’s hand in the middle of the night as it had slid into my panties and touched my nether lips, and how I’d gushed for want of him. That same hand easing itself around my waist, my butt, and then finding its way forward again. His fingers entering me, pressing, making me moist and sending out whimpers that were beyond my control. His body as it had engulfed mine, night after night, never getting sick of me. His manhood, hard behind me, the feel of his chest on my back as he’d push down on me, guide himself below, and then enter me.
And the fee
ling of him rocking into me, spearing me, thrusting so much that the bed would creak and the walls would have marks from where the bedposts had hit it.
And then the exquisite scream of pleasure at the end, as if it were the first time—because every time was better.
His flavor, my lips around him; his tongue inside me.
When I touched myself in this bunker, wanting him, missing him, it only made me feel sadder, because it brought home with crashing certainty that I was truly alone. And that I might never feel Conall inside me again.
-8-
And then an angel appeared. A dark angel.
And there was a woman with him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
-1-
“Oh, my God. Trey!” I was stunned. Half unbelieving, half believing so hard that it hurt my head. I got up off my cot and ran to him and hugged him.
“Leo, bloody hell, are we glad you’re alright!”
Behind him was... “Missus...Mitchell?”
Kayla’s mom smiled. “Is there coffee, dear?”
-2-
“How’s Conall? How’s Kayla? How’s Dani!?”
“Leo,” Trey said, “they’re all fine. Conall...lost a bit of sleep the first week. He had a flare-up with his father, of course. It might have gotten ugly. But I was there. I held him back. We didn’t know then what we know now, of course. The man hid his tracks well. All we knew at that time was that he’d made you leave, somehow. We had no idea there’d been threats—at least not the kind that we now know he made to you.”
We were sitting at a decrepit wooden table that looked like it had been made of leftover lumps of a broken tree. Luciano had made us all coffee—me, Kayla’s mom, Trey and my father. It was my dad who’d arranged the flight for Trey and Kayla’s mom—on his private jet. Trey’s movements were less likely to be tracked that way.
Deep South (Naive Mistakes #4) Page 16