Russo Saga Collection

by Nicolina Martin

  Chapter 16

  Anna

  I have never been so afraid in my life as those few seconds that Eric’s partner, Christian he calls him, crushes me to him in a choking grip, a gun to my head. Not even when Eric chased me. Or maybe I was. I can’t remember. My whole body is slack with fear. The two giants argue, but I can’t hear what they’re saying through the sound of my own heartbeats, and then everything rocks as Eric slams his fist in Christian’s face. I’m thrown to the floor, scraping knees and elbows on the rough surface when they take the impact of the hit. I tumble around once before landing prone, temporarily losing my sense of direction.

  As I look at the men colliding like two raging wolves, I shuffle back on hands and knees until the elevator hides me, then I get to my feet and run like hell. Almost out of breath, I still push on. I’ll die if I stay. I’m absolutely certain of this. That huge dark man will beat Eric and then he’ll kill me. Remembering his lewd comment, nausea rises in me. Kill me, if I’m lucky.

  I have to get to a phone. I have to get home, to my dad. I have to call the police.

  My body aches, and I trip a couple of times. I’m stiff, bruised and unused to moving after the night in the elevator. I wonder what I look like, still wearing Eric’s jacket, which is too big for me, my stockings ripped beyond recognition, my skirt torn, and my knees scraped and bloodied. My hair feels like a bird’s nest, and my makeup must be everywhere but where I once put it. I must look homeless, like a drug addict, like someone I’d have avoided myself only a few hours ago.

  I dart through the building wondering how much time has passed since I left Eric. Two minutes? Three?

  I try to figure out where I can get to a phone. The offices are probably locked, and I don’t have my keycard anymore. I groan and stop for a moment, unable to think, then I dash for the nearest stairwell and run the thirteen floors down to street level. I’m not ready to spend even a second in an elevator. I unlock and push open the heavy glass door at the entrance and look around me. The city has yet to wake up. What’s open? Where can I go? I take a left, darting into Starbucks, my heart beating like a sledgehammer, and panting hard.

  “Help me,” I gasp. “I need to call the police!” In the corners of my eyes, I see the shocked stares from the few customers. “I’ve been robbed!”

  The barista gapes and hands me a phone without any questions. His other hand is frozen in mid-air, holding a spoon.

  “Thanks!” With violently shaking hands, I dial the well-known number to my father’s house, because I can’t for the life of me recall his cell phone number.

  Pickup, pickup, pickup!

  It rings probably twenty times before I give up. My throat is thick from held-back tears. Mutely, I hand the phone to the barista and leave the cafe. My legs are numb, my whole body is shutting down. I don’t know how to face what will come. I look at my watch, but of course it’s still broken. I realize I have no idea what time it is. The sun hasn’t climbed far yet, and the air is chilly. I spin around and scan the street. No sign of Eric or his partner. It’s somehow not a relief.

  A taxi comes rolling toward me, and I run straight out into the street without a thought about if he’ll manage to come to a stop or not.

  He honks angrily as I rip open the door and stutter out my father’s address. The driver gives me a once-over and opens his mouth to speak.

  “I’ve been robbed,” I yell, hoping he feels it explains the state I’m in. “Go! Please. Go!”

  Maybe it’s the fancy address that does it, I don’t know, but to my immense relief, he puts the gear in drive, looks me over once more, pulls out, and we’re off.

  My head pounds, my chest burns, my throat is dry and every swallow hurts. Every discomfort reminds me of him. My fear is almost physically painful. I’m not sure I can live with myself if I have killed my dad. I lean closer to the thick plastic wall that separates us.

  “I need to make a call. Please?”

  He hesitates, then he hitches up a phone from the compartment between the seats, handing it to me.

  “Thanks,” I sigh. My hands tremble so hard when I try to dial, I have to delete and try again three times before I get it right. My chest aches when no one picks up. I disconnect with a sob.

  “No luck?”

  “No,” I snap. Then I add a little friendlier, “No, no luck.”

  The twenty-minute drive feels like it takes forever. It’s early Saturday morning and there isn’t a lot of traffic. We pass a few cars, but too many drive past us.

  “Can we please drive faster?”

  “Ma’am, I’m already at the speed limit.”

  “Please.” My voice breaks. Clearing my throat, my eyes filling with tears from the pain, I make another attempt. “Please.” I look at the driver’s license on the dashboard. “Juan. Can we please go faster?”

  He glances in his rear mirror, meeting my gaze. “You—” he starts. The speed increases slightly. “—really look like shit.”

  To my relief, we soon pass all the other cars, shifting swiftly between the lanes. He shakes his head and fingers the beads that hang on a string from his mirror.

  “So help me God,” he mutters. I can only agree.

  As the scenery changes from industrial areas to residential, I take in my reflection mirrored in the window. I stare at my pale face. My dark eyes seem hollow, lifeless. I see Dad before me. Then Eric. The man responsible for my pain.

  He kissed me. He kissed me and I liked it. A shiver slithers down my spine. As I pull the jacket tighter around my tired, beaten body, a scent drifts up from the warmth under the fabric.

  His scent.

  I wish things were different. I wish it so bad I can barely breathe.

  We drive past small houses, lined up next to each other in perfect rows with perfect cut lawns, blue swimming pools and white picket fences. That’s what I thought I wanted, a lifetime ago, to have a house like that, a life like that. Children. A husband. I shudder. No. Not for me, not anymore. I don’t want to come close to a man ever again.

  Eric’s face appears before me. He looks right through my barriers and into my wounded soul. ‘I know how lonely you’ve been’. I clench my fists until it hurts. You. Don’t. Know. Shit! My eyes fill with tears. Dad’s street is after the next turn. I unbuckle and crane my neck to catch the first glimpse of his house. My heart rate picks up, and I’m short of breath.

  Please be okay. Please! My stomach hurts so bad. I can’t see a happy ending to this.

  The huge trees by the street hide his house initially. I gasp when it comes into view. Outside is a police cruiser. Oh God! My head spins. Frightening, terrifying images of my father lying dead, slaughtered, flash before me.

  The car doesn’t even come to a full stop before I jump out. I stumble and fall, the asphalt scraping my knees, but I barely feel it. The driver screams something behind me, but I get up and rush to the front door. My trembling fingers can’t grip the doorknob at first, but then I almost rip the door from its frame with the force of my fear.

  “Dad!” I yell into the empty hallway. It’s silent and everything looks tidy, clean and abandoned. Dead. I take a hesitant step forward, glancing around me. “Dad!” A sob escapes me as I run a few steps without knowing where to look first. I stop when I hear voices from the back of the house, change direction and stumble into the kitchen.

  I’m not prepared for the sight at all.

  I was prepared for blood, my dad lying dead on the floor in a pool of red. I tried to steel myself to face the incomprehensible. By the counter stands a cop. Next to him, his twin-like partner. They turn when I stagger into the room, and as they move the distance between them grows.

  “Anna?” a soft well-known voice says, and my father’s worried face comes into vision.

  The walls tilt and I reach for him for support. The floor comes up to meet me and then everything goes black.

  Eric

  I grab Christian’s arm. “Leave it to me.”

  He huffs. “Bro, are
you in love with her or something.”

  I clench my jaw. Yeah, what am I? “Or something,” I grit. “Did you find Myles?”

  “No, the little weasel got away.”

  “What the fuck? How did that little shit escape you?”

  “I have no idea how. He knew the building a hella lot better. I looked for him for hours. Then you were gone and didn’t answer your phone. I backtracked, saw signs of a fight and kept looking.” He digs into his breast pocket and pulls out a toothpick he then sticks between his teeth.

  “Did you look for us the whole night?” I’m impressed. That’s some dedication.

  He barks out a laugh. “Hell no. I went to the hotel and took a nap, but hey, I came back.”

  “That’s very nice of you.”

  “Salvatore will want an update. Pronto. I’ll leave that to you. You’ve got a lot more to explain. Have fun with that.”

  I slap his massive shoulder. “Let’s start with getting the fuck out of here. You got your car? I don’t have my keys or anything.”

  “Dude, first we’re cleaning up this mess.”

  I groan, realizing he’s right. We gotta get rid of blood and fingerprints. “Fuck!”

  The next hour is probably the shittiest in my adult life. We find some brooms and rags, along with chemicals and get to it. Two badass hitmen mopping floors and wiping off door handles and walls. Everywhere I’ve smeared blood or grabbed stuff. In a restroom, I find the remains of my phone. When we get to the elevator, I feel a hint of panic tighten my chest. I hesitate, looking down at the cage.

  “Let’s just fucking burn it.”

  “I don’t think that’s the brightest idea. Get to it, you lame dick.”

  I grit my teeth but climb down and am immediately assaulted with memories from the hours we spent here. As I wipe off the floor, walls and ceiling, I wonder what she’s doing right now. I bet she ran straight to her dad.

  I toss out the rags and reach for Christian. “Get me out of here, you fuck.”

  “I love you too.”

  “Fuck off.”

  Good news is I’ve found my wallet and keys. I also found Anna’s bag with everything in it. Little girl. Finding her was easy before, now I have the keys to both her and her dad’s places, neatly labeled.

  I drop Christian off at his hotel. “Track down Myles. I’ll call the boss,” I say.

  He purses his lips and regards me, slowly shaking his head. Yeah, I know what he’s thinking. I’m thinking it too. By now she’s probably talking to the cops.

  Chapter 17

  Anna

  “Look at the marks on her neck.” Feather-light fingers on my skin. It reminds me vaguely of someone else’s touch.

  Eric.

  “Yeah.”

  “Someone tried to choke her.”

  No.

  “You’re right, Mendez. She’s been beaten. I’d say she put up a good fight, though.”

  No.

  “What are you saying? They tried to kill my daughter?”

  No! Yes.

  “Seems like it, sir. From the battle bruises. Look at her fingernails. Several broken. Look at the black marks on her legs and chin. I bet there are defense wounds on her arms as well.”

  They tuck something soft under my head and a hand strokes my cheek.

  Eric.

  Dad!

  I bolt up from the floor and stare with complete disbelief at my father crouching before me, then I throw my arms around his neck, my head spinning from the sudden movement. “Dad!” I croak. “I thought—” It hurts so much to think it, even more to say it out loud. “I thought you were dead.”

  He lifts his head and breaks the embrace. “That I was dead? Anna, you went missing. I called you last night, but you never answered. And you always answer. I kept calling, hon. Then I called your workplace. You didn’t answer anywhere. I went to your office building but there were no lights. You were nowhere. I thought you’d— I know you haven’t been well.” He bites his lip. “I had to call them. What happened? What have you been through?” He looks me over and takes my hand.

  I nod as my chest tightens and tears begin to fall. “Dad, so much has happened. I have so much to tell you.” I look at the two policemen. Maybe their presence here saved my father’s life? Thank God!

  I wonder if Eric’s partner is on his way here. Well, he can try. We have back-up now.

  Dad helps me up, and we re-group by the kitchen table while my father puts on some coffee. He makes me a couple of sandwiches while he calls my mother in New York, telling her she can cancel her flight. I wrap a throw blanket around me. My trembling never seems to cease.

  The two cops introduce themselves. “We’ve called an ambulance, Miss Raymond. It will be here in a little while. Are you in any shape to help us with some answers?”

  “Sure, I— Crap!” I rush up, knocking the chair over in my haste, the blanket falling to the floor. Everybody stares as I storm out of the house on weak legs.

  The taxi driver is leaning against the car, a cigarette in his hand. “Meter’s still running.”

  I stop flat in front of him, panting. “You’re kidding. How much do I owe you?”

  He glances inside his cab. “Fifty-six bucks, ma’am.”

  I gape. Fuck! “I’ll be right back. And stop the meter, please.”

  I turn to the little group of men that have gathered outside the house. Meeting my father’s gaze, I roll my eyes.

  “How much do we owe him?” he asks.

  The two cops return inside as Dad comes down the steps toward me. He looks at me again and squeezes my arm. “God, Anna.”

  I grasp his hand, nodding. I know, Dad. I know.

  Dad settles the debt. I lean into the car, just as the cab driver starts the engine.

  “Juan.”

  He looks up at me.

  “Thank you.”

  His face splits into a wide grin. “My pleasure, Miss. Take care of ya now.”

  “Will do.”

  I don’t know how long we sit in my kitchen, the cops taking notes, calling the station, taking more notes. The ambulance comes and has to leave again when there’s nothing for them to do. The cops will drive me to the hospital later.

  As we eventually step out of Dad’s house, and I’m about to be ushered into the police cruiser, a car comes around the corner, entering South Hudson Avenue. With its dark windows and sleek contours, the black sedan is a stark contrast to the peaceful bright street. Time stops, and all I sense is my heavy heartbeats as it approaches. Thud. Thud. Thud. Even the birds seem to have gone silent. I stare in disbelief at the silhouette of the driver as the car slows down in front of us, an ominous feeling of doom washing over me.

  Eric?

  Everything inside me screams danger and still I’m unable to move, morbidly fascinated to see how this unfolds. It’s him. I know it with a certainty so profound it frightens me.

  The car almost comes to a full stop, then it speeds off along the street, disappearing around the next corner.

  My head spins. I’m only vaguely aware of the cops, Dad, the slight breeze, or the sun that climbs the rooftops as morning turns into day. A wave of nausea rises inside me.

  You came to kill us?

  In the hospital I’m met by more cops. A forensic technician scrubs my nails, brushes through my tangled hair, takes pictures of my wounds, confiscates my clothes. I tell my story to a detective. He records everything I say and makes a lot of phone calls.

  That night I sleep at my father’s. He won’t have it any other way and I need my dad, the safe haven that is my childhood home and someone to distract me. Being alone tonight is unthinkable. I’m afraid of the memories, of my thoughts, and maybe also of him.

  The issue that I can still be in danger from Eric has been dismissed. It wouldn’t match his profile to linger, they said.

  I’m not so sure.

  I never told anybody about the black car. It seemed stupid to say something about it initially, when there were so many more u
rgent matters to tend to. And then it felt awkward to mention because I hadn’t told anyone to begin with. Caught in a Catch 22. And perhaps it’s nothing but a figment of my oversensitive mind? Was it even there? I’m honestly not sure.

  Dad holds his arms around me as we sit on his big couch in front of the TV. I need to be little again, if only for one night. Neither of us watch what’s on. I stare at the flickering green and red lights in the window as the room turns darker. Night is falling. It’s two days before Christmas. A tear swims at the corner of my eye and I blink it away. I’ll never be the same. Yet another assault, yet another man, has changed my life for the worse. Again. And still I’m not angry. I’m too tired. I’m so confused.

  After the rape, I was so profoundly hurt. Damaged. It reduced the very core in me to nothingness, to being nothing but an object anyone can grab and tear to pieces. It took a long time to build some tiny amount of confidence again. And now I don’t know what I feel. I should be hurt and frightened, back to square one. But I’m not. I fought back. I really fought back this time. I was strong, and when I thought I lost, I actually won. I’m alive, and so are my dad and Mr. Myles. The police told me he managed to escape, and that he’s now somewhere safe. It’s a relief of course, but it’s not my boss who’s on my mind.

  I stir in my dad’s embrace. “I’m going to take a bath and then get some sleep.”

  He lets go of me. “You do that, pumpkin. You know where the towels are? Your bed is made. It always is.” He smiles.

  I smile back as I stand, squeezing his hand. “Thanks, I know. Goodnight, if we don’t see each other before I go to bed.”

  “Night, sweetheart. Will you be all right?”

  No.

  “Yes, Dad. I’m all right.” I take a step, then I turn and kiss him on the thick helmet of gray hair on his head, my heart almost bursting from gratefulness that I can, that he’s with me. “I love you.”

  He takes my hand, squeezing it. I wince from the pain. “Love you too, Anna.”

  When the darkness of the winter night finally lays its merciful cloak over the horrors of the past twenty-four hours, I sit on the edge of the tub in my mother’s old bathroom on the second floor. It sits abandoned since she moved out, but the memories of her scented moisturizers, her jewels and the expensive lingerie that used to occupy the space still lingers in the feminine, peach-colored room. My mother and I aren’t very alike. I’ve always been more of a tomboy, more of a Daddy’s girl, but tonight I ache to be little again. I want to rest against my mother’s soft chest while she hums me to sleep.