It seems Sara might know me better than I thought. How many people in my life have I let get close without realizing it?
“You should consider it… just think about being able to go home to a baby instead of just working with them.”
“Maybe…” I say noncommittally.
But my insides are screaming yes! Yes! Do it! Bring home this baby!
We start calling the little girl ‘Button’ because her not having a name doesn’t sit right with any of us. She’s cute as a button, so the nickname fits perfectly. I finally make my way to my locker to put my things away and draw up short when I see the paper sticking out from the bottom of the door.
A thick wave of dread covers me instantly because I know this is another note from Frankie. I grab the corner of the paper and rip it out of where it’s wedged tight, realizing it’s an envelope, not just a piece of paper. I don’t even want to look inside because I can feel the thickness and know without a doubt it’s another stack of pictures.
As I flip through them, the dread grows until my stomach is one big knot, and my heart is ready to either plummet to my feet or beat its way out of my chest.
They are all pictures from last night’s date with Drake. He is the subject of each one. And in every single picture, his face is scratched out. Not just marked with a pen or marker, but the image is literally scratched away where his face should be. There is no note with the pictures… that old saying a picture is worth a thousand words? Well, it’s true. These pictures speak volumes.
Drake’s life is in danger because of me, and Frankie is preparing to step up his game.
I shove the pictures in my purse and make up a lame excuse of being sick and leave work early. Chase just so happens to be leaving at the same time, and after one look at my pale face, he insists on driving me home. I don’t even spare a thought at how mad Drake will be that I skipped out on my guard. He’s going to have to get over it because he’s the one in danger here.
“Are you okay?” I jump at the sudden break in silence.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I tell Chase dismissively.
“You sure? You seem awful jumpy?”
Ya think? I’ve got a psycho ex stalking me and threatening the man I just realized I’m in love with. Of course, I’m jumpier than a frog on crack. But I can’t say any of that because Chase doesn’t know what’s going on.
Can’t know.
Am I putting Chase at risk by taking a ride from him? A small voice in the back of my mind asks. I internally sigh. Too late now. I just have to hope that Frankie doesn’t see Chase as a threat like he obviously views Drake.
“I’m fine. Just not feeling well.” I try to force a smile to make my words a bit more believable, but from the look on Chase’s face, I’m pretty sure I failed.
When he pulls up to my apartment building, I quickly look around, trying to spot if anyone’s watching me. I’ve been doing this ever since I found out it wasn’t Drake sending me sweet notes and flowers. I know I’m being watched, but I never see anyone. The only thing that is amiss is the absence of my security guard’s car. But he wouldn’t be here right now because he’s sitting outside the hospital waiting for my shift to end so he can take me home and do his job.
I feel a small amount of guilt because Drake is going to absolutely freak when he finds out what I’ve done. I push that aside because I can’t worry about that right now. Right now, I have to be alone to think about what I’m going to do. My gut tells me to leave. If I’m not here, the danger won’t be here either.
Kieffer isn’t sure that leaving will keep anyone safe… He’s positive that they can catch Frankie, and then I’ll be truly free of him forever. What if he hurts someone I care about before he’s caught?
So far, he’s been like a ghost. Whoever is helping him sneaks past the hospital security with ease to leave notes in my locker. They’ve followed Drake and I on dates, and not been spotted. Even with security watching and Drake himself on high-alert. Staying seems like a huge risk.
“Thanks for the ride.”
Chase gives me a genuine smile. “Anytime. Feel better.”
“Thanks,” I say getting out of the car. I quickly make my way to my apartment and nearly collapse against the door once it’s shut and locked up tight behind me.
“What am I going to do?” I ask aloud to the empty apartment.
I want nothing more than to drop to the floor and curl up in a ball. A good crying jag sounds good right about now. I don’t let myself fall apart. There are things to do first. Years of habit drive me to do my security checks. I move methodically through my apartment, checking windows and doors.
Nothing seems amiss until I get to my bedroom door… the tiny scrap of paper that rests between the door and its frame is laying on the floor. Someone has opened this door since I left this morning. My heart thunders in my chest. Was it Frankie? Is he in there right now, waiting for me?
I listen carefully, but everything is silent. The only sound in the apartment is the comforting tick-tock of the old-fashioned clock in my living room. I take a steadying breath and push the door open.
Empty.
I quickly look around the room, looking for anything out of place. I don’t notice anything right away, and I begin to wonder if I’m losing it. Drake has a key. He could have come in and forgotten about my paranoid little boobytraps. That is the logical answer. Then I see it… my dresser drawer is slightly open. I walk toward the piece of furniture like it’s a wild animal, and it might attack at any moment. I hesitate for a beat before opening the drawer. I gasp at the sight.
Everything is destroyed. All of my panties have been ripped to shreds. Tears fill my eyes as I grip handfuls of ruined lace and silk.
“What did I tell you about wearing underwear?” Frankie snarls as he rips the black lace from my body with force.
“N-not to wear them…” I stutter.
Frankie has gotten more and more unpredictable since his father died. He’s power-hungry and demands my obedience in all things. I half thought Frankie was joking when he demanded that I not wear panties anymore… I cringe as I remember the night he made the ridiculous demand.
We were out to dinner with some of his associates, and like usual, there was a lot of alcohol being passed around. As the liquor flowed, the talk turned more and more raunchy. Frankie took liberties with my body on an average day. He was always touching me. Grabbing my ass, my breasts, kissing, or biting me. He took every opportunity to stake his claim on me whenever anyone else was near me.
I’m often the only woman at these dinners, that night was different… there were several of us. It was evident that most of the women were there strictly for sex. They pawed at their dates and were eager for the lewd comments and inappropriate-for-public touches. I’d never been comfortable with PDA but stopped arguing with Frankie because it wasn’t worth it. I just closed my eyes and let it happen.
Let it happen like so many things I never thought I would allow.
Bile rises in the back of my throat when I remember how he reached under my dress, right there in the restaurant, and started fingering me roughly. I remember the impotence I felt when I gripped his wrist and tried to pull him away. The way he viciously bit my neck until I bruised as punishment for my refusal.
“You let your bitch wear panties?” one of his associates had said as he slapped the ass of the woman sitting on his lap. She was drunkenly giggling as she rubbed against him like a cat in heat. “My girls all know better. Full access all the time. Isn’t that right, Candy?”
“Mhm,” she agrees with a little shimmy of her hips that raises her too-short skirt up to show that she, in fact, is not wearing panties.
Frankie’s eyes turned hard. “Tony has a good point. This is mine,” he cups my sex roughly causing me to cringe, “I want access to it at all times. Take off the panties.”
“H-here?” I want to argue, but that one word is the only defiance I have in me.
His hand moves from inside my pan
ties to tightly grip my thigh, another bruise come morning. He hasn’t hit me, yet, but I know where this kind of abuse is leading. I’m not stupid. I’m trapped, and there is no way out. Tears well in my eyes, but I blink them back. Crying is useless.
“Off. Now,” he snarls menacingly.
My hands shake as I work my panties down my legs. I wad them up into a ball and hold them in my fist. I hate how much he’s changed. I hate myself for being too weak to leave him.
A sharp smack to my inner thigh brings me back to the moment. “Will you never learn, Angel? Why are you always defying me?”
“I’m sorry, Frankie. I just thought—”
“That’s where you went wrong. Don’t think. Just do what you’re told,” he says, cutting me off, once again stealing my voice. “This pussy is mine. Say it!”
“It’s y-yours.” My voice is barely a whisper. Frankie is drunker than I first thought, and this situation is volatile.
“I didn’t hear you, bitch.” He viciously twists my nipple, causing me to cry out at the sudden pain.
“My pussy is yours!” I scream.
Frankie’s hold instantly loosens, and he gently pets the abused bud. “See, was that so hard, precious?”
I shake my head, not able to form words through the pain and panic-induced fog in my brain. I’m barely aware of Frankie’s hands on me. He roughly kisses me. I have to fight back my gag reflex at the whiskey and smoke flavor that overwhelms my senses. My body tenses as he thrusts inside me all at once. Filling me to the brim with his length. I whimper into his forceful kiss because I’m not ready for him. At all. The Sahara has more moisture than I do right now. I squeeze my eyes closed and force myself to relax. It’ll be over quick. The attentive lover that Frankie was when our relationship was new has been gone for a long time. Now, I’m just like the women his associates have hanging around. An easy fuck. The only difference is he won’t let me go. Ever. I’m trapped. Owned like a pet.
He grunts his release, rolling off of me with a light slap to my ass. Within minutes he’s snoring, and I’m left staring at the darkened ceiling wondering how I let this happen.
I gasp as the memory runs through my mind like a bad movie. Over and over again, I remember the feelings of shame and self-loathing. The memory is so vivid I swear I can taste the stale smoke and whiskey of Frankie’s mouth on mine. I run to the bathroom, barely making it before I empty the contents of my stomach. I retch until my throat feels raw, and my stomach muscles ache.
Okay, Joselynn, think. What do you do now? I look at myself in the mirror and hate the fear reflected back at me. I brush my teeth and run through all my options.
I could call Kieffer. Tell him what’s happened. He would know what to do. So would Drake. I squash that line of thinking in its tracks. Drake is in danger because of me. I’m done putting him in the line of fire. I would never forgive myself if something happened to him.
I consider the storage unit. It would be easy to hop in my car and just drive. I could disappear again. But for how long?
Frankie was able to find me with a flawless new identity. The bought and paid for one in my car is nowhere near as good as the one Kieffer set up for me. I’ll be back to running. A new city and a new name every few months. Always looking over my shoulder. Waiting.
Or I could stay. I could fight back. Fear nearly chokes me as I think of what fighting back would entail. I’m not the same woman I was when I first ran from Frankie.
…But am I up to the task?
My biggest fear is that I’ll freeze the moment he’s close. I was conditioned for so long to let him do whatever he wanted to me that I’m not sure I can trust my fight or flight responses. In my mind, I can see myself kicking his ass and running. I can see myself pulling the trigger if necessary. But what will the reality be like? Could I actually do it, or will my mind shut down by default?
The only thing I do know is that I can’t stay here in this apartment. It no longer feels like my safe-haven. Frankie or his minion has been in here. Within five minutes, I’m going down the back staircase with a duffle bag flung over one shoulder. My purse feels heavier than ever with my loaded gun tucked away in it. It’s the first time in years I’ve felt the need to carry it. Frankie’s goons are going to have a rude awakening if they attempt to do anything.
I take a long minute to study the courtyard. Looking for any signs of someone watching. There’s no one around. I slip out the backdoor and make my way down the alley that takes me to the next street over. If anyone is watching my building, they are likely watching the front door. No one uses this alley except the stray cats. It’s dark and grimy and smells suspiciously like urine.
Using my phone, I request a car to pick me up at the coffee shop two streets over. From there, I decide to head to the Cloverleaf Motel. It’s one of those pay-by-the-hour no-questions-asked kinds of establishments. Perfect for someone who wants to pay cash and not be remembered.
The car pulls up, and I verify with my app that the driver and car match before climbing in. I tell the driver where to when asked and try to ignore the suspicious look when he registers exactly where I’m going. I definitely don’t look like the average patron of that establishment; let alone the neighborhood it resides in.
Oh, well. I’ve had this plan in place as a backup to my plan to run since I first moved here. Planning is the only thing that kept me sane in those first few weeks of my new life. I didn’t want to trust that I was safe. No, I take that back. I couldn’t believe that I was safe even though I wanted to more than anything. It took me a year to relax into my new life.
And no time at all for the paranoia and fear to come rushing back and send me running again at the first sign of trouble.
Running keeps you alive, I remind myself.
Besides, I’ve not decided that I’m running. Yet. No, I’m just relocating since my home is compromised. I’m regrouping, that’s all, I try to convince myself, though I know the truth of it is I’m running. I suddenly realize it’s not Frankie who I’m running from.
I’m running from Drake.
I’m running from the possibility of losing him.
I’m shaken from my thoughts by the ringing of my phone. Drake. His smiling face mocks me from my phone screen. Daring me to answer. I took the picture on the sly one day when we were watching a movie. He’s smiling one of his rare smiles. When he saw the picture, he demanded I delete it, but I refused. In the picture, his face is slightly turned, exposing the scarred side. He argued with me until I tackled him to the couch and kissed every inch of his scarred face. Telling him by action that I find every part of him beautiful. He doesn’t have to think it of himself as long as he believes that I believe it.
The call finally rings off and goes to voicemail. Seconds later, a text comes through. Where are you?
I lock the screen and shove my phone into my pocket.
“You sure this is where you wanna be?” the driver asks as he parks in front of the seedy motel.
“Yep.”
The driver doesn’t waste any time leaving once I’m out of the car. I can hardly blame him as I take in my surroundings. The outside of the motel is less than impressive, I imagine the inside isn’t much better. I’m not wrong. The small lobby smells like stale cigarettes and mildew. My feet stick to the floor as I walk toward a counter that has seen better days.
The woman behind the counter isn’t much better. She’s got a cigarette pressed firmly between her garishly painted lips despite the ‘no smoking’ sign that is posted directly behind her on the wall. Her hair is bleach blonde and looks like something the 80s rejected. Her clothing isn’t much better. Lindsay would say she looks like she’s been rode hard and put away wet. It’s not far from the truth.
She hasn’t looked up since I walked in, completely focused on the magazine in front of her. I clear my throat to get her attention.
“Whatchu want?” she says slapping her magazine closed and looking at me with scrutiny as if she’s trying to figure out wh
at someone like me is doing somewhere like this. “You a cop?”
I almost laugh at that assumption. “Um, no. I just need a room. Please.” I add trying to keep my manners even though she’s practically vibrating with hostility.
“Girl like you ain’t got no business in a place like this.” For a second I think she’s showing me concern, but the hard look on her face says otherwise. “There’s a Hilton up the road that is better suited.”
I shake my head. “How much for a room?”
She snorts unattractively as if she can’t believe my stupidity. “Twenty-five an hour, fifty a night.”
“Cash okay?” I ask, pulling out my wallet and a hundred-dollar bill.
“Spends don’t it?”
I hand her the cash. “I trust that you can be… discreet about your patrons?”
She lets out another snorting laugh, coughing at the end. It takes her a minute to get her coughing fit under control. Smoking is bad, m’kay? She stumps out her cigarette and greedily grabs the money, stuffing it down her shirt. She hands me a key that is almost as sticky as the floor. I cringe at the thought of what could be on it considering what kind of people this place typically caters to.
“Discreet is my middle name.”
I give her a single nod before finding my room, which is even more unimpressive than the lobby. I drop my bag on the small table that sits under the window, then pull the dingy curtains closed. The room looks just like any other motel room I’ve ever been in. Cheap art, stained comforter, carpet that was at its prime sometime in the 70s. The bathroom is old but surprisingly clean. Probably the only clean thing in this place. I check over the rest of the room, hating how easily I’ve slid back into total paranoia. There is zero chance anyone managed to infiltrate my room. I wasn’t followed here. It’s as safe as I can be for a seedy motel. It doesn’t stop me from wedging one of the chairs under the doorknob.
I sink onto the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, head in my hands as my situation really starts to sink in. My eyes burn with unshed tears. I can’t believe I’m back in this position. My phone vibrates in my pocket for the umpteenth time. I know who it is, and I know he’s not giving up. I pull my phone out just to confirm. Drake’s smile greets me and those tears I was fighting well up and slide down my cheeks in hot rivulets.
His Firecracker: Sassy Girls Series Page 14