by J Bree
The monster looks looks furious, so unbelievably angry that I feel dread stroke down my spine like icy fingers.
He turns on his heel without a word and stomps out of the room, slamming the door and then it sounds as though he’s kicking walls on his way down the stairs.
Chapter Fourteen
Illi
I head down to my gym to workout because I can’t fucking think about that shit around her.
She walked out of my room with her head held high and that fire in her eyes and for a second I forgot how fucking bad her situation was. I forgot that she was a sex trafficking victim and that she was raped, over and over again.
By multiple men.
I need blood.
I need gallons and gallons of blood, spilled in her name and my penance for what I’ve done to her. I need it now.
I destroy two more punching bags and my fists because I don’t bother wrapping my knuckles. I don’t deserve to wrap them, I need the pain. I grab a shower down here so I don’t freak Odie out.
Yeah, I had to call the kid to ask her what my girl’s name actually is.
Now I have her dad’s name too and the fact he sold her to pay his debts. The little fucking cretin is on my list. I’m going to just keep taking down these names until I have them all accounted for, ready for the day I can go bleed them out.
I need to focus on my girl first.
I call Doc and put in a home visit request. He doesn’t usually do them but we go way back and I’ll pay him whatever it takes. He gets back to me straight away but he’s on another job, fuck it.
I’ll have to wait it out.
I text Harbin for an update on his search for more info on the guy who had Odie. The tears in her eyes tell me I need to fucking gut him, slow and careful, at her feet. I mean, if she’s into that sort of thing. Maybe my butchering last night scared her so bad she couldn’t speak to me this morning? But she hadn’t spoken to me in the car when I met her either, maybe she’s just quiet?
Fuck, I don’t know much about her… except that she owns me and I would paint the entire city red for her.
I will do that, just as soon as she’s healed up and secure here.
Right. I need to go talk to her. Apologize for raging out and leaving. Fuck, I can’t remember the last time I said sorry to someone. Probably my mom, so about fifteen years ago.
Fuck me, I can’t think about her right now either.
I throw my spare workout gear on and stomp back up the stairs, taking a deep breath before I walk back into that room. Right, don’t look angry or blood-thirsty. Think calm thoughts, don’t think about her getting hurt. Right. I can do this.
I step into the main apartment quietly, closing the door behind me and checking the security camera by habit. It’s clear like I knew it would be. It screeches like a fucking bitch if there’s someone coming, we’re good here.
I look around and find her sitting in the oversized leather armchair by the window, staring out over the water. I wonder if it soothes her like it does me? I made sure I could look out over it every day and night without ever having to get curtains because of neighbors. I mean, if I ever get neighbors I’ll just kill them rather than obscuring this view.
Probably why no one ever moves down here.
I walk over carefully, sitting down on the big couch so she has some space. Fuck, how long will she need this space? I need to ask Doc.
“I’m sorry I got angry. I would never hurt you, I just can’t fucking stand to think about you being hurt or upset.”
She snorts at me and my lip twitches as I fight the grin at the little noise. It gets knocked right out of me at her answer. “I’m sorry to tell you, Monsieur Boucher, but I don’t think I’m ever going to live without pain and anger curled in my gut again. They are now a part of me.”
Fuck.
But I guess that’s true about me too.
I give her a nod but my eyes stay glued on her hands. She has them clasped in front of her on the chair, her fingers long and fine. Fuck, am I sitting here all captivated by fucking hands? I need to get a grip.
She stares out of the window at the circling gulls, her face calm and peaceful again. I don’t want to take that peace away from her but I need to fucking say my piece. “If you have some disease we’ll get you medicine. If there’s a baby in your belly then we’ll sort that out too.”
She startles at my words again and, fuck me, tears fill her eyes. “And if I want to keep the baby? What if I can’t imagine playing a part in the baby’s demise, hm?”
Fuck. That didn’t even occur to me. That she’d want to keep it or that she’d expect me to order her to get rid of it. This is a fucking mess and I don’t deal with this shit well. I need the kid back here right the fuck now.
I shake my head at her. “I’m not telling you we’ll get rid of it, I’m saying we’ll sort it out. Get you whatever you need. If you want to keep it then we’ll keep it. Whatever happens we’ll sort it out together.”
It’s her turn to shake her head at me. “Do you collect broken things? Or do you own me now? Why else would you be helping me? My father cannot pay you, if it’s money you’re after. He can’t even pay his own debts, let alone mine.”
My jaw clenches. “No one owns you, except you. You’re safe here for as long as you need and we’re getting you healed up. That’s it. I don’t expect any-fucking-thing from you. Nothing. Sleep and eat and sit here and look at the water all fucking day. That’s it. That’s your job.”
Her eyes narrow at me, her head held high and her back so damn straight I'm kind of thinking I might get shanked by her at some point today if we keep talking like this.
I must be a sick man too because my dick gets hard just thinking about it.
"Monsieur Boucher, you need to tell me why I’m here. Saying all of these things… it does not make sense.”
Her words are a little hesitant, like she's not sure she’s saying them right. Fuck, I’m obviously confusing the shit out of her after all of the shitty treatment she’s just had at the hands of the cartel, but I can’t exactly lay it all out to her. Hey, that hour you spent in my car changed the entire course of my life now and I won’t hurt you or treat you bad but I’m also never fucking leaving your side again, ‘kay? Cool.
But her words are right and clear enough so I nod, motioning for her to keep going.
"I would like to know what is going to happen to me, are you sending me back to France?"
Her eyes are clear and her hands are steady. Fuck, I'll try some version of the truth, one that’s a little more palatable. "I'm not sending you anywhere. You're here until you decide you want to go somewhere and then I'll be going there with you. That's how this is going to work.”
She frowns. "I do not understand you. Why would you come with me? Are you being paid to protect me? Who would do that? Louis?"
Okay, who the fuck is Louis? "I'm doing this because I was wrong to take you to the cartel. I'm righting my wrongs and you're the biggest fucking mistake I’ve ever made. So you're here until you're ready to go somewhere else, and I'm with you."
Her frown deepens. "That does not makes sense. I have no money, Monsieur. I have no way to repay you."
"I don't want your money."
She recoils from me. Fuck. "You want my body then? I'm afraid to tell you, the goods are soiled. Broken. You would be unhappy with your payment."
Soiled fucking goods, I'm going to tear the cartel to fucking pieces. There won't be a fucking single person left in the Bay by the time I'm through.
I try to relax my jaw but my words still come out through my clenched teeth. “I don't want your body unless you want to give it to me. There's no payment, nothing owed, you being alive and safe and happy is want I want."
I get up from the couch again before I rage out, fighting to keep my face resembling something sane and normal. Fuck, I’m all Butcher right now.
Which reminds me.
“My name is Johnny Illium. You can call me Illi. The But
cher is my job title here in the Bay and, baby girl, there isn’t anyone fucking stupid enough to try and hurt you now you’re with me.”
I feed Odie three more times before I have to head out for the night. I’d leave it entirely but the Viper is now sending a constant stream of bullshit messages and threats to me. I’m going to pick a time, grab the biker boy, and take out some of my anger on him until he squeals on his daddy.
I’m going to do all of this without letting Odie know about it either. She doesn’t need to know what happens in the basement, at least not right now. She hasn’t once mentioned the scene at the alleyway and she doesn’t have a problem arguing with me about why I’d want to keep her. I don’t know if she’s seen a lot of that kind of business or if the knock to the head has her forgetting all about it. Either way, I’m easing her into this life of mine. Dipping her toes into death and destruction, having them come back ruby red the same way I’d paint the world for her. Fuck it, I’m a goddamn poet.
I call Roxas and he’s happy to fuck around with his bike in my garage for the night, just to have that extra fucking layer of protection for my girl while I get shit done. I don’t even consider calling D’Ardo, not with his obsession for breaking girls. It makes me fucking sick to my stomach thinking about it now but my code says I stick with him. Fuck, I have no idea how to reconcile who he is with the man I’ve become while he hasn’t noticed.
I’m still pissed he’s ignoring my calls.
I tell Odie I’m heading out. I explain the security alarm, Roxas downstairs, and leave her a phone with my number programmed in but she is happy enough to stare out at the water without my hovering around her like a whipped bitch.
I’m not sure if that’s a good reaction or a bad one but there’s nothing I can do about it until I get Doc here to look her over and he’s not due until well after midnight.
I tear away from my place in my Mustang, ignoring the dread in my gut over leaving her. I can’t keep her safe if I’ve got the entire Twelve coming at me at once and even though I know the kid would side with me… D’Ardo’s radio silence has me doubting him. Fuck, I feel guilty even thinking it but he’s never gone this long without coming to find me and talking shit about what’s happening on our turf.
The lookout over the city is probably the second most dangerous place to be in all of the Bay. The cops know better than to ever come here and the Twelve have enough of them in their pockets that it’s become a safe haven for deals and pickups.
The fact that the Chaos Demons picked here to do their trade offs tells me they know nothing about how the Bay works. Too many eyes here, too many transient addicts who don’t know the score.
Which is exactly how I know to come and it’s how I know to come now.
You see, the Demons send a scout in first. Someone without a record, who knows to keep their mouth shut if they get picked up, and someone who will happily plant a bullet through some fucker’s head if they start shit.
Grimm’s sons are exactly the right bikers for the job.
Colt stays closer to home though, not sure why. Chance on the other hand, that little fuck loves the thrill of going on runs and is always the first to volunteer to scout. Dumb fuck probably thinks going first makes him important, calling the shots and shit. It doesn’t, it’s the exact opposite. He’s the fucking bait. Throw it out and if you catch a bite you don’t lose your shipment.
So I park my car and flash my toolkit at the homeless guys skulking around it so they know exactly how I’ll kill them if they touch it. Then I find a good vantage point and throw the hood of my jacket over my head to blend into the shadows a little more, and I wait.
And I wait.
Fuck me, I’m an impatient dick but the wait is fucking terrible, they’re definitely late. I check my phone three times to make sure Odie hasn’t called before I finally see the headlights come up from the bike. They hit my Mustang and slow down. Perfect. That’s exactly what I’m after.
He rolls to a stop in front of my car and climbs off of his rig, leaving it running. He’s a tall guy, leaner than I am, but bigger than I was expecting from a seventeen year old kid. Helps me feel a little less guilty about what I’m about to do though.
I walk on silent feet behind him while he’s busy checking the empty interior of my car out, the rumbling purr of his bike covering any sounds I might make well enough.
The kid doesn’t see what’s hit him as I pistol whip him hard enough that he drops like a sack of shit, out like a light, kiss your mama.
I don’t have time to fuck around, his brothers won’t be far behind, so I lug him into my trunk, secure his wrists, tie his own dirty bandana around his mouth like a gag, and shut him in.
Three minutes later I’m back on the highway and heading home to my girl. I pass by the rest of his little crew as they’re on their way out of the city and I salute them, fucking dickheads.
If that doesn’t put a fucking pep in your step.
Roxas is a fucking peach and helps me carry the fucker down to my basement, securing him to a chair down there without much trouble thanks to his unconscious state. I then give the biker a slap on the back as he jokes about some hot bartender he tag-teamed with Harbin last week. They have a fetish for sharing women and, while I don’t get it at all, I can see why it works for them.
The two of them are like brothers. They’re never going to be happy finding a woman each because women in their world have a tendency of driving a wedge between men.
At least fucking them together means their friendship stays in tact.
I triple check the security alarm is set and check the cameras. Odie is lying on the floor in the living room on the rug, her arms splayed out as if she’s trying to fly off somewhere and I take a picture of it with my phone like some lovesick asshole but fuck, she looks perfect. Even beat up to hell, misery clinging to her skin, and her bones poking the hell out everywhere she’s fucking stunning.
The attitude only makes her hotter.
Then I get my tools all laid out and ready, change into my work clothes, hum under my breath as I prep everything to carve the guy to pieces, slowly and carefully.
I hear a groan and smirk, turning around to meet his squinting eyes as he finally gets a good look at me. Shock and horror just about sums it up, and then the guarded look snaps into place. Wonder if his daddy taught him that?
“Good of you to finally join me. We have a long night ahead of us.”
He doesn't say a word, just stares me down with that unwavering look of his.
Fucking familiar but I just can't place it.
I've never met this kid before, or his big, biker daddy. I know all about them both though. All about their twisted fucking MC trying to take over the fucking world. He might look young but he's one of the heirs to a fucking empire, the kind built in pain and blood, so I feel fucking nothing about torturing what I need out of him.
“I’m sure you already know this, Chance, but I’m the Butcher of the Bay and you’re not here for a good time. Your daddy is carving up our country into a whole new set of states, boy. We can do this the easy way, where you tell me what I need and then I kill you quick... or we can draw this shit out."
I lean forward in my chair, the cleaver in my hands catching the light and shining it across his face. He doesn't flinch or say a word, the only movement in him is the clenching of his jaw.
A slow smirk stretches across my face. "Gonna make me work for it? Fine by me."
Chapter Fifteen
Odie
The monster… Illi, he makes no sense.
I’m expecting this to all be a game to him. I assume he’s waiting for my guard to drop and then he’ll chain me to the bed, but as the day goes on… nothing.
I’m left alone.
At first I think I’ll go out of my mind after all the time I’ve spent alone during my time with the cartel but things are very different here.
The view keeps me busy. Well, that and eating and drinking as much as my stomach will al
low me to. My stomach is still tender to the touch and I have to pace myself so I don’t feel sick, but I find myself munching on food slowly throughout the day.
The fridge is always full and everything in it is so different to what we have back home. The bread is terrible, but pizza here is amazing. Coke tastes the same but juice is sweetened and pulp free.
After he leaves to go work, and I shudder to think about what it is he’s doing, I wander around the house and look for clues about him. Signs that this is all a trap or something else about his life. The only personal item I can find is the childhood photo of his mother in the bedroom.
The bedroom.
I can’t find another one. I don’t know if he slept in there with me last night or if he slept on the couch but my stomach roils at the idea of what we’ll do tonight. That will be when I find out this entire day has been a trick and he’ll rape me on those perfect sheets.
I get up and start looking through the cupboards and shelves again.
I find two very important things. I find paper and pens, just the plain type you make notes with but I can draw and sketch with them to help pass the time. I can’t figure out how to turn the television on and I don’t understand half the slang that has been used around me anyway so that just seems like a futile task.
I also find that he hasn’t locked up the knives. I have access to them, presumably for cooking, but I could take one and slip it under my pillow. If he tried to rape me, I would have some chance of fighting him off.
He’s huge and skilled at hacking people to pieces, but a weapon has to help me in some little way, right? Even if I can’t really do anything with it against him, I could kill myself and stop the next cycle of abuse starting.
I stash the knife under the pillow in the bedroom and then take another one and hide in in the pillows on the couch in case I sleep out here and he comes for me here. I memorize where I’ve put it so I know to always sleep where it’s within reach.