by T N Lowe
Tears burn my eyes as I think one more day. The door opens and light footsteps run down, Willow comes into view an evil smile on her face, what is she going to do? “What can I do for you Willow?”
Punching me in the face she knocks the chair over again, leaning down she whispers, “This is for my brother.” Then she kicks me in the ribs several times; the air is knocked out of my lungs and tears stream down my cheeks. I try to scream or make any noise but nothing comes out but coughing as I try to catch my breath. After what feels like a hundred kicks she stops kicking me and spits in my face, then turns and goes back upstairs.
♦ ♦ ♦
“What the fuck did you do?” Mike yells as he cuts the ties and lays me on the cold, damp, dirt floor.
“I did what I needed to, “Willow fires back.
“Look at her. Her face is covered in bruises and from the way she is breathing; I’m sure several of her ribs are broken too. If you caused internal damage, and she dies the mafia will be on our asses.”
“News flash, the mafia will be on our assess whether she lives or dies. Just fix her up and let’s get our money.”
The smell of rubbing alcohol fills my noise then pain fills me as Mike cleans out the wounds on my face first, “They aren’t deep you should be fine. Maybe not as pretty as you were before, but I’d still fuck you,” Mike says lifting up my dress. I try to squirm away but Mike pins me stopping my movements. “Stop, I’m not going to fuck you now, even I have morals. I’m going to wrap your ribs, now stop moving before you hurt yourself more.” After my ribs are wrapped in an ace bandage, Mike pulls me to my feet, “March,” Mike demands pointing to the top of the stairs.
Chapter Eighteen
At the top of the stairs Willow opens the cellar door into a large kitchen, stopping me at the table she picks up a black sack. Without warning, she pulls it over my head then ties my hands together. “Don’t get any stupid ideas,” She whispers as Mike grabs my arm and drags me through the house.
“Ow, you’re hurting me,” I whine holding my arm tight to my ribs.
“Shut up, I’m tired of hearing your voice,” Willow says.
“She wouldn’t be whining if you hadn’t fucked her up,” Mike points out.
“Whatever, the bitch deserved it,” Willow says as they push me into the back seat of a car. “Just shut up and enjoy the ride. You’ll be back with your powerful daddy and rich boyfriend in no time,” Willow tells me then slams the door.
The car starts and death metal fills the cab drowning out any other noises. I feel light-headed and tired; I’m not sure if it’s due to the ass kicking I took or if it’s because this horrible experience is almost over. Either way, I want to sleep and forget all about it. The car comes to a sudden stop causing me to slam into the seat in front of me.
“Oops, I guess we should have put your seatbelt on,” Willow laughs. I don’t respond; there’s no use, you can’t reason with a psycho bitch. “You still alive back there?” She calls out then presses on my ribs. A blood-curdling scream flies from my throat bile rising with. “I guess so,” she laughs again. “You know I have to give it to you; you are one hard bitch to kill. I tried bumping the whale watching ship you were on, who knew that old coot could drive the stupid thing? When that didn’t work I cut the brake lines of your car, well just frayed them to make it look like an accident. Your piece of shit car was better equipped to keep you safe than I thought. As a last ditch effort I put enough ruffies in your food to kill an elephant and yet here you are. That’s when I gave up and teamed up with this asshole; if I couldn’t kill you at least, I could get some cash out of the deal.”
“Look they’re here,” Mike says as he and Willow exit the car shutting the doors behind them.
“Where’s my daughter?” Samuel asks. The voices outside the car are muffled, but I can make out some of what is being said.
“She’s in the car,” Mike yells back.
After a long pause, I hear Patrick shout, “It’s all there just give us Lena.”
There is another long pause then I hear a loud noise that sounds like a mix between fireworks and a car backfire, shooting. Someone is shooting a gun. Oh my god please don’t let Samuel or Patrick be hurt. I am pissed at both of them, but I don’t want them hurt or dead. I hear a woman scream then something slams into the car rocking it. A loud moan comes from the driver’s side of the car then the sound of flesh hitting flesh, there’s a groan of pain then nothing. Everything goes quiet the shooting and fighting stops, and the rear passenger door opens, the cold winter air filling the cabin freezing my already cold and batter body.
“Lena, princess is that you?” Patrick calls in a panic helping me sit up and pulling the sack from my head. “Jesus Christ, what the hell did they do to you? Are you hurt anywhere else? Samuel, call the doctor.”
Turning for him to cut my hands free I list my injuries, “They punched me in the face a couple of time; I think my cheekbone is broken. I was kicked in the ribs breaking several ribs.”
“They fucking beat you?” Patrick shouted. “Thank god the fuckers are where they are supposed to be and can’t hurt you again.”
“How is she?” Samuel asks jogging to us out of breath. “The doctor will meet us at my house let’s get her out of here.”
“They beat the shit out of her,” Patrick answers picking me up gently and carrying me to Samuel’s car. Patrick slides in the back seat still holding me.
♦ ♦ ♦
“Is it true?” I croak as Patrick lays me on the bed in a guest room at Samuel’s house.
“Shh, let the doctor take care of you,” Patrick says kissing my forehead.
“Patrick,” I protest.
“No, let the doctor take care of you.”
I stop talking when the older white hair doctor joins us, “How are you feeling, Lena?” The doctor asks in a kind voice.
“I’ve been better, Doc.”
“So, I’ve heard. Patrick if you can please give us a moment while I exam Lena.”
“I’m not leaving her,” Patrick roars.
Latching onto Patrick’s hand I give it a light squeeze, “It’s okay Patrick.”
With love and concern in his eyes, Patrick studies my face, “Fine, but I’ll be right outside the door,” he says to the doctor. Bending to kiss my knuckles he leaves us.
“Okay my dear, let’s start with your face then we’ll work our way around,” the doctors says lightly probing the bruise on my left cheekbone. I wince and pull away as he applies more pressure to feel through the swelling. “Sorry honey, I think your cheekbone might be broken, but I’ll need an x-ray to tell,” he says pulling a tablet-like device from his bag. “Can you sit up for me? I need to slide this under your head.” I manage to sit up just enough for him to slide a mat under my head. The doctor holds the tablet over my cheek, “Yep, it’s broken.”
Pulling the sheet from the foot of the bed to my waist, “I’m going to pull your dress up to examine your ribs,” the doctor says touching my dress under my breasts. “Can you roll onto your right side?”
With the doctor’s help, I roll on my side enough for him to put the mat under my ribs. The doctor lightly probes my ribs before x-raying the areas that might be broken. I suck in a breath abruptly sitting up and screaming in pain. Patrick barges into the room, “What the fuck are you doing to her?” He asks rushing to my side and takes my hand.
“Sorry,” the doctor says helping me to lie down again. “But I had to see which ribs are broken. Patrick, I’m going to have to ask you to please wait outside.”
“Absolutely not, it sounded like you were killing her.”
“I’m sorry Patrick, but you can’t be in here while I’m examining Lena.”
“No, I’m her-.”
“I need to do a full examination, and you cannot be in here,” the doctor tells Patrick, his voice stern offering no room for argument.
Kissing me on the forehead Patrick whispers, “I’ll be right outside, call me if you need anyt
hing.” Then he marches out of the room scowling at the doctor over his shoulder.
“I’m going to get an x-ray of your ribs then we’ll go from there,” the doctor tells me his voice gentle and his eyes full of kindness. Hovering his tablet over my ribs, “Good news, bad news, several of your ribs are broken, but it doesn’t look like they punched any internal organs.”
“At least something is going my way,” I moan.
“I have one last question before I give you something for the pain. Did they-that is- did they assault you. Umm sexually,” the doctor chokes out.
“No. They didn’t touch me like that.”
“Good.” After inserting an IV in my arm and giving me something for the pain, he says, “You will need to rest for the next few weeks, let your bones mend and your wounds heal.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
“You’re welcome, now sleep. I’m going to speak to your father and Patrick,” he says gathering his tools and putting them back in his bag. “I’ll be by tomorrow to check on you.” Then he leaves me to sleep.
♦ ♦ ♦
The doctor gave me something to sleep, I slept through the night, only waking when there’s a knock on the door. “Come in,” I croak my voice raspy from sleep.
A woman about my age with platinum blond hair with black roots and wearing bright pink scrubs opens the door, “Good morning, Miss. Miller-Walsh. How are you feeling?”
“Umm, okay I think. Not to be rude but who are you?”
“Oh, sorry my name is Lilly, your nurse. I need to check your cuts, change your IV bag, and give you more pain medications.”
“Can I take a shower this morning?”
“Sure, let me unhook your IV and cover it,” Lilly tells me rummaging in a small bag near the door. After finding what she needs Lilly makes her way to the bed.
“Okay, thank you,” I reply pushing the sheet down while Lilly steps into the bathroom to start the shower.
Lilly effectively unhooks the IV line from the port in my arm. Then she covers the IV port with a clear sticky bandage. Helping me sit up and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed Lilly asks, “Would you like help showering?”
“I think I’ll be okay,” I answer trying to be strong and independent.
Helping me into the bathroom, Lilly says, “I’ll be in the bedroom if you need anything yell and I’ll help.”
“Thank you, Lilly.”
After carefully stripping off my dress I step under the hot water, I sigh with contentment. As the water streams over my battered and bruised body, the last few days replay in my head. Is what Willow said about Samuel and Patrick true? It sounds like some crazy conspiracy theory, a mafia family not just ruling a city, but the whole country, owning the government. That is just crazy talk. And what she said about Patrick, it can’t be true. I’ve asked him if we met before, every time he has told me no. I have no reason not to trust him. But what about what Patrick and Samuel were talking about at Thanksgiving, and Hui’s parents. The one thing I do know is they are not telling me something.
When I finish my shower, I find Patrick holding a fluffy green towel, “Feel better?”
“I feel human again.”
“Good,” Patrick says helping me from the shower wrapping me in the towel and kissing my forehead. “How are you feeling?”
“I don’t know. I thought Willow was my friend, we’ve known each other for years, our moms were friends. And the stuff she told me, Patrick, I need to talk to you and Samuel about it.”
“We can talk when you’re feeling better,” Patrick replies tossing the towel in the laundry hamper. “I asked Rylie to stop by the condo and bring you some clothes.”
“Stop changing the topic; we need to talk,” I admonish him as he helps me into a pair of grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt.
“Princess-“
“Don’t call me that,” I snap.
“Fine, we can talk later. You’ve been through a lot the last couple of days.
“Now Patrick, I need to know if what she said, even a sliver of what she said could be true.”
“That is not a good idea in your condition.”
“Look if you won’t talk to me I’m going home now,” I say pushing past him to the door.
“Stop,” Patrick says catching me by the arm, “you’re going to hurt yourself. Look if it means that much to you, we’ll talk. But I need you to promise me something.”
“What?” I snap.
“Promise me you’ll keep an open mind.”
“I’ll try,” I scowl.
Patrick insists on helping me back to bed before leaving to find Samuel. Lilly removes the sticky cover she placed over the IV port and attaches the IV line to the port she asks, “How are you feeling? Do you need more pain medication?”
“I think I’m okay,” I answer.
Patrick and Samuel enter the room as Lilly as pulling the sheet over my legs. “If you need anything, press the button on your bedside table.”
‘Thank you, Lilly,” Samuel says taking a seat in one of the two chairs next to my bed. As Lilly closes the door behind her Samuel states, “Patrick says you would like to talk.”
“Yes. I need to know if what Willow said was true.”
Patrick picks at a piece of lint on the bedspread. Samuel takes a deep breath, looks over at Patrick then looks back to me and nods. “Yes, everything she told you was true.”
Chapter Nineteen
Oh, my god. Oh my god, this cannot be true. That means-that means everything I’ve been told since Patrick came into my life is a lie. Now what? Now I become some kind of mafia princess? Fuck! That is why Patrick called me princess. “You knew?” I ask shooting daggers at Patrick.
He nods, his eyes refusing to leave the damn bedspread. “I knew. Your grandfather was good friends with my father. He umm knew about you and your mother.”
“What?!” Samuel roared. “You’re saying my father knew I had a daughter this whole time and didn’t say a word to me?”
Patrick nods again picking at a piece of lint on his jeans.
“Why the hell would he do that?” Samuel demands to know.
“I’m not sure, but from what my father told me, he did not approve of your relationship with Maggie. He feared she would ruin all his plans.”
“That was not his decision to make. And how the hell do you know about this?” Samuel asks his hands balling into fists.
Patrick looks up from the pant leg of his jeans, his face ashen, fear and worry heavy in his golden eyes. “He umm, arranged for me to marry Lena.”
“No, no fucking way! And why the hell did no one tell me?”
“You know how your father was, he ruled with an iron fist. People who went against him didn’t fare well.”
While Samuel and Patrick fight, I pull out my IV, fling the sheet off my legs and gently roll out of bed. Pissed my injuries are slowing my exit I stomp to the door.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Samuel asks jumping out of this chair.
“I’m going home,” I tell him reaching for the doorknob.
“Like hell you are,” Patrick says grabbing my arm stopping me from leaving the room.
“Do not touch me!” I shout. Patrick’s hand falls from my arm. “You lost your right to tell me anything the second you lied to me.”
“Lied?” Samuel asks.
“He,” I point to Samuel, “has known me since I was five years old. He showed up at my birthday party and gave me a locket. And you, throwing me parties, taking me to the ballet, and making me feel loved again. And for what? Your own selfish needs,” I say with a humorless laugh. “I’m done. I won’t be some pawn in whatever sick game you’re playing. I don’t want to see either one of you again,” I say pulling the door open and slowly make my way downstairs.
Elmer meets me at the bottom of the stairs, “Can I help you, Miss?”
“Can you please take me to the airport? I need to go home,” I ask unable to hold back the tears.
“Of course Miss,” Elmer answers holding out his hand helping me from off the last stair and walking me to the front door. “Wait here while I bring the car around.”
As Elmer walks away Patrick comes barging out the door, “Lena you can’t do this. Please come back inside we can talk about this.”
“No, we can’t,” I say as Elmer appears with the car.
“Mr. Love,” Elmer says as he rounds the car and helps me into the back seat of the car. “Please tell Mr. Walsh I’m taking Miss. Miller to the airport and will return shortly.” Patrick’s eyes are glued to me making no indication he heard Elmer as my door closes and the car pulls away from the house.
The airport is a small private airport near Samuel’s house. Elmer drives onto the tarmac stopping near a large nondescript white jet. “Elmer, what is this?”
“This is Mr. Walsh’s private plane; it will take you to the Bar Harbor airport. Please take care of yourself Miss. Miller,” Elmer tells me placing a soft fatherly kiss on my cheek.
“Thank you for everything Elmer,” I say then walk up the stairs to enter the plane.
A very kind man, his name tag reads Ken, helps me to my seat handing me a blanket. “Is there anything else I can get you, Miss?”
“No thank you,” I answer pulling the blanket over my body and try to forget about the last few months.
Four hours later I land at the Bar Harbor airport; Ken helps me off the plane and into a waiting town car, something else to thank Elmer for. Without saying a word, the driver takes me to my house making sure I make it inside without issue before leaving.
The house is exactly the way I left it, no dust and no pile of mail on the counter. Bypassing the kitchen and living room for the bedroom, I throw myself on the bed and regret it the instant I land on the bed. Pain radiates up my broken ribs making bile rise in my throat. “Fuck,” I hiss. Very carefully rolling on my back, I let it all wash over me, the physical pain, the pain of losing my father, and the pain of being lied to by the only man I’ve ever loved. And because I’m such a glutton for punishment, the memories of the nights we spent in this room come flooding back.