by W Winters
Seth would have never meant for me take the fall. Never. I all but pushed him out that window. He may not be a good man, but he’s a good man to me. My heart sputters as the vision of Seth confessing to me last night comes back. I hide it, burying it beneath the image of him taking a bullet for me. How am I supposed to think straight when my world is so tilted?
My eyes close with the silent prayer that Seth’s all right. That he did what I told him to. My eyes open again while wondering: what are the odds that he already knows I’m in here? They have to be high. He must know. If he’s able, he’ll save me. I know he will.
“Or the third option,” Walsh continues. “Charges are pressed against you, you go to jail, and Seth, with the help of the Cross brothers, pull their strings to get you out.”
Hope flutters at the thought of the last scenario being the case. That will happen. That is the most likely outcome, right?
I’ve never known Seth to abandon me. He can be crude, an asshole. He’s lied to me and done so many wrong things. Worse than just wrong. He does things that are horrible, things that some say would send him straight to hell. But never once has he abandoned me. He’ll go through hell, commit all those sins ten times over, just to save me. It’s one of the things I’ll always love about him. He’s a damaged man beyond repair, but he wouldn’t let me suffer if he could stop it.
The rustling of Cody’s jeans as he readjusts in his seat brings my gaze back to his. “None of those instances lead to justice.” Justice sounds funny. Like it doesn’t belong in that sentence, let alone this conversation. “I think the third is the most likely, if you’re wondering.”
I have to blink away my surprise at his admission.
“Given the experiences I’ve had so far in this city, the men you hang around have a way of protecting themselves and I,” he pauses to suck in a breath, his brow rising before falling back into place. He lets out the breath and continues, “I hadn’t realized how close you were to them until recently.”
Tick, tick, my heart beats faster than the clock. I want to tell him that I’m not close to the Cross brothers, but I don’t say a word. Remembering that not speaking is my best defense. If they charge me, I’ll get a lawyer. Right now I’m in holding and having a lawyer won’t change that. I’m aware of my rights.
“I don’t know what will happen to you after you leave here, and that worries me.”
The concern he displays nearly makes me respond that I’ll be safe with Seth, but that’s none of his business. Not only that, but I don’t know how I could ever be with Seth again. My throat tightens at remembering what started this domino effect.
I have to clear my throat before I can tell Officer Walsh I don’t have anything to say other than the initial statement I gave. It was self-defense and I hardly remember anything at all. I told them everything happened so fast and I was so scared that I think I blacked out. It was the best excuse I could come up with at the time and now I’m sticking to it.
“The thing is, one of the men was a cop. So even if they get you out of here, the investigation won’t stop.”
Out of a nervous habit, I grab the coffee and sip. I’d rather drink than speak.
“There are men who aren’t in the back pocket of the Cross brothers. Men who also break the law and they’ll go around it to see someone pay for Officer Darby’s death.”
“Are you threatening me?” I ask and the shock is unrestrained, new fear coming to life.
“No. Not at all.” His response is quickly spoken, his eyes wide like he wasn’t anticipating my reaction in the least. The next thing he says is spoken with strength and sincerity. “I’ll do everything I can to protect you.” My question obviously shook him and his answer was quick and sincere. “I don’t want you to be involved. It can’t end well for you if you are.”
My nod is imperceptible as I absently scratch my nail against the paper coffee cup.
Words sit on the tip of my tongue. An explanation that the cop is obviously in the wrong, but now I question everything. Seth shot first. The masked man had the gun raised though. I’ve played it so many times in the back of my mind that the sequence of events is a blur and for a split second I’m not sure if I am remembering correctly. Inwardly I shake my head. Seth shot first. I know that truth. But those men threatened me with deadly force, the cop included. If I could go back, I wouldn’t want Seth to wait and see whether or not the trigger was pulled. If he had, I might be dead.
It has to mean something that I was threatened in my own home. That has to be important. The most important thing. All the words tangle at the back of my throat and I can’t swallow.
They strangle me.
Cody Walsh looks down at me with such sympathy, I nearly crack and ask him to tell me if it matters. It has to matter, doesn’t it?
My ass feels numb as I readjust in my seat, suddenly aware of how uncomfortable I am. My eyes are dry and burning. Of all the fatigues and pains, they hurt almost the most. Almost.
My fingers spread across my chest as I feel the faint pumping of my battered heart. Nothing could hurt worse than this.
I haven’t forgotten what Seth confessed. The pain is proof of that.
“Let me help you,” the good officer suggests as if he can. Nothing can help me. I won’t betray Seth. I barely survived the first time. I wouldn’t be able to look at myself in the mirror if I do it again. With weary eyes, I close them lightly, refusing to answer.
I have to sniff, breaking the silence and suddenly feeling stuffy. I haven’t cried and I’m proud of that. In the face of everything crumbling around me, I don’t feel the need. What’s done is done and now I wait. It’s all I can do.
“The death sentence is a possibility in this state, Laura. You don’t want to risk this,” he stresses.
“I don’t have anything to say, Officer Walsh,” I say and my voice is eerily calm. At my decision, the click of the air conditioner returns. I keep my eyes on Cody, but he moves his to the vent.
Although it genuinely tugs at my lips, I let out a small humorless laugh when he turns to look at the door, as if he’ll see through it to whomever has turned the air back on.
It’s a long moment before he says, “We can hold you for forty-eight hours without charging you.”
I don’t look at him. The metal table holds all my attention because it plays my life back for me like a movie. From the first time I laid eyes on Seth King to the sight he was last night. Forty-eight hours in here. I can make it that long. The tick, tick, tick of the ever-present clock calms any anxiousness I have. It’s a balm to my torn soul, even if my hands do shake in my lap.
“Laura.” The way the officer says my name grips my gaze, forcing me to look him in the eyes. They’re the most tranquil of blues and riddled with concern. It would be touching if I didn’t feel so much peace at the thought of simply being alone. “He killed one of us. They aren’t going to let this go.”
I don’t respond. I don’t have anything to say and I’ve already made that clear.
“Please, let me help you,” he beseeches.
My hands are hot when I press them to my eyes, breathing in deep and feeling the weight of everything pulling me under what feels like the roughest of tides.
I’ve been beyond help for quite some time. Forty-eight more hours isn’t going to change that.
Seth
I never thought I’d be grateful for the cold. I’ve always hated how cold it gets on the East Coast; it numbs the pain, though. Most of it. So the cold is something I need, something I focus on to keep me moving.
At least four men are guiding me, shoving me forward and keeping my arms pinned behind me. Listening to everything, every breath, every step they make—that’s the only information I have to go on to figure out how many there are, how big they are and what I’m up against.
Without the cold, I’d be burning hot with the need to react. The clang of the metal grates beneath my feet sparks recognition immediately. Thank fuck for that, because I can’t see
a damn thing with the bag over my head.
The grates on the edge of the parking lot let me know my location without a doubt. I’m away from Laura and her place. That is the only silver lining to this fucking ending. They’re moving away from my Laura. At least she’ll be all right. The thought is calming in the best and worst of ways.
The sound of crickets, along with leaves blowing indicates the woods behind Laura’s apartment complex are to my left. The longer I’m out here, the more information I have, and the more settled I become. The telltale whoosh of a van door opening sounds to my right. I don’t react; I don’t let them know I’m even halfway with it.
According to the men taking me in, I reek of whiskey, I’m bleeding out and there’s no way I’ll make it.
Let them think I’m drunk. Let them think I’m slowly losing consciousness.
I want the elements of shock and surprise to be on my side when I get my opening.
This is on Marcus. The men in her place, these men waiting outside making sure it went down like it was supposed to. I know in my gut Marcus set it up. He’s a dead man. Every fucking person who’s involved is a dead man.
I’ll fucking kill him but odds are he’s going to kill me first. Unless I get a single opportunity. I just need one.
“Get him back, get him to talk. That’s all you need to worry about,” a gruff tone says. He doesn’t hide his voice and I almost give a start at realizing I recognize it. I recognize the way he coughs and I practically see him doing it. I’ve seen him close his fist and cover his mouth with it. He doesn’t do well with the change of season. He said that once. I know it’s him.
“I didn’t sign up for this,” one man protests, his voice hushed but I hear it.
The response is pushed through gritted teeth. “We have one job, get him there alive so he can talk.” I can hear a shove, a scampering back. “Do your fucking job.”
The hair stands up on the back of my neck. I followed this prick, I watched him for weeks. He’s one of Marcus’s men. Tall and gangly, but he’s got strength hidden in his thin frame. He was by the bridge, lugging crates. No one would view him as a threat at first if they happened to come across this man. Average in everything with the exception of height. His dark eyes and towering stature are the only marked traits.
“What if he dies on the way?” another man asks lowly in a whisper, as if he’s hiding it from my knowledge. Concern is evident and I don’t know if there’s credence to it or if all this pretending I’ve been doing, making my body heavy and groaning with the pain is a good enough act to convince them I may very well be dying.
He speaks again in single syllables, loud and distinct with anger clearly evident. “Get. Him. There.”
I’ve been listening ever since a gun was shoved to my temple. I only know the tall man with the gruff voice. We identified him as Steven Davis. Barely on the grid, but identifiable from a previous criminal record.
A hard shove to my right shoulder forces me to stumble and I exaggerate it, falling to my knees on the asphalt. As the man who held my arms grabs my shoulder, I test whether or not the ropes are tight on my wrists. They’re not. It’s a sloppy job that was done quickly. Only meant to aid whoever it is behind me. They may buy him some time if I were to try to fight my way out, but the knots will loosen.
“Get up,” the deepest voice says. It came from the one closest to me. The way he grips me and easily flings me up makes it obvious he’s got weight to him. I dub him: the muscle.
“Keep him alive.” The words are gritted in a hiss and I immediately feel a prick in my arm as my footing is finally getting settled. It’s a shot of something. “That’ll help.”
The grimace on my face can’t be seen, and I’m grateful for that. It’s so fucking cold and my head feels light.
Footsteps move farther away even though the hard grip on my arms remains. Three pairs of them. A car door opens and then another.
The four men around me has decreased to maybe two. At most. Two men are within reach. If I had to guess, the others are walking around the vehicle.
If I don’t try now, it may be the last time I ever see Laura.
Laura.
My body reacts before I can think. Throwing my head back, it slams directly into the big man, The Muscle, who had my arms restrained behind me. He yells a slew of curses and without missing a beat I turn and shove my full weight into him. The ropes burn as I work them, doing my damnedest to wrest them free. It works. The relief is slight, but it’s there as the coarse rope falls beneath my hurried feet.
The screams of “Get him!” trail at my back. I don’t wait; I run as fast as I can. My muscles scream and I barely get the black bag off my head before I hit the edge of the brick wall that surrounds the dumpsters. My right shoulder slams directly into it, knocking me off-balance and spinning me around. Fuck! The pain is fresh and brutal from the hit.
In a quick glimpse I see everything. The single light in Laura’s parking lot, the all-white van with no windows, and the four men racing toward me with a look of dread in their eyes. One of them is most definitely Steven Davis. Our eyes lock and I know he knows that one of us will die soon.
“I’ll shoot,” one yells, stopping to point a gun and I take off. He’s a heavier guy who’s hard to see this late at night, but his build, his voice, they’re etched into my mind. Every single one of them, I’ll remember for as long as I live. Or, at least, as long as they live.
Revenge won’t happen tonight. This is my only chance to run.
Agonizing pain courses through my limbs, every muscle coiled and screaming with the plea to stop. I sprint through it, past the dumpsters, past the complex and down to the woods. The smell of dirt is fresh, like an autumn rain mixed with crisp auburn leaves.
It’s dark, too dark to see much of anything between the thick grouping of old oak trees. The fall leaves crunch beneath my feet as I whip around the dense forest. The bark scrapes my forearm. Fuck! The sting only adds a touch more pain to my already battered body. My breath forms clouds in front of my face, the only warmth I can feel at all.
Run. My heart pounds in my chest. Run as fast as I can.
My pulse hammers and my gut twists inside of me. I can’t fail. I can’t let them catch me.
Three. Two. One. I hurl myself down the left side of the woods where the drop-off is. I knew it was there. Letting myself fall down the steep hill, tumbling and crashing through sticks and gnarled roots, I prepare for the large overturned tree. It looks like it fell some time ago, but the roots took hold and it made its home in the side of the hill.
The second my body smacks into the trunk, I cling to it, gritting my teeth so I don’t scream out from the sudden blunt force to my chest. It knocks the wind out of me but with shaking arms, I move my body around the tree and stay silent, hunched down in the darkness on the dirt floor and listen. My breathing is sporadic and heavy.
Quiet. Stay quiet. Stay still. The trembling aftermath is a constant. Aiming to control it, I close my eyes. I prepare. I listen.
They don’t throw themselves down. Instead they run, stumble and try to keep from falling down the steep hill. I can’t tell how many there are. They move past me, even though I swear my heart is hammering so loud they should have heard it.
Two men pass by with precision and haste, following the trail. I catch them out of the corner of my eye and if only they turned to look, they’d see me. The moon is brighter now. They keep moving, making their way as quickly as they can, but it’s damn near impossible with how steep the cliff is.
There are two more. I can faintly hear one a moment later, the twigs snapping under his weight. He’s quiet. He’s got to be the heavier man. The one who aimed the gun. Far quieter than the other two, despite his weight. He goes slowly, tracking and being patient. I don’t dare swallow or move an inch until he’s far past me.
Even then, I know there’s a fourth. There’s another man looking for me and I refuse to move until I know where he is.
I take the mo
ment to assess, my eyes fully adjusted to the darkness and look up between the scattering of leaves still clinging to their home, at the small bits of light the canopy provides.
As quietly as I can, I lower my hand to my side, my teeth grinding against one another when I feel the soaked shirt. My breath is stolen from me at the small movement. How did I run? How did I run through this shit?
More importantly, how much blood did I lose?
My head rests against the tree and I blink away the memory of getting shot. I can barely breathe, I can barely stay up straight, exhaustion pulls me down and whispers that I should give in. I should let go. I reach in my pocket, but my phone’s gone.
Fuck. Fuck! I can’t die like this.
I need to go. I need to tell Jase what happened. They have to save Laura. The cops were there. She needs help and protection. I need to know what’s happening.
Crack. Snap.
Branches break behind me. Thin ones and my eyes focus straight ahead as my back stiffens. The rust-colored leaves are eerily beautiful as I overhear the horrid words from one end of a conversation.
“If we don’t get him, we can get her.”
Steven Davis.
Her. Laura. Each realization is like dominoes falling.
My instinct is to react and with the small movement up, my body revolts. The need to vomit is strong from the sharp gutting pain. I hate myself. I hate being weak. He’s threatening Laura. He will suffer a slow and painful death. But first, he’ll give me three other names. The slight satisfaction is immediately drowned out by fear at hearing more of his one-sided conversation. I strain to hear the voice on the other side of the phone, but it’s impossible.
“Yeah, she’s in custody,” he says. “Make sure they don’t let her out and plant someone in the cell with her.” My blood runs cold, freezing every inch of me down to the marrow of my bones.