by Hayley Smyth
Floating.
Floating.
Mama?
Why can’t I breathe?
What is touching my lips?
Get off! Stop. Please.
My hands cannot move, my legs sleeping; my heart feels as though it’s no longer inside of my chest.
Just breathe, Ella, please! I urge myself.
The world is black. Darkness shows itself to me a lot more than any light does.
My chest feels funny. My ribs hum as the pressure gets harder—pump, pump, pump.
Warmth on my mouth. Not warmth. Lips. Someone’s lips.
“Breathe, goddammit!” The unfamiliar voice cries.
Pump. Pump. Lips. “Ella, come on. Breathe.” It says again.
There’s pressure. So much pressure. So much so, I think I am dying. Certain of it. My lungs just won’t work.
“Oh, thank fuck!” The voice says, relieved.
The darkness dissipates, bringing with it the light once more, and I feel a new kind of pain as my weak, battered body bolts upright, slamming into the wet-shirted torso of Jax Murdoch.
Ella
My lungs screamed as I came to, water spilled from my lips, Jax helped me on to my side so I could spit it out, rather than swallow it. His hands were all over me, burning my skin, yet careful not to touch my wounds.
I panted and puffed, gasping for oxygen I had been deprived of for however long, and once all the water was expelled, I faced the man who saved me.
Our clothed bodies were drenched, his olive skin sparkled under the glow of the moon. Dark eyes searched my face, stripped me bare, and left me a trembling wreck in his arms. A strong, bearded jaw ticked with concern and then softened once he knew I was okay.
He’d brought me back from the edge of death. His dark hair had curled slightly, his short bangs now resting just above his eyebrows. Oh, my. He was beautiful. My eyes went from his to his arms wrapped around me, and from nowhere, the tears fell.
He shifted his legs, never moving me from the comfort of his lap, his strong hands pulled my head towards him, stroking my hair from my face.
My survival instinct told me to move, told me to run, but I couldn’t. The loud thump of his heartbeat soothed me and mine, and, just for a moment, the pain disappeared.
“Shh, shh. You’re okay, bird.” He said, his voice smothered me, coated me like a thick, knitted blanket.
I had only just realized that my fingers gripped his white shirt; the material was straining. My eyes fluttered shut, and I took this moment to catch my breath, my lungs still screaming for more oxygen.
It was a bizarre moment. In all my years at Purgatory, and during all the times Marnie and Edith stitched me up, glued me back together, never had I felt such a peace as I did in this strangers’ arms.
Who was this man? What power did he possess to calm me so? Oh, my. His lips. The lips I had felt on mine were his. The thought smacked into me, startling my nerves and sending my heart into an erratic state of neediness.
Cradled in his arms, I could smell his aftershave, the whiskey on his breath, the smoke from his cigarette, and it was such a heady aroma. And those eyes.
My hands slipped down his chest, skirting over his pecs, and I flinched, pulling away. “I’m so sorry,” I said through each sob.
Realization of my seeking comfort from someone other than my husband hit me, smacked me, and scratched at my open wounds. Pushing him away, I scrambled from his lap, my legs still refused to work, leaving me just a pile of limbs beside him. The tears came, the pain burned, my lungs hollered.
“Hey, hey. Come here, Ella. Jesus, woman. You’re in shock.” His voice said, calm, smooth, deep, rich. But I was hysterical now. My palms pressed against the floor, as did my knees, and I choked, bringing up yet more water. Not much, but enough to scare me. “Ella-”
“Mrs. Chrobak,” I choked.
I could feel the roll of his eyes. “Mrs. Chrobak, let me help you. Your wounds need cleaning. Not to mention you’re frozen to the fucking bone.” His hand gripped my elbow, a thumb rubbed along the goosebumps covering me.
Shuddering from head to toe, I allowed him to help me stand, trying with all I was to ignore how his touch made me feel, even though I was exhausted.
Once upright, I dared to look at my savior, quickly looking back down at the floor. His face was too much for me and my vulnerable state. It was as though his scorching gaze controlled me, and I wasn’t sure what that meant.
“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” I went to reply, but as I opened my mouth to speak, a male’s voice from behind us interrupted.
“Well, Murdoch,” it smiled. “You don’t waste no time, do you?”
My knees buckled, and I fell to the floor.
Jax
That fucking voice would haunt me. The smug, arrogant tones of this jacked-up prick had me raising my lip, turning on my heels, and keeping Ella behind me. I didn’t trust this fucker, not one goddamned bit.
The grin told me how pleased he was with himself for ‘outing’ us. His finger resting on the trigger of his gun told me nothing; I doubted he even knew how to use it, the man was far too pretty to risk getting his hands bloody.
Brown eyes lowered, his head cocked to steal a glimpse of Ella, crying, curled up on the floor.
“You know, I’d heard all the stories about you, but I always thought they were bullshit, man. No-one can attract pussy the way they said you could.” He stepped forward, emerging from the darkness, and clicked his tongue. “Huh,” he said, looking down at Ella, “Seems they were right, Elle.”
She mewled, hands gripping the backs of my calves, much to Marco’s fucking horror.
“Hey, why don’t you do us a favor, and back the fuck off, alright? She’s been through enough tonight; after saving her damn life, I was helping her inside the fucking house.”
Marco laughed, changing the click of his tongue for a condescending tut. “Oh, Jaxon, there’s a pecking line here, man. I think it’s best you learn it and quick.”
“Oh, that’s right,” I said, mocking the fucker. “Vlad’s at the top, and you peck his fucking ass clean, am I right?” Granted, I was pushing my luck, but the butt of the gun smacking me square in the face had still taken me by surprise.
My nose felt as though it exploded; blood seeped through my fingers, and the shock of my spine hitting the floor had me groaning.
Ella screamed, scrambling to her feet. “Please, enough!” She raised a shaking hand before a flushed, pleased-with-himself Marco. “It’s true, Marco.” I watched as her little body took big, gulping breaths. “I passed out, fell into the water. I’d have died if it weren’t for Mr Murdoch finding me.”
Marco wasn’t listening, though. Far too enraged at myself to listen to Ella’s words. He pushed passed her, and his eyes darkened as he hovered over me. “I can see why Amy left, having to put up with you and that other fucking prick," he sneered.
I didn’t even think about it. Him mentioning her fucking name was all it took, was all the fuel my fire needed.
My body left the floor, anger surging me forwards, and I raised my fist, striking his smug fucking grin right off his face. My knuckled throbbed, but I threw another one, watching as he stumbled, and then fell to his ass, hand covering his soon-to-be bruised jaw.
“Don’t you fucking say her name, you got that?” I yelled.
Ella’s screams continued behind me.
Marco rubbed his jaw, a smile graced his fat lip. “Temper, temper,” he provoked, before spitting blood on to the ground. “That will get you in trouble around here, Murdoch.”
Ignoring him, turning my back on him, I walked towards Ella, who was now on her feet and looking petrified. “Ella-”
“No!” She screamed, slamming her eyes shut and stopping me from approaching her.
“Ella?” I asked, lowering my voice to almost a whisper.
She shook her head, wet hair unmoving around her cheeks. “I just want to go to bed now,” she said, chest continuing to hea
ve.
“Okay, but we need to clean those wounds, sweetheart. They’ll get infected.” I said.
A body barged passed me, jolting my arm, and Marco stalked towards Ella, hand outstretched ready to grab her. “I’ve got it, Murdoch. You’ve done enough for one night.”
Ella’s blue eyes widened, her mouth agape as Marco took hold of her.
“Ella?” I asked.
I saw the tip of his fingers turn white, and I gritted my teeth.
As if she wasn't hurt enough.
“It’s fine, Mr. Murdoch.” I saw her throat move as she swallowed down the lie. “Thank you for all your help.”
I seethed as he marched Ella away, back into The Mansion.
Her footfalls were still shaky, unstable, and my blood came to a boil when she turned her head, oh so carefully, and gave me the saddest fucking smile.
She was terrified of him.
Ella.
The silence between us was a fierce weapon, the farther through The Mansion, and the farther away from the bedroom Marco dragged me, the stronger this weapon grew.
For some reason, he wasn't taking me back to my room.
We'd diverted away from the stairs, his fingers digging into my flesh, and made headway towards the kitchen.
Frowning, I dare not have asked where we were going, or where he was taking me. My mind raced as I tried to think a logical reason he was taking me there.
Perhaps he was hungry.
No, stupid Ella.
Perhaps he had something to say he didn't want the cameras to see or hear. I didn't like that idea much either.
Releasing my arm, I rubbed the bruised area, he swiftly pushed me inside the kitchen, sliding the wooden doors closed.
Fear was an incredible thing. The whole fight or flight thing. I never chose either of these options, and my instinct was to freeze; hardly a survival instinct, is it?
"Do you know where you're going?" His dark, menacing voice asked behind me.
He was so close. The warmth of his breath caused my wet hair to become colder.
I shivered. "No, Marco."
His heavy footsteps hit the floor, his body moved around mine, and he stopped dead in front of me, resting his hip on the island. I'd forgotten how dominating his presence was, not in a good way. Not the way Jax's was. It pained me to admit it, perhaps it was the traumatizing string of events confusing my mind, but there was a considerable difference between them. With the strange new Murdoch, huddled in his lap, with his arms around me, I'd never felt anything like it.
With Marco, however, his bulging muscles, impressive height, and the knowledge of what he did to me made him terrifying. Why hadn't I seen the darkness in him before? Reaching into the back of his pants, he pulled out a knife. He spun the handle, pressing the tip of it against his finger, and I watched, with my organs shaking as blood popped from the tiny wound.
"Marco, please tell me what's happening."
He sighed, smiling still. "I can imagine you're rather confused, Elle."
I cringed every time he called me that.
"Look, I don't wanna be the bad guy, alright? But your husband brought me back for a reason."
Turning his back on me, he walked over to the pantry, an enormous cupboard filled to the brim with groceries. The gun he carried was nothing like I'd ever seen before. It reminded me of something the Military would use, so many different bolts, levers, and attachments. It ensured I didn't move a muscle.
Opening the cupboard door, I watched what he did, each tiny movement as his thick body shuffled amongst the tins and packets of food. "Where the goddamn is it?" His voice asked the darkness. There was shuffling, the clanging of metal as it hit the floor, plastic packaging crackling, the only noise above his grunts, and then there was a click. A loud click. "Ah, there we go!"
My senses sprung into high alert. Perhaps I could outrun him, spin around and run for Vladimir, the bedroom, hell even Jax at this point. Whatever Marco had found inside an otherwise innocent pantry, wasn't going to be anything pleasant.
There were two doors to the right of his position, could I escape from here? I doubt it.
Shuffling backward, my fingers stretched, searching for the door. When they met nothing but space, my brow pulled inward. Marco was still rearranging things inside the pantry, and I kept shuffling, bare feet silent against the concrete.
His quick movements had me stopping in my tracks, just as my fingertips brushed against a wall.
Dark eyes, menacing eyes so different from those of Jax's, smirked at me. I'd never seen a look like it.
My chest throbbed painfully as my wounds bled, the ripped skin burnt like wildfire, and for a moment, the dizziness threaten to floor me.
Waving a finger, Marco spoke. "Come here, beautiful." He swung the gun to his front, and I shook, violent tremors making it near impossible to talk.
"Where are you taking me?" I stammered.
Rolling his eyes in pity, he said, "Oh, Elle. You've embarrassed your husband."
His words made no sense, just a jumble of noise swirling around my skull. What on earth was he talking about?
"Now, come. The. Fuck. Here. Do. Not make me put a bullet between those pretty blues before you've even tried to save yourself."
I didn't want to move. I didn't want to know where Marco was leading me, but what else could I do? No matter where I ran to, it'd only be a matter of time before someone else found me.
And so, I moved, fighting the warring emotions and pain inside of me and on the surface, and just prayed he wasn't taking me to the cells.
"Good girl." He smiled as I reached him.
With a firm grip, he yanked on my arm, pulling me into, what I had always thought was, the pantry, and it didn't take my eyes very long to see what was hidden inside.
I looked down into a dark abyss, a long flight of concrete stairs that led to nothing.
With another flick, Marco had switched the lights on, and my mouth was agape as I saw the large chained door at the foot of the steps.
Two padlocks crisscrossed over the door, and I cried. Whatever was inside of there was not going to be pretty.
On instinct, I tried to move back, but he pushed me forward.
"You'll thank us in the end, precious. Who knows, maybe you'll even see your girl again."
I spun around to look at him, and he raised an eyebrow.
"Only if you cooperate, though."
I cried again, a strangled, gargled noise. "Please, Marco, if you ever cared for me, please tell me what's down there."
He smiled and refused to answer. Of course, I meant nothing to him; I'd been brave enough to tell Vladimir what happened. I could have had him killed.
Well, for all the good it did, I may as well have kept my mouth shut.
Taking a deep breath, and with Marco breathing down my neck, I crept down the stairs, my clothes were beginning to dry, but a chill coursed through me.
With each shaking step, I tried to imagine what would be waiting for me behind that threatening steel door. I thought I knew every nook and cranny of this mansion, and it turned out that Vladimir kept even more secrets than I'd thought.
We’d reached the bottom. Soon enough, I'd find out what awaited me.
Chapter Twelve
Jax
Watching that cunt drag Ella away after she'd been in my arms, after I'd felt her paling lips against mine was fucking hard. But would use would I be to her, to Carter and Amy if he put a bullet in my brain?
No.
I'd have to be smart.
And being smart when I was an outsider in enemy territory meant that being smart would be difficult.
The bedroom had seemed to grow smaller with each lap around it I made, my calf muscles ache, my knuckles turned red then white, and all I could see were her perfect blue eyes.
Just as the sun was breaking across the horizon, mine and Luca's conversation at the club hit me.
Grabbing my phone from the side table, I immediately dialed my father's
number.
“Son,” he grumbled. I'd woken him. “Everything okay?”
I imagined him rubbing his eyes, slipping from beside my mother as she slept to creep into his study.
“Haven't slept, but that's not why I've called.” Sipping the last of my scotch to soothe my throat, I continued. “The day before I left, I'd spoken to Luca. Word on the grapevine is that Amy was having an affair.”
Silence. Nothing but silence.
“Dad?”
He cleared his throat. “Sorry, son, that's just come as a bit of a shock. Those two were smitten and with the baby. Who told him this?”
I shrugged. “A delivery guy, I think. Said he saw Amy at Vlad's a few times.”
My dad laughed. “Oh, Jax, my boy, you know the women from our side are forbidden from ever setting foot there, whoever said this was mistaken.”
Which was true. Not one Murdoch woman, by blood, name or otherwise, ever saw or stepped inside The Mansion. We protected our women. They didn't need to know this shit. But still, the thought was itching at me, like some kind of memory I couldn't decipher if it was real or not.
“And besides,” my father went on, “who on earth there would Amy chose over Carter?”
Again, he made a fair point. Amy was an absolute firecracker. Could have had any man she'd wanted. Would she have chosen Vlad? Or Jozef? Perhaps one of them had been blackmailing her.
I groaned, rubbing a hand across my stubbled jaw. “Either way, pops, find out who that delivery guy was, and question him; at this point, we need all the information we can get.”
“Speaking of, my boy, we've had her cell checked - it's clean, nothing untoward whatsoever.”
I thought for a moment. “How's my boy doing, pops? Has he told you what the 'It' is yet?”
I could feel the shake of my father's head done the line. “No, son, but don't you worry, your mother and I are keeping a good eye on him. Time, son, he just needs time.”
“And justice,” I added.
“Jaxon, get some sleep if you've got time, I'll keep you updated and vice versa regarding Amy's funeral; we will all want to pay our respects.”
We said goodbyes, and I slumped on to the bed, lighting a cigarette, words, theories, reasons, and excuses buzzing around my mind, an irritating anxiety that just wouldn't fuck off.
