She began fighting him, like he knew she would.
Manhandling this woman was like playing Russian roulette. He grabbed her by the throat and spoke to his own reflection in the shield of her helmet. “When it hurts like this? I’m here. From now on. Fuck your legal bullshit. I am yours. And I’m going to take you upstairs and fuck you until you stop crying.”
She slapped his arms. Her voice was muffled, “Let go.”
“I don’t. I don’t let go. This is the package you bought, lady. I never let go.”
He wrapped her in a quick restraint, her back to his chest, and lifted her, walking back through the open front door before kicking it shut.
“Leave, assholes. Get out!” He heard the douchebags scramble before shutting the basement door.
Her curses were full of fire. He tossed her on the couch. He knew she was angry, but her helmet was still on. He held her down by her breasts. “Stop. Just stop,” he asked her.
She brought her knee up hard, and he barely closed his legs in time to avoid contact.
“I know you can kill me. Just stop fighting for a goddamn second,” he practically yelled. “You want to wall me out. Distance me. And I’m not going to let you. You can’t get on the bike and go find Morales so you can cry to him.”
She growl-sobbed from under the helmet. Beckett switched his grip from her breasts to her wrists when she started punching him.
“You can’t be soft with him and hard with me. Are you safe there because you don’t screw him? All of you. I married every part of you. I demand it now. This pain. This loss. We share it. You can hate me, you can hit me—but right now, as we mourn the loss of your father, we are together.”
She stopped struggling, but her body was still tense. He unlatched her helmet and pulled it off her head.
Under its shell she was devastated. Broken. Guilty.
“You father’s dead, Eve. The man who raised you. Loved you. He’s gone.” Her eyes filled and her nostrils flared.
He was poking a dragon with a stick. It was cruel. But it was necessary.
“He’s gone. But he loved every version there was of you.”
The tears spilled over onto her cheek.
“Feel that.”
He kneeled on top of her.
“Feel that.”
And she spiraled. The screaming was unearthly, shattering. “Nooo!” She lashed out, slapping and punching him, and he let her this time. Clenching the muscles she bruised so efficiently. Her mind was lost for a few heartbeats, eyes wild with more white than color. It was the opposite of an orgasm. Pain flooding her system, bursting the levy she’d so carefully maintained inside.
He stayed on her, accepting her pain however she had to share it with him. Physically, for now. And then she switched to words, cursing him, calling him the devil, blaming him for every loss in her life. Spitting in her anger.
Still he waited. He’d seen this kind of breakdown before. The struggle of the scared. Too many years in foster homes and juvie had taught him well. Energy had to transfer through all the seasons of torment.
Finally she was depleted. Used. Weary. She slumped against the couch, face wet from tears. She exhaled like a beaten beast. The last season. The pain would enter then, slowly incorporate into her reality—this new way of living—without her father.
He stood and pulled off her jeans. He entered her quickly. She didn’t react.
He pulled her onto his lap, never letting their connection break, sitting while she straddled him.
“Feel that.”
Eve finally made eye contact. “Being a monster hasn’t saved anyone.” She choked on her sob, gasping for air.
He pulled her into his arms, and she finally let herself be hugged.
He cradled her head, holding her tight. He didn’t have words to soothe her. He just thought about how much he loved her, hoped somehow she would know.
“Revenge won’t bring him back.” She sobbed against him, crying anew. “Rodolfo is dead, and all we have left to do is grieve.”
His shirt grew damp as his own eyes filled. “You’re not feeling this alone,” he told her. “I’m here. I’m inside you. I’m inside you.”
She sat up and covered her mouth with two shaking hands. She spoke her fear around her fingers. “What if nothing stops me now?”
Beckett nodded. A monster without a leash was a dangerous thing. He couldn’t fix her, but he could bring her pleasure. He started in on her body as only he knew how. He swung their intimate connection into the painful fucking she needed. He had to squeeze her tighter, slam her harder, and choke her more than ever. She wanted to be physically punished now, and his hands were the safest place to become an object to be used.
She was naked and bruised on the floor when it was over, Beckett cradling her hair knife on his chest, covered with both their blood.
“Tell me the plan,” she finally said.
And with that, he knew she was at least thinking beyond the very moment they were in. She wanted to know how Beckett was going to face what had just happened as a boss. As a man. As Beckett fucking Taylor.
The text from Taylor said only this:
H#e’s dea$d. It wa4s NichWolas.
& Vitullo’s wormSSFood.
It had been two days since he’d stayed with Eve while Beckett went off, all dressed for battle. Well, stayed until she’d forced him to leave. After an hour she’d announced that his babysitting services were no longer needed. And though she was clearly a fucking mess, he’d honored her wishes after she promised not to go after him.
And now it seemed his instincts had been correct about Dr. Hartt. He hated that. The stupidest superpower on the books—all he could do was make sure people cried. In a situation like Vitullo and Taylor’s, there was no real revenge, no resolution, just an endless circle of stupidity and poor choices.
The fire at the compound hadn’t been a surprise, though Ryan had told himself he wasn’t enabling anything by staying with Eve. At least he’d kept her safe. People had died, as was bound to happen in their sorts of business. The swirling power grab would be next. Instead of keeping Poughkeepsie safe, Taylor had the city walking the plank. For all his talk of loyalty and family, he’d swung with an iron fist.
Ryan answered the knock on his door. Capt. McHugh was on the other side, looking exhausted.
“Well, for all it’s worth, I just got conformation that Vitullo’s alive. One of his men, Vin something or other, showed up with the old piece of grizzle at the fire station.” McHugh walked in holding a six pack of beer. “But he was treated and gone before we could organize anything.”
“Thaddens does good work.”
“He does, but who knows where they’ve gone to now.” McHugh shook his head.
Lovell Thaddens had been inside the Vitullo organization since the post-Mary-Ellen rebuild, part of McHugh’s pledge toward more creative thinking and better vigilance where this matter was concerned. Thaddens was a master of undercover playacting—so good that McHugh had Ryan check him out on occasion to make sure the man was still on the up and up. Tasting something over and over might just let a palate feel entitled to explore. But Thaddens always came up clean, with just a few smudges.
Ryan and his boss used the counter to open their beers.
“Surely you have better plans than cracking into a brewski with my sorry ass on New Year’s Day,” Ryan said as he tapped the bottleneck of McHugh’s beer in toast.
“I do,” said McHugh. “And you should too. This is just a quick stop. I want your impression of this whole situation off the record.” He sat on the couch, and Ryan joined him.
“The Taylor debacle? Mmmm. Yeah. What are your thoughts? To be honest, I feel like I have clouded judgment.” Ryan took a swig.
“Got it bad for her?”
“Can you blame me? Jesus. Beyond the looks, her way around a gun is just…” He shook his head.
They sat in a companionable silence for a few before McHugh seemed to get around to the real reas
on he had come.
“I can’t help him turn this city into his lapdog,” he said. “One devil’s the same as another for me. No matter what Taylor says he’s doing, this feels like a classic turf war.”
“And that includes her.” Ryan began picking at the label of his beer.
“It will,” McHugh confirmed. “She’s had enough choices and chances. She’s in.” He shook his head. “I like that girl. I see so much potential. Imagine if we got her on the force?”
Ryan shook his head as well, lamenting the loss of a career Eve had never mentioned wanting. “We could do so much with her.” As if seeing the next question in a crystal ball, he added, “She’d never turn on him, though. They got married.”
“Did they?” McHugh finished his beer.
Ryan nodded. It burned in his chest. Knowing she’d married Taylor was like watching her put a loaded gun in her mouth.
McHugh went to the fridge and opened Ryan another. “You deserve this.”
He took it, but he didn’t want to talk about it. “What’s the plan? Let Taylor and Vitullo blow themselves to hell?”
“Right now, we play it as usual. Someone breaks the law, we haul ’em in. We’ll keep Thaddens inside and see if he can work both teams against the other. And speaking of which, about Eve…” McHugh trailed off.
“If she gives me anything we can use, you’ll get it. I can’t get her away from him, but maybe circumstances can work in her favor, and she can still get chance at a life.” Ryan took another long swallow.
“You know she’s in a real dangerous situation. And she’s had more than one chance out. If push comes to shove…” He trailed off again.
“She’d be on the bad guys’ side. I know.”
McHugh nodded before standing up to leave.
Ryan sighed. His boss’s message had been delivered: Eve couldn’t be protected. Which made sense. You can’t protect a person who has her gun trained on you. But he’d never be able to shoot her.
He sighed again and finished his beer. He’d left last year sad and now entered the next one mad. And alone.
17
Led by the Heart
A week after the fire, when it seemed the dust had settled, Nicholas walked into the newly established Virginia safe house, ready for the worst. But Rodolfo looked good¸ considering. An oxygen tank sat next to him and one of his hands was bandaged.
“Sir, you look well, and you’ve only had a week of recovery. I wish I had been there for you.”
“It’s done?” Rodolfo looked paler than usual, but alive, and still totally focused on the project at hand, ignoring Nicholas’ platitudes.
Nicholas surveyed the room before speaking. Vin sat in a chair nearby like he was entitled to it. Nicholas pointed at the man and then the door. Since he’d dragged Vitullo’s tired ass out of the fire, Vin seemed to believe he was so much more than an associate of minimal importance.
Vin waited until Rodolfo nodded, approving Nicholas’s direction, before he bowed curtly and ambled toward the door. “I’ll be just outside, sir,” he said as he left.
Once the door was closed behind him, Nicholas pulled out a folder. “So that bag of rocks had enough sense to get you out?”
“His father’s a firefighter. Kid used to go to work with dad. He came straight for me.” Rodolfo looked shaken.
“Taylor lit your house on fire?”
“Took seventy-five percent of my men too. This is obviously war.”
Nicholas decided now was the right time to give his boss the good news. He opened the folder and set it on Rodolfo’s lap.
The old man flipped through the pages. Nicholas knew some things would make sense and some wouldn’t. But he gave Rodolfo the respect of waiting him out. Finally he was addressed.
“So this means?” The old man held up a picture of Alison.
“That woman has received the ovary tissue. After a few weeks and a regimen of hormones, which we’ve already begun, we can potentially harvest eggs.”
“So she was the best candidate?”
“Yes. According to Dr. Yordan, she actually has a wonderful profile—amazing family history, and she’s a great genetic match for the original source. Ideal.”
“And her husband?” Rodolfo set the picture down.
All Nicholas did was nod.
“I want you to run point on this. Keep the doctor and nurse happy and scared in equal measure. There can be no mistakes, and no one can back out now. Yordan has to have realized this isn’t just academic research, so be sure he’s incentivized to stay. And let’s extract a few extra eggs too—as many as we can get—just in case.”
Nicholas nodded again. “Of course. Sir, I’d be happy to see this through, but I really don’t like what happened with Taylor. Don’t you think I’d be more useful here with you?”
He sat down. Playing full-time babysitter was not exactly a great way to quell his urges, but he had to play the game. The old man was closer to death than ever, and he needed to make sure there was a place for him in the empire after his demise, particularly with jokers like Vin on the move. These babies were just babies, after all. And not even actually babies yet. Someone would have to manage things for a while…
“I’ve got this under control. I have ways of keeping Taylor in line. Plus, I’m only two towns away from my future children.” Rodolfo touched the picture of Alison. “It’s going to be perfect. Everything he takes he will eventually have to repay threefold. He’s led by his heart.” Rodolfo coughed.
“How long until he knows?” The last thing Nicholas needed was Taylor trying to mess up the delicate process he was in charge of with the doctor. He was already pressuring the man as much as he could to keep the timeline moving forward.
“A bit. No need to rush things. He’ll do a better job staying out of our way without this information, and I’ll stay out of sight so there’s no need for him to even go looking. He thinks I’m dead. Good for him.”
Nicholas nodded, relieved. For once they were working together. “I’ve got to say, I’m surprised you haven’t dragged Taylor’s family into the woods like dogs yet.” He sat and crossed his feet at the ankles.
“You would be.” Rodolfo used his good arm to wipe at the salvia seeping from his mouth. “I need Taylor firmly stuck up to his neck in his own bullshit. Then I can offer to dig his balls out.” Rodolfo took a deep inhale from the oxygen mask.
“You’re going to lose more manpower.” Nicholas reached over and closed the folder.
“Be that as it may. People make more people every day.” He gestured to the door, sending Nicholas the message to leave.
“Very well. Let me know if things start moving in my direction. The host is sedated, and I don’t want to have to move her in a hurry—especially during this delicate time.” Nicholas opened the door, watching Rodolfo smile with half his face.
Alison opened her eyes slowly. An internal alarm somewhere reminded her to appear asleep. She used her yoga breathing to settle her racing heart, as she knew there was a monitor somewhere in the room. She remembered the few times she’d struggled, only to be sedated again.
She listened from her prone position even though she was desperate to sit up. To cry. To scream. She waited. Monitors clicked predicable patterns, telling her kidnappers she was alive, functioning. Her situation was becoming clearer in her mind.
And it was a horror movie. She could feel the needle in her arm, delivering the sedatives and cocktail of hormones. She tried peeking out of her eyelashes. It was blurry. She decided to give it a few seconds to sharpen up. Her head pounded and her breasts were so sore.
The nurse monitoring her must have been getting paid a fortune, because she immediately began talking, as if she’d just been waiting for this moment. “I can tell from your eye movements under your lids that you’re awake, which is good. I need to sit you up a bit.”
Alison opened her eyes the rest of the way. The nurse looked friendly. Alison knew she was anything but. The room seemed to be a regula
r bedroom that had been equipped with hospital furnishings.
“How are you feeling?” The nurse tapped on her iPad and added some information.
Her voice was scratchy. “Trapped.”
“Let me get those straps off of you. And let me just say, real quick before we do the hard work, that beyond this door are two men with guns. And outside that window there’s a woman with a very long gun. They mean business about you staying here. You leave, and they will drag you back. And they will probably shoot me too. My job is to keep you healthy. Understand?” The nurse’s hand hovered over the restraint.
Alison nodded.
“No, I need you to say it out loud.” She stepped back, enforcing her words.
“I understand.” Alison waited.
“Please say it all. I need to make sure the medication isn’t inhibiting your ability to reason. This is literally a life or death agreement.” She put down her iPad.
“I understand that if I try to escape, people with guns will hurt me. And possibly kill you.” She wanted to add questions like, Why am I here? Who are you? But her tears had started. Hearing her own voice state this nightmare out loud made it more real.
“There, there, sweetheart. We’ll be okay. We’ll do this together. Okay?” The nurse smiled.
Alison pictured the people on the other side of the door. Flint. Where was he? God, was he hurt? Was he really dead?
“Sweetie, I’ll have to sedate you if you get upset again. Please try to keep it together.” The nurse looked worried herself this time. She glanced at the door.
Alison swallowed her sobs, hiccupping them to a stop.
“Okay. That’ll work. I’m going to undo your hands, and I want you to just move them real slow. Then I’m going to raise the bed, again real slow. You’ve been in this position for a while, so I don’t want you to get a head rush. You’ve been getting hormones in fairly high doses, so we can address any side effects you may be experiencing.”
The nurse started with the first restraint. Alison followed the instructions and rolled her wrist. Her hands had a bit of a pins-and-needles sensation. The whole process went methodically, as if this nurse had helped a ton of kidnapped people sit up before.
Saving Poughkeepsie Page 20
