by A. C. Bextor
“If I’m breathin’, I’m Saint’s.”
Elevent releases a heavy breath and takes a pull of his beer. Finished, he wipes his mouth with his hand. “You’re not sayin’ shit to the others?”
“No reason to draw this out. Won’t be gone that long. Only one who’ll miss me is Mia, and that’s ’cause she’ll have one less brother to rag.”
Elevent smiles at my truth.
“She’s pregnant,” he tells me, and I freeze.
I hadn’t known.
“She thinks I don’t know, but Ziah can’t contain his anger.”
“His anger?”
Elevent smiles. “She may be Mama Mia, but the thought of me touching her the way I touch her doesn’t sit well with him.”
Putting aside Ziah’s annoyance, I lean over and pat Elevent hard on the back. “Congratulations, brother. Fuck, I’m happy for you.”
Elevent studies my sentiment, examining in a way I know he believes what I say is true. “You look happy.”
“What’s not to be happy about? I’m gonna go find my fire,” I tell him on a shrug, watching as his lips tip in a grin.
“Fuck yes,” he utters.
Giving in to the cheap romantic moment between us, I also add, “And when I find it, I’m gonna burn that son of a bitch out of control.”
Elevent’s head goes back and he roars with laughter. It’s good to see him like this. He’s happy and content. If he’s lucky, this happiness he’s found will last forever.
Once he’s regained his composure, he whispers with sincerity, “Well, it’s about fuckin’ time, brother.”
Yes, it damn well is.
“Mama, look! I found another one!” Cara calls, raising her hand in the air, holding tightly to her second find of the morning.
Smiling back, I return, “You did! It’s beautiful, honey.”
Cara goes on, lowering her beautiful blonde head as she keeps to scanning the ground for more dandelions. A weed to those who don’t find the beauty that only a child’s eye can see.
My daughter will be eleven years old next month. As a mother, I regret the loss of the years that have slipped away from her so fast. At one time, my life was full of late nights, baby tantrums, sicknesses, and cuddles.
As she’s gotten older, she’s also gotten wiser. I’ve become an expert at shielding her from the ugly world she’s growing up in.
One such as this morning.
Cara knew something wasn’t right when I came out of my bedroom while crying. I tried to hide my swollen lip, making it so she couldn’t see the pain striking so deeply. I had to fight not to topple over. But somewhere deep, somewhere my guilt and shame lay heavily, I knew she understood.
I may be young in years, but my life experience has saddled me with an old soul, one that holds little light.
Looking out over the gardens of the mansion I live captive inside, I sigh. How far I’ve fallen from the teenage girl who dreamed of a knight in shining armor coming to rescue her from the poor streets of Juarez, Mexico.
Growing up, my family was tight-knit, our lives intertwining at every turn. We celebrated holidays, birthdays, and special occasions like most families did. We cooked, laughed, sang, and gave thanks to our health and happiness.
My mother was a seamstress. My father, a handyman. My older brother was made to work by age twelve, while my little sister and I were held as valuables at home.
All this was until my father was offered a job in Chicago, given an opportunity no man raising three kids in a drug-infested city would turn down.
We were excited about the chance to move to the States, to start a new life with new ventures to prosper. I was thirteen, a teenager. I longed for public schools, pool parties, trips to the mall, and afternoons spent at movie theaters.
I dreamed of making friends and meeting boys my age.
Yet, once we arrived and got settled into the new living quarters of this very mansion, my hopes and dreams quickly faded. My brother was taken away to be trained as a soldier. My mother worked to her weary bones in a kitchen fit for a king. My father was treated like trash and given only enough money to keep us clothed and fed.
Then, before my eyes, he was shot dead with one pull of a trigger, one bullet to the head.
Cara turns her head in my direction, and her brilliant, happy smile falls. I tense as the door to the veranda slams shut. Her father is home.
The sounds of his expensive Italian shoes pound the deck as he gets closer. I plaster on a fake smile, signaling Cara to continue playing.
I hold in the shriek of pain as Varo grabs my hair with one hand and squeezes my neck with the other. His mouth slams down onto mine and he kisses me angrily, possessively, hungrily. His tongue acts as a spear, tearing another piece of my soul to shreds.
I have so little left.
Once he’s had his fill, my head flies forward with the force of his rejection. Daring to cast a glance, I note the bright pink lipstick on his mouth isn’t mine. I cringe, a slice of anger and mass of hate creeping up my throat.
Stepping around my chair, Varo prowls to the railing, blocking my view of Cara playing in the grass below. He turns toward me, rests his back against the railing, crosses his feet at the ankles, and glares with disappointment.
God knows what I’ve done to deserve it this time. He won’t keep me waiting to find out. He never does.
Varo Babak could be a beautiful man. In honesty, on the outside, he is. Tall, slender, and physically fit. Dark hair, dark eyes, and tanned skin. Only me and those he employs understand that each manicured piece of him is a lie.
Beneath the guise of doting parent and loving husband, Varo is a malicious monster. He’s the sort of beast little girls like me once feared were lurking outside our bedroom windows. Only the protection from our fathers could beat the ogre away, saving us from being dragged into the dead of night.
Varo’s father killed my own in front of me, in front of my sister. After he disposed of my father’s remains, he had my mother carted off to work in one of his drug shops. I’ve seen Mama three times in eleven years. The last was five years ago.
I don’t know if she’s alive. I have no idea if she’s being treated fairly, or if she’s living just as she did back from where we came from, trading one hell for the next.
“You’re wearing red,” Varo notes angrily. His lower eyelid twitches, serving as a reminder that my happy day with Cara is now at its end.
“I’m wearing a red robe, honey,” I placate with trained caution. “And I have no plans to leave the house.”
“You’re wearing red,” he says again, this time grasping the railing of the deck, his knuckles turning white with the pressure he’s using for restraint. “I am a patient man, Isabelle,” he claims the lie as truth. “But you test me.”
He’s never been a patient anything.
After my father’s murder, my life was all but finished in the eyes of the cartel.
I’d testified against Varo’s father, just as the DEA told me to do. I stood in open court, relaying what I saw the night it happened, describing my view from where I’d been hiding under the deck. In return, I was promised a new start, a new life. I had this for four months, two weeks, and one day.
Then, one of Varo’s henchmen came for me, threatening that if I didn't go quietly, my sister would suffer. They’d already taken Letta; he showed me proof. The photo he’d so eagerly shared was of her sitting in a chair, bound, gagged, and bleeding from her mouth and nose.
That day, I said goodbye to the life I almost had and spiraled into the depths of hell with this one.
As punishment for my cooperation with the federal government, I was married against my will. I’ve been raped, repeatedly, by the man who calls me wife. I’ve been forced to watch my sister disintegrate before my eyes, while my daughter’s being raised by criminals.
Thousands of times, I’ve thought about leaving, running away with Cara and never looking back. But I have no money, no family, no way of supportin
g us once our stomachs turn with hunger or our bodies demand we sleep.
When Varo steps forward, my fingers grasp the rails of the wooden chair and my eyes close. His large hand wraps around my neck and I hold my breath. The initial strike to my cheek stings, the palm of his hand landing the perfect blow. The next, fist to lip, causes my vision to darken.
Don’t attempt to run.
Don’t respond at all.
He wants a moving target.
Lessons I’ve learned the hard way.
The sound of his zipper filters through the air. The piercing echo of a husband about to sexually assault his wife settles deep.
Grabbing a handful of my long dark hair, Varo holds my head steady. Using his other hand, he frees his cock from his suit pants and brings it to my mouth.
“Suck,” he demands. “Use your teeth, I kill her.”
I kill her.
Cara. My beautiful girl, picking flowers in the fields, momentarily living a life every eleven-year-old should.
My mouth opens and I close my eyes, pretending I’m somewhere else. Imagining the hand grasping my hair isn’t a monster walking among men, but a man who can’t control himself from passion.
Just as the tip of his cock touches my lips, Varo’s cell phone rings. He curses, thrusting my head back with such force, it slams against the wooden back of my chair.
He speaks into the phone, but I don’t hear the words. I don’t feel the loss. I don’t see him standing before me, pacing, angry and determined.
I look out into the garden and do as I’ve done a thousand times before.
And I only think of him.
My knight and shining armor.
“I told her you were calling. She’s on her way over now.” Holding her cell phone at arm’s length, Sunny smiles into the screen. Her long hair is down, and her eyes are puffy. She looks tired.
“You’re at the club early this morning,” I note. “Did you stay there last night?”
Sunny smirks. “We hadn’t planned to, but it got late.” She shrugs. “Ziah insisted on a bonfire with s’mores, and the guys insisted on loud music and beer.”
Glancing at the clock, I see it’s just after eight in the morning. It’s no surprise that not many of my friends are up, especially after a long night of partying.
I miss Saint’s, the club itself, my friends. The impromptu gatherings. I even miss the drama—sans my own, of course.
Gypsy and I have been in Texas for nearly two months. In that time, Gypsy got a job at a local garage. He loves the hours, being home by six every night, and I started volunteering at the local pet rescue clinic downtown. We’ve settled into our routine even more than I had hoped.
“Elevent left early last night to check on Mia,” Sunny explains. “Ziah was excited to hang with the brothers without having him around.”
“How’s Mia?” I ask. “Is she any better?”
Mia’s morning sickness hasn’t gotten any better. The last time I spoke with Elevent, he said there are days when all she does is sit in the chair in the front room and cry. While he’s out of his mind with worry, the rest of the club has been wisely standing back, giving him space.
“She’s doing all right,” Sunny replies. “I think she’s looking forward to getting fat if it means she gets to eat without getting sick.”
Looking around Sunny as she stands over the kitchen sink, I prod, “Where’s Vante? Figured he’d be down there making pancakes.”
Sunny’s lips draw tight and her big, beautiful eyes narrow. She walks to the table and takes a seat where Vante usually does. “I wish I knew. He was a no-show last night. He’s around, but not like he used to be. Sty thinks he has a woman.”
Right. No way. He’d have told me if he met someone.
“A woman, my ass, unless she’s named Leglas,” I murmur instead, still concerned and annoyed I know nothing of what those two are up to.
“Cricket,” Sunny whispers, tilting her head to the side. Her face takes on a worried expression as she confides, “We still haven’t heard from Leglas.”
My chest sinks before I gasp out, “Nothing?”
She shakes her head. “Elevent’s losing patience. Leglas hasn’t not only come back, but he’s also unreachable.”
“What?”
It’s one thing to pick up and go get the girl you’ve always loved, but it’s another to leave all your friends behind to worry while doing it. None of this is like Leglas.
Sunny looks away. “His cell phone is disconnected.”
“How’s that possible? He wouldn’t cut everyone off.”
“He did,” she affirms. “One minute he was here, the next he wasn’t.”
“Vante knows something,” I tell her.
“No, he doesn’t,” she returns. “Elevent’s been so worried about Leglas, he threatened Vante’s position in the club if he didn’t tell what he knew. Vante’s pissed at El for the threat, and Leglas for disappearing without a word.”
This is worse than I thought. I knew Leglas was going off to reconnect with Isabelle. He didn’t exactly admit this, but the last time we spoke, I’d gathered that was his intent. No way did I think he’d walk away from the club, the only real family he’s had for years.
“Does Elevent think Leglas is in trouble?”
“Yes.” Her one-word answer hits home, and suddenly, I hate that I’m miles away, unable to help.
“I miss all of you,” I tell her in lieu of tearing up. “So much.”
“We miss you, too.”
“Do you think—”
Before I can finish, Mia’s voice booms out in the background. Sunny smiles and turns the phone to Mia, who’s holding a six-pack of Gatorade, with Elevent stepping in next behind her. Finally, a little black and white puppy, much smaller than Hamlet, breaks into a run between Elevent’s big-booted feet.
Sunny scowls, turning the camera back toward her. Whispering, she advises, “Don’t talk about Mia’s hair, the new dog, or morning sickness.”
Oh shit.
“Got it,” I reply.
“Are you talking to Cricket?” Mia asks, grabbing the phone.
When she turns the phone around, I smile wide because of the warning Sunny gave. How bad are things at home?
“Mia!” I squeal. She smiles back, dropping the drinks on the counter. “Look at you. You look so pretty.”
Another lie, of course, but whatever. Mia looks tired, worn from pregnancy, I’m sure. And also gravely worried.
“Mia, are you okay? What’s the matter?”
“Cricket,” Elevent calls out. Mia hands the phone to him and my smile dies. Without a grin, greeting, or comment, he orders, “Get a hold of Vante’s parents. Find out when they heard from him last.”
“What?”
“His fucking shit’s gone.”
“What?” both Sunny and I shriek.
“Cricket,” Elevent prompts. His tone gentles before he says, “Honey, you know his parents better than anyone here. Call them. Find out the last time they spoke and what he said. Maybe he told them where he was heading.”
My voice trembles as I say, “Elevent…”
“We don’t know anything, but his room has been emptied of all his things.”
“I’ll call them now,” I promise. “This doesn’t sound like him, though.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Elevent agrees. “So we gotta find out where he went and what the fuck he thinks he’s doin’.”
Saint’s Justice MC
Angels and Demons
Lights of Peril
Holding On
The Way Home
Toxic
Devil’s Despair
Ace’s Redemption
Hayden’s Verse
Travis’s Stand
The Vengence Duet
Dirty
Truth
A Mafia Duet
Empires and Kings
Saints and Savages
Kept
; A C Bextor, Honor and Redemption
