by Messer Stone
Fury like I’ve never known surges through me as I grab him by the front of his shirt, my hands fisting in the material. “What the fuck did you do?”
He shoves me off, looking at me like I’ve just grown a second hand. “What the hell is the matter with you?”
“I swear to God, if you don’t start talking—”
My phone rings and I slip it out of my pocket, intending to dismiss it. But then I notice who’s calling.
“Lonny,” I say into the phone. “What’s up?”
Meanwhile, my father is straightening his tie and heading for the door. “We’ll talk more once you’ve had time to cool off.”
“No, we’ll talk now—” I bite off a curse, following him through the door as Lonny talks in my ear.
“Sir? Are you there?”
“Yes,” I say, as I follow my father through the penthouse. “Is everything okay?”
“Uh… I’m not sure.”
We reach the elevators and I stop, frozen in place. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“The other girl that lives here… Elena, I think. She just left with the kids. They had suitcases.”
My heart rate leaps into a gallop. “Was Mercy with them?”
“No. She’s still in the house.”
Relief washes over me like a soothing rain. She’s still at home. I know where she is. She’s safe. “Thanks Lonny. Keep me posted.”
I hang up and look back to my father as he gets on the elevator. “Tell me what you did.”
He fixes me with a blank look. “What I had to.”
Before I can respond, the doors slip closed.
“Fuck!” I roar, shoving my hands into my hair. Whipping out my cell, I dial Mercy’s number. Straight to voicemail. So I try again. And again. And again.
“Get me a car!” I bark at Miles, or whoever’s closest. “I’m going to Long Island.”
Within ten minutes, I’m in the back seat of a Range Rover, inching through five o’clock traffic. I keep calling Mercy but to no avail. The distance to Long Island suddenly seems impossibly far. How hard could it be to grow wings and fly? At this point, I’m willing to give it my best shot.
Thanks to outrageously bad traffic, the journey takes twice as long to make as usual. By the time we finally cross over into Long Island, I’m nearly delirious.
“Calm down,” Lorelai’s voice tells me, as I practically rock myself in the back seat, phone pressed to my ear. “You need to take a breath.”
“It’s bad, Lor. I can just feel it.” I rub at my chest, trying to ooze the sickening sting of anxiety.
“Worst he could’ve done is send a few goons out there to scare her off,” she says. She’s calm in a way that soothes me.
She’s right, and logically, I know that. But why won’t she answer my call? Where is Elena taking the kids?
When I finally reach the house, I get out at a run, glancing only briefly down the street to see if I can spot Lonny’s car. The black sedan is discreet, and inconspicuous, but it’s definitely there.
“Mercy!” I yell as I pound on the door. “Open up!”
At last, the door opens, but only by a fraction— restricted from opening further by a chain lock. Mercy’s big blue eyes blink at me through the narrow space and I want to weep with relief.
“Why won’t you answer my calls?” I ask, frowning when I see how pale she is. “Let me in, baby.”
She shakes her head, tears shining in her eyes. “You have to go. You can’t be here.”
“What’s wrong?” My heart is pounding in my ears. “Is it my father? What did he do? I swear—”
“I d-don’t w-want to s-see you anymore!” she cries, tears running down her face. “P-please l-leave.”
My heart falls into my stomach as my eyes search her stricken face. “You don’t mean that.”
“I’m sorry,” she sniffs, wiping her eyes. “But this has to end.”
I know she doesn’t mean this. I know my father is behind this. Why won’t she just tell me?
“Listen to me,” I say, gripping the door with white-tipped fingers so she can’t shut me out. “Whatever he said to you— if he threatened you, or scared you— we can deal with it. Okay? I can protect you from him.”
“You can’t protect me,” she says, her voice suddenly hollow. “No one can.”
“Mercy,” I whisper, emotion clogging my voice. She starts to shut the door.
“Wait!” I tighten my grip to hold the door open. “You can’t—”
She shakes her head, shuts the door further. And now I’m desperate. “I love you!”
She freezes, staring at me with wide eyes. For just a second, she’s Mercy again. My Mercy, the girl who looks at me like I’m the only man in the world. Her lip wobbles, throat working as she swallows. And then in a flash, she’s gone. Her face blank, her eyes empty.
“I’m sorry.” With a final, harsh pull, the door slams shut.
What the fuck just happened? Hurt, mixed with fear and anger wells up inside me. I can’t even bring myself to move. I just stand there, starting at that closed door, shivering in the cold night air. My breath fogs out in little puffs every time I exhale.
When I finally manage to move, I head straight for Lonny’s car down the street.
“Stay here,” I order gruffly. “Follow her if she leaves. I’ll send someone to relieve you in a few hours.”
Feeling helpless, I trudge back to my car. I take one last look at the house, something stiff settling in my gut.
A voice in my head speaks up, getting louder and louder until I can’t ignore it. Something’s not right. She didn’t want to send you away. She’s scared. You can’t leave her. Go break down the door, make her tell you what’s wrong.
What could she be scared of? Another voice chimes in. You can protect her from anything. She knows that and she still sent you away. Your father probably offered to pay her off. And she probably went along with it because she needs money. She doesn’t need you. She doesn’t love you.
Yes she does. You know she does.
You thought Lola loved you. Look how wrong you were about that.
Why won’t she just talk to me?
The voices wage war in my mind until I can’t take it anymore. I direct the driver to take me to the nearest bar. I could probably go back into Manhattan and get drunk alone in the safety of my own home, but for some reason I can’t bring myself to leave Long Island. Not yet. And I don’t care why, I just need a drink.
Ten minutes later I arrive at Buddy’s Sports Bar and Grill. It’s a far cry from the kind of place I’m used to, but I couldn’t care less. Inside, the lights are a bit dimmed, every inch of the walls covered with memorabilia dedicated to various New York professional sports teams. A handful of men still in factory uniforms are shooting pool and drinking beer as Nickelback plays from the speakers.
“Macallan on the rocks, please. Fifty years, if you have it,” I say the second I settle onto a barstool. In my dazed and confused state, I don’t immediately appreciate the absurdity of ordering fifty-year-old Scotch in an establishment that advertises a Wednesday night beer and hot wings special. After a beat of silence, I look up to find the bartender staring at me.
She’s young, no more than a year or two older than Mercy. Her blonde hair is scraped back into a bun and she’s wearing a t-shirt that bears the bar’s logo. She arches a brow at me, looking annoyed and impatient.
She drapes a towel over her shoulder, cocks a hip. “Sure, I think we’ve got some in the back. Anything else I can get you while I’m at it? Some caviar? A Cuban cigar? The Hope Diamond?”
Embarrassed, I fidget awkwardly as I look down at my hands. “Just pour some whiskey in a glass.”
A few minutes later, I’m knocking back my second round when a voice calls my name.
“Callahan?” Sean Regan, Mercy’s friend, slides onto the stool beside mine. “What are you doing here?”
I signal the bartender for another round. “It’s a long story. You?”<
br />
“I’m meeting some friends of mine,” he says, shrugging out of his jacket. “I’m a bit early. But actually, it’s good I ran into you— you’re friends with Mercy aren’t you?”
Hell if I know. “She works for me?”
“Have you seen her lately?” His voice takes on a worried tone.
“Yeah. Just a little while ago,” I tell him, frowning. “Why?”
My phone pings with a text from Lonny.
She just left in an Uber. Following at a distance.
Sean sighs. “I think she might be in trouble.”
My heart stops. And then starts again, beating furiously. “What trouble?”
“Well—”
Before he can answer, my phone starts to ring. I don’t recognize the number.
“Hello?”
A raspy, male voice greets me. “Is this Parker Callahan?”
“Who is this?”
“My name is Bobby Chase. I’m Mercy’s father.”
****
It’s not hard to see who Bobby Chase used to be. The lines on his face paint a picture of a man who’s laughed and smiled a lot in his life. His body, though thin and weak from lack of exercise, still bears the inherent strength of a lifelong laborer.
After his call, I tore out of the bar with Sean on my heels. We found him in the kitchen, sat in his wheelchair, rocking back and forth, nearly beside himself with panic.
“It was supposed to be me,” he mutters, frantic, as he clutches at his hair. “It was supposed to be me, Goddamnit!”
I exchange a wary glance with Sean. “Mr. Chase?”
He doesn’t seem to notice us. “I knew he was coming. All this time I’ve been waiting.”
I reach out to put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Bobby—?”
He jumps violently, wheeling backwards. But then his eyes focus on me and Sean, and I can see him relax. “Callahan?”
I nod. “Yes, I’m Parker. Did Mercy tell you to call me?”
He shakes his head. “Your father was here.”
My gut clenches. “When?”
He motions over to a laptop sitting on the kitchen table. Turning it on, he pulls up a display of security feeds. They appear to be from around the house. One in the backyard, one in the front. One in the kitchen, one in the front entryway.
“What is this?” I ask, confused.
“We installed the system a few years ago after there were some break-ins in the neighborhood,” he explains. “Lately, I’ve been using it to keep an eye on things.”
In my confused state, it occurs to me that he must’ve seen footage of Mercy sneaking me into the house last night. But I don’t have time to ponder that awkward reality before Bobby pulls up footage timestamped from early this afternoon.
My father, looming over Mercy as she cowers in his shadow. I watch in horror as he offers her the money, my heart breaking when I see the terror on her face. I brace myself for impact, waiting to see what she says.
“I don’t want any money from you,” she says in a shaky voice. “B-but please, you can’t go to the police. My brother and sister— I’m all they have.”
“Fine. Just stay away from my son.”
When the clip ends, I have to bite back a wave of nausea. I need to find her. I understand now, why she sent me away. Why she was so scared. I don’t know how my father found out about her work with the agency, but it doesn’t matter. He won’t touch her. I won’t let him.
With shaking hands, I take out my phone and text Lonny.
Send me your location. I’m coming to you.
When I look up at Sean, his face is pale. I follow his gaze, finding a note on the counter. It’s written in Mercy’s hand.
Jason and Sophie,
I have to go away for a little while. I don’t know when I’ll be back, but Elena will take care of you. Be good. I love you both so much.
Love,
Mercy
“What is this?” I ask, my heart pounding in my ears.
“It was supposed to be me!” Bobby wails, sobs racking his body. “I knew he would come for me and I wanted him to! He was my ticket out!”
Sean steps in, trying to soothe him. “Bobby, take a breath.”
“If I’d died in that fucking accident, everything would be fine.” He shakes his head. “The kids would have my life insurance policy. They’d be okay. But I didn’t die. I lived. And all my kids have is a mountain of debt. But I figured once he came for me, it’d all be okay! I’d be gone, the policy would pay out and my kids would be set. This whole time I’ve been waiting for him to take me out! I didn’t pay my debt and he was supposed to take me out, that’s how this works!”
Frustrated, I run hand over my face. “Bobby, what are you—”
“It was supposed to be me!” he wails again. “He wasn’t supposed to come for her!”
And just like that, the whole world stops.
“Oh, Jesus,” Sean chokes out. “Oh fuck.”
“What?” I look frantically from Bobby to Sean. “What the fuck is going on?”
A little over thirty seconds later, I’m tearing out of the house barking orders into my phone. This is so much worse than I could’ve ever imagined.
CHAPTER 28
Mercy
I could have taken the money. In fact, I probably should have. But I knew that doing so would kill something inside me. Would take away the one bright spot I’ve had in my life during this past year. And I just couldn’t do it.
I want Parker to remember the good things about us. Those first, desperate kisses, that first night we shared in his bed— dancing in his hot tub under a sky full of stars. I want him to remember the love. I can’t stand the idea of him thinking I valued money over him. No matter what happens, I could never bear that.
“This is it,” my Uber driver informs me as we pull up to the curb.
Cautiously, I peer out the window. This is definitely not what I expected. I’d thought I’d be meeting Vito Demarco in an abandoned warehouse or a dark alley of some kind. Instead, I’m staring at a perfectly lovely, upper-class suburban home.
“Have a good night,” the driver says as I slide out of the car.
Licking my dry lips, I respond with a tight smile. “You too.”
Standing on the front walk, I watch the highlights flash across the yard and then fade as the car drives away. I’m officially alone. Shivering, I wrap my arms around myself as I try to ease my pounding heart. I wasn’t sure what to wear for my debut confrontation with a dangerous mob boss, so I decided to go with something basic; a simple blue sweater, jeans, and comfortable sneakers.
Hesitation and doubt creeps into my gut again as I recall the last conversation I had with my dad. When I told him where I was going— and why. His reaction utterly floored me. It was like after almost a year; he suddenly came alive again.
“Mercy, no!” he yelled, panicked as he grabbed my arm, squeezing hard. “You aren’t going anywhere!”
“Oh, so now you want to be my dad again?” I spat, bitterly.
He winced, his grip tightening. “You don’t understand—”
“No you don’t understand!” I roared, jerking out of his grip. “I’m doing what I have to do to clean up the mess you left behind!”
Closing my eyes, I remember the wild look in his eyes. The fear. The pain. But most of all, I saw love. For me. It was like a switch had been flipped and suddenly he was my father again. The father that adored me, cherished me, protected me at all costs. The father who stayed up all night helping with last minute science projects and intimidated all the boys I brought home.
Part of me wanted to weep with relief and joy. But I couldn’t. Maybe my father is back. But it’s too late.
With a deep breath, I approach the house. Climb up the steps to the front porch, and ring the doorbell. Seconds later, it opens.
I’m led inside by a large, surly man in a tracksuit. A gold chain glints about his neck. We pass through a grand foyer into what appears to be a living room o
f some kind.
Surly man grunts at me. “Wait here.”
In an effort to distract myself, I focus on my surroundings. This does not look like the home of a dangerous gangster. It looks like the home of a wealthy, successful family man. The semi-circle sofa looks big enough for a bunch of people to curl up and watch a movie on the enormous flat screen television. There’s a large fireplace ready to warm the room on cold winter nights. Above the mantle, a framed picture hangs in prominence. Three children dressed in matching white t-shirts and jeans. They’re at the beach, smiling happily with their arms wrapped around one another. Two boys, and a girl, triplets by the looks of it. Six, maybe seven years old.
As I walk along the built-in book shelves, I find more pictures, all of the same three children. Skating at Rockefeller Center. Posing with Mickey Mouse at Disney World. Riding horses in the country.
A flash of movement outside a nearby window catches my eye. Moving closer, I peer into the darkness, seeing little more than the vague glare of my own reflection.
“Get away from the window.” The booming voice rips through the silence without warning, nearly stopping my heart. I spin around just in time to find the surly man, reaching for my arm. “This way.”
We leave the living room and walk down a long hallway, coming to a door at the end. He presses a code into the digital keypad on the handle and the door opens, revealing stairs that lead to a lower level.
He urges me forward. “Just down there.”
I’m three steps down when I hear the door slam shut behind me. Fear threatens to freeze me in my tracks, but I push it away. I push it further and further back until the resignation returns. It’s funny how brave you can be once you accept your fate.
At the bottom of the stairs, the lower level opens up into a wide, open space. The stale stench of cigarettes hangs in the air. On one side of the room is a long conference table littered with files and ash trays. File cabinets line the walls, all of them outfitted with padlocks. There’s also a seating area with arm chairs and couches, positioned in front of a large television.
“Good Evening, Miss Chase.”
My breath catches, head whipping around. Vito Demarco is sitting behind an old fashioned oak desk. He’s in his late fifties, but he looks about ten years older. A life marred by crime, drugs, and alcohol has not been kind to him. His skin is a sickly gray, his teeth a grungy yellow. He’s about fifty pounds overweight, his thin dark hair greased back.
