by Howes, Ann
At last my fingers curl around something cold and hard with sharp edges. It feels like a stapler. The first attempt misses his head, landing a weak blow on his chin. Dean grunts and angles his head away. My reach is too short and I’m losing strength. So much pressure, but his hands are slick with blood, some dripping from his face.
Using everything in me I manage to twist my shoulder enough to bring my free arm up and under Dean’s arm. His grip is slippery and loosens around my throat, enough for me to dislodge him. Having no support, he collapses on my chest. I’m pinned but I can breathe, and suck in deep, rasping breaths while I slam the stapler to the side of his face, catching him on his broken nose.
“Argh!”
He rears back and a flood of fresh blood spurts as he pushes his torso upright, clasping his face. “You fucking cunt.”
I’m still trapped by his pelvis and try to wiggle myself free, but he’s too heavy. Seizing my wrists, he grabs the stapler from my hand and throws it across the room. Pieces scatter as it breaks against the wall.
“Bitch,” he growls, his face twisting into a grotesque mask. “You’re gonna die, but first I’m gonna fuck you till you bleed.” Capturing both my wrists this time, he pins them above my head with one hand, dripping blood from his broken nose onto my face and chest.
His grip tightens while I squirm and buck, making it difficult for him to unbutton his fly. This gives me a chance to twist my upper body away and slip out from underneath him.
For one glorious moment, I’m free!
Gasping and coughing, I scramble on my knees towards the office door.
Lack of oxygen makes me slower than I should be. A painful tug on my hair, tumbles me over onto my back, then Dean pulls the ski pants down. All that’s left between him and me is a pair of skimpy panties.
Which makes me fight even harder, until Dean’s hand slips around my throat again and the rest of his weight pins me immobile to the ground.
Going gray again.
Vaguely I feel the sharp tug against my hip as he rips my panties. Then his knees force mine wide and the pressure of his hard cock is against me. My only consolation is that I’ll probably be dead before he’s done raping me.
Somewhere in the deep recess of my mind, firecrackers explode. Must be what’s left of my failing synapses. I have nothing. No air, no fight, no hope.
I’m dying.
I’m dying…but why’s it so damned loud.
Someone told me once it was peaceful, like floating on a blanket of light surrounded by music so exquisite your soul rejoices.
They lied.
This is nothing like that. It’s reddish gray and deafening, full of people screaming and scary.
Fuck. I must be going to hell.
No, no, I can’t die. I don’t want to go to hell…it hurts. I can’t get enough air and the fires are already burning my throat.
Then suddenly it’s silent, the only sound is my own desperate wheezing.
“Fuck, Shelley.”
Yup. That confirms it. I must be in hell, because I’m pretty sure angels don’t curse.
“No, no, no! Fuck, no!”
Gianni?
Can’t be because he wouldn’t be in hell.
“Shelley, wake up. Wake the fuck up.”
The voice sounds funny, coming in and out in waves, like an old transistor radio my grandparents once had.
“Christ, Shelley, don’t you dare fucking die on me. Not now!”
Okay, so maybe not dead yet, but I must be close because now I’m floating. Then my head lolls against something solid and warm.
Gasp.
“I need help here.” A rumbling against my ear barely registers over my struggle to breathe. “Marco, get the medics.”
Then more unrecognizable voices tickle the edge of my awareness and a swirl of fuzzy faces appear through the red-gray fog, like buzzards circling.
“She can’t breathe.”
“Sir, lay her down then I need you to step aside. She needs oxygen.”
Something hard covers my face and I feel some relief, but not enough.
Gasp.
“Her airways are swelling. We’ll have to intubate. Give her the shot.”
There’s a pinch and a scratch in my arm. A cold wave sweeps through my veins, into the back of my throat but those damn fires still rage.
“We don’t have time to wait for it to work. This is going to hurt and she’ll fight. You! Sir. Hold her head.”
A vice clamps over my cheekbones. My vision momentarily clears and my eyes roll up.
Gianni’s beautiful face with that lock of hair falling forward. I try to reach for it but I’m pinned
“I’m sorry, Shelley.”
Something cool and wet lands on my forehead. Is it raining?
“Here we go,” one of the voices says. “Keep her still.”
Pressure pushes down on my arms just below my shoulders and legs. Moments later something metallic is inserted into my mouth, scraping against my teeth and my throat is being torn apart. How many more fires are there in hell?
Seriously?
My body heaves as I gag, trying to expel the thing.
“Hold her steady.”
I want to rip whatever is in me out, but I can’t move. Then mercifully the pain begins to fade, my limbs becoming watery. I’m swirling, then, my existence fades from gray to black.
14
Must still be in the mountains
* * *
Nothing makes sense when I open my eyes. Shapeless forms bleed into each other, like a myriad of colors on a palette.
My lids are so heavy, as if weighed down by anchors. I fight to keep them open, and it takes me a while to realize there’s something in my mouth.
A memory surfaces. Dean’s face hovering over me and bloody hands around my neck. A strange noise escapes me.
“Jesus, Shelley…shh…it’s okay. Don’t speak, you’ve a breathing tube in your throat.”
Gianni?
Where am I?
His hand squeezes mine. It’s warm and rough and I know I’m safe. The cloud moves again and I drift off, entering that tunnel with no light at the end.
* * *
Voices.
Familiar enough to cut through the fog.
“They’re keeping her sedated due to the trauma in her throat. Once the swelling goes down enough they’ll remove the tube. She’s lucky he didn’t do any permanent damage to her larynx.”
“Thank God you got there in time. I can’t ever thank you enough.”
Mom.
“I shouldn’t have left her.” Gianni’s voice is raw, like he hasn’t slept. “I should’ve known the fire was a distraction.”
“She’s alive. That’s all I care about. Why don’t you get some rest? You’re about to collapse. I’ll stay with her.”
“I’m not leaving. I’ll sleep in the chair.”
“You need to shower, Gianni. You’re still covered in blood and you’ll scare her if she sees you like that.”
Then I fade again, but the darkness doesn’t claim me completely. At the sound of Gianni’s voice, I seem to bounce, as if I’m on a trampoline.
“It’s gonna be fucked but she deserves to know, Lisa.”
“I suppose it doesn’t make much of a difference now. I’ll tell her when the time is right.”
Tell me what?
This time I sink all the way down until the surface envelopes me and the blackness takes over again.
* * *
Mom’s asleep, curled up in the chair next to my bed. Her dark hair, same color as mine with a few auburn highlights, is pulled up in a messy ponytail. Her face, though relaxed, shows blemishes beneath her eyes. I watch her for a while, happy she’s safe. She must sense my stare, as she stirs and when she opens her eyes, they’re red and puffy.
“Oh God,” she says, her voice thick and scratchy. “How long have you been awake?”
Tears spill down her cheeks. She brushes them with the back of her knuckles,
stands and leans over me to kiss my forehead, gently wrapping her arms around my head.
“My baby girl.” She’s sobbing now. “You’re alive.” With her head next to mine I feel the wet against my cheek.
“Mom.” It hurts to talk and it comes out like a rasp.
“Hush, honey,” she murmurs into my ear.
“You’re safe,” I say.
“Me?” Her face pulls back as her brows pull together. “Yes, I’m safe. But don’t speak…just get better. We’ll have plenty of time to talk later. I’m not going anywhere.”
Her familiar scent, lemon and lavender, mingles with the foggy cloud. It’s warm and comforting as I slip away again.
* * *
The light in the room is blue and eerie with energy that’s pricklier than before. It occurs to me my vision is clear as I focus on snowflakes wafting past a windowsill.
Must still be in the mountains.
I shift my head. An array of beeping machines with blinking lights fills one side of the room. Despite multiple bouquets of flowers, the room smells of antiseptic and…hospital.
A heavyset nurse with blonde hair scraped back into a bun writes on a clipboard and the black plastic clock on the wall above her head says it’s eight thirty.
“Good morning,” she says, without looking up. “How are you feeling?”
“Thirsty.”
I can talk.
“Well, that’s a good sign. Your breathing tube’s been removed so you’ll be able to drink and have real food soon.”
“How long?” My voice is raspy but doesn’t hurt as much.
“Have you been here?” she asks, raising bushy eyebrows while spooning ice chips into a blue plastic cup.
I nod.
“Going on three days. From what I understand, you’re lucky to be alive.” She pushes a button on the side of my bed, raising it up until I’m in a sitting position.
“Gianni?”
“I’m assuming he’s the hunky looking man who hasn’t left your side?”
Again, I nod and accept the ice chips. I suck some into my mouth. It hurts to swallow, but the cold feels good.
“Well, in a moment we’ll get you cleaned up. Then everyone can visit after the doctor’s seen you. They’ve been waiting for you to wake up.” She smiles as she injects something into my IV.
* * *
“You should be able to go home in a couple of days,” pronounces Dr. Parks, the middle-aged doctor with a tiny squirrel on his upper lip.
After prodding and shining a light down my throat, he writes something on my chart, then hangs it on the bottom of my bed. Whatever Nurse Bushy Eyebrows injected has me feeling no pain.
Whatsoever.
“The swelling’s down nicely but it’s going to take a while for the bruising on your neck to fade and the petechiae in your eyes to clear. Stick to soft and liquid foods for at least another week and you should be fine. Any questions?”
I shake my head.
“Try not to talk too much, that includes the feds. They’ve been hovering like damn vultures but they can wait for your statement. Your voice should come back completely in a few days, but if it doesn’t, I’ll refer you to a specialist.”
“Thank you.”
“You betcha.” He points his finger at me like a gun, making clicking sounds with this tongue and teeth. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
As he’s leaving Gianni appears in the doorway, towering over the doctor. All the blood leaves my head and I feel every beat of my heart in my sensitive throat. He glances at me, then follows Dr. Parks out of the room.
Exactly one minute later, according to the clock on the wall, he re-enters, but stops just inside the threshold, locking eyes with me. For an endless moment he stands there, saying nothing.
I’m struck by how tired he looks.
Scratches mar his beautiful face, and that little Y between his brows seems more pronounced than usual. He swallows, then takes a step forward.
With each step forward my anxiety grows. Why isn’t he speaking? What’s happened?
“Hi?”
He stops next to the bed working his throat. “Hey.”
Our eyes remain anchored on each other. A thousand emotions flicker through his.
“What’s wrong?”
He swallows again, then turns his gaze to the window blinking and scraping a hand through his hair. The blue light emphasizes the fine lines fanning from his bloodshot eyes.
“Can’t seem to find the words…to tell you how sorry I am.” His voice cracks.
“Gianni…”
“Should have been there for you.”
“Sit.”
I find it ironic I’m the one ordering him to sit for a change. His lips curl into a wry smile and he lets out a puff of air. Pulling the chair closer, the metal legs scrape across the vinyl floor.
Once seated he takes my hand in both of his and presses my fingers to his lips, keeping his eyes closed. His knuckles are bruised and split and my heart squeezes.
“You saved my life,” I say. “Thank you.”
“I should never have left you. Should’ve figured it out sooner the fire was a distraction.”
“Doesn’t matter now.” Drug-induced weariness sweeps over me and I stifle a yawn. “Everyone okay? Truman?” I rasp.
“He’s okay. They’re all okay. He drugged them with animal sedative and almost killed Thomas, but he’ll be fine.”
“You?” I ask.
He closes his eyes again for a long moment. When he opens them, they’re tortured. “Thought I’d lost you. Saw the blood…assumed it was yours.”
He squeezes his thumb and forefinger to the corners of his eyes. My big, handsome, super badass, ex-mafia dude is trying not to cry. My belly tightens.
After taking a deep breath, he holds it, then lets it out on a long sigh. “Gotta know, babe. Did he rape you? When I got there, I thought I was in time, but…what about before?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Only tried ’cause I hurt him.”
His face softens, then he clears his throat, and says, “The fuck’s going away for a long time.”
“Still alive?” I stare at him, my mouth going dry. Now I really regret not smashing the bottle on his head until I had killed him.
“Unlucky for him. They’re holding him in Carson City. Since his house is on the Nevada side of Tahoe, he crossed state lines and will be charged with kidnapping, sex trafficking, tax evasion, attempted murder. You name it.”
“He killed Joey,” I blurt out.
Gianni holds my gaze, then nods. “I know, babe. They can add murder to the charges.”
“Killed him because of me. My fault.”
“No, babe.” Pain ripples across his face, darkening his eyes. “It’s not your fault.” He looks away. “Its mine. Joey’s dead because of me.”
“Gianni…” I insist.
“It’s not your fault, Shelley.”
Okay.
We’ll talk about this later, I don’t have the energy to fight. “How’d you find me?” I ask instead.
He lets go of my hand. Drags his over his face leaning back in his chair.
“Carmine. Pulled in his crew and dug deep. Found his properties, narrowed it down to two. Tahoe and Napa. We figured Tahoe was more likely, because of its remoteness and he’d want you alone. But he sent a team to Napa just in case. What they found there…fuck.” He swallows, then clears his throat. “Carmine called in the feds and they raided Napa. A place called The Farm, ’cause it’s a vineyard fronting for some sick shit. We got lucky he brought you here.”
So very lucky.
“We were close, trying to figure a way in when we got a call from the cop, Lee, about your 911. Carmine had him in contact with the dispatch just in case. Heard the sirens, knew shit was going down. Marco and I got there first. Broke open the door as the paramedics arrived. Cops came a few minutes later.
“Grateful,” I croak and reach for his hand. He squeezes my fingers, then kisses the
m. Just before I fall asleep I hear him murmur.
“Five fucking minutes I would’ve been too late.”
15
Every rose has its thorns
* * *
Two days later, Truman’s between my legs on my bed at the Sea Cliff house. I stare at my phone in horror. The battery died in my absence and when I plug it into the charger it pings and vibrates with a gazillion text messages, emails and voicemails.
Including one from Carmine. All of them good, pretty much saying the same thing. They’re glad I’m okay.
It’s the last one, however, from Alfie, that cracks me up. How’s our spicy little firecracker?
The man knows how to make an entrance.
The day Dean tried to rape and kill me, Alfie and his entourage arrived at the hospital in the ginormous Cadillac, blaring Frank Sinatra’s “New York, New York” in the parking lot. So loud, it rattled hospital windows until the staff, concerned about the other patients and triggering an avalanche in the mountains, told them to turn it down. According to Bridget (Nurse Bushy Brows) this involved much gesticulation, ear-cupping and finger pointing. Apparently, their hearing aids were turned off due to the altitude change and something about their ears popping.
Anyhoo, Alfie, hearing I’d been kidnapped, rallied his fellas and insisted on being backup. Arriving a few hours after Gianni and breaking all kinds of federal laws transporting illegal firearms, including an improvised, shoulder-mounted grenade launcher in a false bottom of the Cadillac’s trunk. Then, knowing I was safe, they spent their time entertaining the nurses, sneaking grappa to some of the patients, and gambling at a local casino. When it was time for Mom and me to leave, they tailed us back to the city and left us at the gates a couple of hours ago smoking cigars longer than their heads and blaring “Fly Me to the Moon.”
Thank God for Alfie.
I thumb a response into my phone. Thank you for the escort and grateful nothing exploded on the way! XO!
After Alfie, I set about reading and replying to all of them. I had no idea so many people cared about me.
Truman sniffs and occasionally licks my toes. He’s stuck to me like a suction cup. Even when I took a shower, he whined outside the glass doors until I let him in and shampooed him with the same stuff I used on my hair. Now we both smell like green apples.
