by D. R. Graham
“He didn’t jump,” I repeat with absolute authority.
His eyebrows angle together. “You know what happened?”
“It’s being taken care of,” I say and slice the tomatoes.
Blaine moves to stand next to me. “Shouldn’t we let the police handle it?”
“Don’t worry about it. Just tell Elizabeth that it wasn’t her fault.”
He nods slowly, then reaches for the stool as if he needs to sit before he falls down. “Please tell me you’re not going to be involved in any way.”
I force a smile and slide a plate across the counter for him. “Cheddar or mozzarella?”
Long after Elizabeth and Blaine have gone to bed, I’m in my room memorizing lines when my phone rings. I don’t recognize the number on the screen, so I assume it’s Aiden calling from his work. It’s not. It’s Leland. I take a steeling breath and slide down onto the floor. “What do you want?”
“I’m sorry about Cooper. I’m sorry that I had to lie to you. And I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you like I promised.”
I clench my eyes shut. “That means absolutely nothing at this point.”
“I want to testify. I’ll tell the police everything and the killer will get put away.”
“So will you.”
“Not necessarily. Maybe I can get immunity if I testify against some of the higher-up guys.”
“I don’t want you to take the fall.”
“I can’t bring Cooper back, but at least I can do the right thing now and make sure justice is served. I’m going to the police.”
If Leland goes to jail, Braden will grow up like I did, humiliated and hating his dad. I don’t wish that on any kid. After a long silence, I say, “No. Please don’t. Ruby and Braden need you to not be in prison. Besides, it’s not going to be a problem for much longer.”
“Why?”
“It’s being taken care of. Please take good care of Braden. Bye, Leland.”
At three o’clock in the morning I receive a text from Ronnie. The message is blank.
I spring up, get dressed, and sneak downstairs.
Time to take care of business.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
My heart pounds and my breathing is rapid, but I’m not afraid. I’m jacked. Just like my dad always was when he tore out in the middle of the night after receiving a call. I leave a note for Elizabeth and Blaine that tells them I couldn’t sleep and went for a Slurpee. Then I grab the keys to my car. Before I leave, I text Aiden: TDAGF. Just in case things don’t end well.
At the 7-Eleven, I make sure to park close to the surveillance camera. I sit in my car for a minute pretending to look for something in my purse. I’m still acting distracted as I open the door and step out into the parking lot. It actually takes me by surprise when a guy wearing a black hooded sweatshirt rushes up from behind and grabs me. I scream to get the attention of the store clerk and drop my purse. Then I kick and scream as he carries me to a black Lexus that is parked on an angle so the license plate can be seen on the security camera. The store clerk has the phone pressed to his ear as he watches, wide-eyed. The kidnapper throws me into the trunk, then thrusts his arm in to make it look as if he punched me unconscious.
Ten minutes later the car stops. The trunk opens. The hooded guy lifts me out and throws me over his shoulder like a firefighter. I pretend to be unconscious because there are also exterior security cameras capturing this part. It’s my television acting debut. The front door of the modern house is unlocked. The kidnapper opens it and sets me down in the foyer and removes his hood and dark glasses. I almost don’t recognize Uncle Len. He is clean-shaven and wearing black skinny pants and club-boy dress shoes instead of motorcycle boots. “You look good as an Asian gangster,” I whisper.
He winks, then hands me a pair of leather gloves. I pull them on and follow him upstairs. Ronnie and Terry are already standing in the hall on either side of a closed door. They open it and step in first to make sure Johnny Lee is asleep. Ronnie plants about sixty kilos of stolen cocaine and a duffel bag full of counterfeiting equipment in the room. Len tacks up a bunch of photos of me from various locations around town, along with the playbill from West Side Story, to make it look like Johnny’s been stalking me for a while. Terry places a couple guns that were used in various unsolved crimes into the closet and between the mattresses. He hands me a gun.
I step up to Johnny’s bedside and place the barrel against his forehead. His eyes open. “Hi,” I say and smile.
He sits up in a panic and all three of my uncles aim guns at him. He freezes, half-crouched on his bed. “What the fuck?”
“Well,” I say. “You made a grave error when you pushed that boy off the building, and now you’re going to pay.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I cock the gun. “I think you do.”
He pulls his head back until it hits the wall. His lip trembles and he whines. “I’m sorry. I thought he was someone else.”
“The number one rule of executing a hit is to make sure you’ve got the right fucking person.”
“It was a mistake.”
“Yes. It was a very big mistake. There really isn’t any room for mistakes in this line of business, so you’re going to have to pay for that.”
“Please,” he begs frantically, “I’ll do anything. Please don’t kill me.”
“I’m not going to kill you. I don’t believe there is any justification for taking someone’s life.” I jut my chin toward my uncles. “They, however, don’t share the same philosophy.”
He eyes my uncles, each casting a monstrous shadow on the wall.
“What I’m going to do to you is way worse than death. I want you to suffer for a long time so you don’t forget that what you did was very, very bad.”
Johnny tries to lunge off the bed, so Len punches him in the stomach and he falls into a fetal position, moaning. Terry takes the gun from me. I sit on the floor and Len removes my leather gloves, then ties my ankles and wrists. Ronnie hangs a black hoodie like the one Len is wearing on the handle of the closet. He sets a pair of the same club-boy shoes in Johnny’s size at the end of the bed and a duplicate pair of the sunglasses on the bedside table. Then he hands Johnny a hypodermic needle and tells him to inject himself.
“No way, man.”
Terry presses the gun into his temple and growls, “Do it.”
Johnny injects the drugs into a vein in the bend of his arm, and it’s obvious that he’s done it before. Ronnie said he would use a strong enough dose to make sure I’m safe once they leave. Before long, Johnny’s blinks get longer and longer until he topples over in a heap on the bed.
Terry tucks a loaded gun under the bed right near me in case I need to use it. Len drops Johnny’s phone on the floor at my feet, then all three of them disappear. I wait for several minutes to let them get out the back door, where they have disabled the security cameras. My heart beats like a hummingbird on crack once they leave. My brilliant idea seems less clever now that I’m alone. Aiden is going to be livid if I die.
I fumble to turn Johnny’s phone on and dial 911. “Help,” I whisper with a shaky voice when the operator answers. I don’t even have to act because I am terrified.
“What’s your emergency?”
“I’ve been kidnapped.” I gulp and start sobbing. “Please help me.”
“Where are you?”
“I don’t know. I was at the 7-Eleven on Barkley Drive. A man grabbed me and threw me in the trunk of a car. I think I’m at his house or something.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s passed out in the bedroom where I am. He took some drugs and he’s out cold, so I stole his phone.”
“You should leave the house.”
“I can’t. He tied my hands and feet together. Please hurry. He’s some sort of psycho. He has pictures of me posted on his wall.”
“Do you know him?”
“No, I’ve never seen him before in my life.” M
y voice sounds panicked, and I’m not faking it. “He said he killed my brother and that I’m next.”
“What’s your name?”
“Tienne Desrochers. My brother was Cooper Desrochers. Please hurry. I’m scared he’s going to wake up. He’s so creepy and he has guns.”
Her keyboard clicks, and there is talking in the background. They must be cross-referencing Johnny’s license plate from the 7-Eleven security camera and verifying that it was my purse and car that were at the scene.
“Oh my God,” I squeak. “He just moved. Hurry.” I scoot back along the floor because he actually did move. He’s groaning and trying to get up. My breath isn’t going in and out properly. Shit. This was a stupid idea. Why did Randy agree to this insanity?
The operator doesn’t say anything for what seems like minutes, but I can hear typing. Johnny rolls onto his side and opens his eyes. He stares right at me. I whimper. He’s trying to say something. It comes out as grumbles and I’m not sure if he’s pleading for me to help him, or if he’s threatening to kill me. I should have let my uncles do it their way. Johnny abruptly sits up and I scream. My back is already wedged against the wall and the dresser is beside me, so I can’t get any farther away from him. “He’s awake!”
“I’m going to kill you, bitch.” He swings his arm as if he’s going to hit me, so I hold my bound hands up in front of my face. His punch misses and he falls on the ground half draped on my legs. I scream again and throw the phone at him.
I kick frantically and scoot out from underneath him. I try to worm away, but he grabs my foot. I bend both knees to break his hold, then swing my legs and smash my heels into his face. He cringes, holding his hand to his cheek. I scream and inch my way toward the door. A gun clicks. I spin around. He’s sitting on his knees pointing the gun Terry left under the bed at me. Johnny blinks repeatedly as if he’s trying to focus his eyes or clear the fog in his brain. His head bobs, then he growls, “Hope you’re ready to die.”
I squeeze my eyes shut.
The bedroom door slams open. A uniformed cop with his gun drawn fills the doorway. “Police! Drop the gun!”
Johnny glances at the cop, then at me. He blinks dopily, then drops the gun and clasps his hands behind his head. Three cops rush in. Two restrain Johnny. One scoops me up off the floor and carries me downstairs.
Once we are in the foyer, he sits me down on a chair to remove the ankle and wrist restraints. A few minutes later, a paramedic arrives, wraps a blanket around me, and escorts me outside.
I’m shaking and time passes in a strange daze. More police vehicles arrive. The blue and red lights flash hypnotically. A cop unrolls yellow tape to cordon off the street and people crowd to see what the commotion is about.
The paramedic checks me for injuries and, to sell the punch in the trunk, I pretend that my jaw hurts when he touches it. I’m trembling so badly that he guides me to sit in the front seat of a cruiser. My nose starts to bleed heavily, so he makes me lean over my knees and I watch the blood drop down to the pavement.
Eventually, a couple of cops escort a semi-conscious Johnny out of the house in handcuffs and throw him into the back of a police cruiser. An officer takes my statement, then hands the notes to a detective in street clothes. He reads them, then walks over to me. I’m shivering under the blanket, so I pull it tighter around my shoulders to stop the shaking. “How are you doing?” he asks and searches my face, looking for something.
I shake my head to indicate that I’m not doing well.
“You’re safe now. He’s in custody.”
The cruiser with Johnny Lee in it pulls away, and I can finally take a breath.
The detective scratches his head and makes his disheveled hair messier. “So, you never met this guy before?”
“I don’t think so. I didn’t recognize him. He had pictures of me as if he was a stalker or something. Maybe he works at a store or a restaurant I go to.”
“I doubt it. He’s involved in organized crime.”
“Oh.” I’m trying to sound surprised, but my voice wavers. At least the scared part is convincing.
He taps his pen on the notebook. “He’s a known associate of the gang that we believe was also connected to your father’s murder.”
“Oh, so my brother’s death and what happened tonight are all linked with what happened to my dad?”
He nods, still weighing the facts. “Looks like it.”
“What’s going to happen to him?”
“Well, he was already wanted on two warrants and, even if we can’t prove that he was the one who pushed your brother off the building, there is enough incriminating evidence in his bedroom to put him away for quite some time.”
“That’s good. Will I have to testify in court?”
“Maybe. Your statement and the video evidence will probably be enough for the kidnapping and illegal confinement charges. We found drugs, weapons, counterfeiting equipment, and what looks like child porn on his computer, so it’s pretty cut and dry.”
“Child porn?” Oops, I might have sounded too shocked to hear that, because we didn’t plant any child porn. I hope he suffers in prison.
The detective glances up from his notebook and holds my gaze for an uncomfortably long moment. “He’ll likely be going to prison for a long time and you’ll be notified if and when he’s released.”
I don’t break the stare, although I’m not sure if my expression is going to reveal more than I want it to. I swallow, but otherwise remain perfectly still. I have never felt more afraid in my entire life. Blood rushes through my body like a tidal wave after an earthquake.
Finally he tucks his pen into the coil of his notebook. “You’re free to go. I’ll send an officer over. He can either take you home or call someone to come pick you up.”
“All right.” I slide the blanket off my shoulders and leave it on the front seat of the police cruiser. “Thanks.”
He turns and walks away. I exhale and drop my head to hide the proud smile that is creeping across my face. That was the best performance of my life and nobody is ever going to know about it.
An officer approaches and stops in front of me. “Do you want me to call someone or arrange for a ride home?”
I lift my head and smile when I notice the bike parked down the street. “My ride is already here. Thanks.” I duck under the police tape and weave through the people on the sidewalk before running across the street.
Aiden gets off the bike, ready for me to fling myself at him. He wraps his arms around me tightly and his lips touch my ear. “You could have been killed.”
Relief floods through me. Justice has been served, I’m alive, and Aiden’s arms are wrapped around me. A whimper catches in my throat and my eyes fill with tears. “I’m sorry.”
He leans back and cradles my face. “I can’t believe my dad agreed to let you do something that dangerous.”
“He couldn’t have stopped me.”
He closes his eyes, almost as if he’s thanking God or something. “I know.”
“Don’t let your dad convince you that you owe him. If there is a debt to pay, I’ll pay it.”
“There’s no debt. He doesn’t want me to come back.”
“You talked to him?”
“He phoned to tell me where to pick you up.”
“Really? Why doesn’t he want you back?”
He smiles and slides his thumbs over my cheeks to wipe away the tears that dripped out. “Because he knows what it’s like to love someone as much as I love you.”
“Do you love me enough to forgive me?” I ask.
“Yes, but you’re not allowed to go for a three-in-the-morning Slurpee run ever again.”
God, he’s the most amazing person. “Let’s hope I never need to again.” I smile and pull his face in.
He leans his forehead on mine. “We can’t change where we came from, but we can choose the life we want to live. Are you ready to leave all this bullshit behind you?”
I look back over my shou
lder at the real-life type of dramatic scene that I want nothing to do with ever again. I’m so glad it’s over and nobody else is going to get hurt. “Yeah. I’m ready.”
He leans in to kiss me, then we both straddle the bike.
I rest my chest against the familiar curve of his back. We fit together perfectly and, when he starts the engine, the rumble vibrates through every cell in my body. It is the most comforting feeling in the world. “Thanks for being here, Gylly.”
His hand reaches back to slide along my thigh. “Always, babe.”
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Acknowledgments
I would like to especially thank my mom who has read every one of my manuscripts and given me encouraging, yet honest feedback. Her steadfast faith in my ability has always instilled the belief in me that I could achieve whatever I set my mind to.
Thank you to my husband, Sean, for his unwavering support. He is the most patient, generous, and determined person I know. He inspires me daily to be more like him.
Thanks to my brother, Rob, who designed the Noir et Bleu Motorcycle Club logo and has done a million other things to help me. To my sister, Luan, who gives me free marketing advice and is the quintessential protective big sister. To my dad, who taught me the power of language and was the voice of reason while I worked on edits.
Thank you to everyone who was kind enough to read the early drafts of One Percenter: Cory, Erica, Belinda, and my critique partner Denise Jaden. Thanks also to my Harley guy Kelly, and everyone else who has supported my writing.
I would be remiss to not thank the late Ms. McNulty, my grade four teacher, who taught me to write whatever was in my imagination without worrying about spelling or punctuation. Also, thanks to Mr. Rawlings, my grade seven grammar teacher, who on the contrary, insisted that grammar does in fact matter.
Thanks to Heather Howland and Sue Winegardner along with Debbie Suzuki, Brittany Marczak, Anita Orr, Vanessa Mitchell, and the rest of the team behind the scenes at Entangled Publishing.
