Abrupt

by Kathy Coopmans

  Maybe it’s when I noticed Lane sitting across from Victoria at the kitchen table. The man trying to console her by telling her none of what was going on is her fault. Her body stiff, her eyes full of unshed tears, and her apology for not coming to me sooner written all over her face before she let the words slide out of her mouth.

  Maybe it was when she cried and cried in my office today. Her guilty conscience for keeping quiet so real and raw that it made me angrier that Joseph is hurting people I love, and I’m over it.

  Perhaps it was the phone call from my father this afternoon telling me I could talk to Yves and Zackery, and I’m so pissed that Aidan was able to find them when the worthless authorities couldn’t.

  Or maybe I’ve finally gone crazy right along with the combination of all those things, but sometime during that time, I’ve built a cement wall around my heart while placing it in the palm of Lane’s big sturdy hands.

  I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit I’m frightened right out of my ever-loving mind, and it’s not from fear. It’s because these men have brought out a part of me I always knew existed. I’d just hidden it away.

  I’m a lot more like my father than I thought, and I will use what I observed when I was younger, what I learned from taking a man’s fists to my body, from being raped and abused and from being a mother who will do anything she has to do to cleanse my soul along with giving it all I have to get them to talk.

  Everything about my son’s disappearance has changed me. Everything about the way I looked at myself in the mirror this afternoon after Lane called to make sure I wanted to do this has changed.

  The depressing look still haunts my eyes and the insecurity, the dwindling hope, and conflict that my son is not okay will be there until I see him, but after everything I’ve been through with Joseph and these past months, I’ve changed from hating myself, hating violence to downright wanting to take these men’s lives.

  I won’t, my father, Lane, none of these men who stand at my back would let that happen. I will, however, make sure my voice blares in their ears while they rot in Hell for all the women’s lives they stole and left them without one of their own before they took their lives.

  A coldness unlike I’ve ever felt before chills the room when Lane moves out of my way, and I get my first look of Zackery and Yves.

  My gaze lands on Zackery. His smile produces dimples in his cheeks and a warmth to his eyes, despite the blackness within their depths.

  I can see how he might lure a young girl with that look of charm. He doesn’t look a day over twenty, either. Dark blonde hair, deep brown eyes. Very little facial hair. All hidden behind a slippery cold-hearted killer. A man who the Devil stole branded his soul the day he was born.

  And I know him. His real name might be Zackery, but to me, I know him as Damien Hart. Our accountant. No wonder every dime we had was gone.

  I know them both as I swallow and glare at Yves. Picture Clark Kent and men working on Wall Street, and that’s the way I described my driver.

  My driver, I talked to about many things. My driver, who Joseph suddenly insisted I have. My driver, who took my son back and forth to school and spoke with him as if he cared. My driver, who I can’t look at anymore. My driver, who I want to kill with my bare hands. My driver, who seemed not to be around when my family came to visit.

  How fucking convenient.

  Joseph insisted he’d drive us wherever we went when my family would come to town. So much clicks now, yet not enough for me to call checkmate.

  A slow breath leaks from my lips. Shock wanting to mold itself into my skin.

  No.

  For many reasons, I’m not about to let it, not here anyway.

  “Well, well, did they bring you in as our last meal before we die? If so, you’re stuck with me. Yves likes little boys,” Zackery says with a taunting smirk. Several hisses and swearing come from behind me as I walk sturdily toward them on legs that feel like limp noodles.

  I block everyone out of the room except the three of us. Not that I even know who is here besides Lane and my father, nor do I care.

  I’m not letting on I know them just yet. I want them to squirm in the wooden chairs they are strapped down tight in before the life is sucked right out of them. Plus, I need them alive to get things off my chest. I contemplate wondering if I should or shouldn’t. Am I prolonging the possibility of finding out where Luca is? Will they even tell me a thing?

  “You already know he likes little boys, don’t you, Sienna? After all, he drove yours around all the time. It’s good to see you again,” Zackery whispers low enough for only me to hear.

  Without so much as a fuck you, I draw back my arm, and bitch slap him, feeling the sting at the back of my hand.

  His eyes water. A devious smirk setting firm in place.

  “Come on, mommy dearest. You can do better than that. Hit me until you scream. I bet you’re a screamer. A sexy piece of ass as you loves it rough and dirty, don’t you?” His voice rises with that comment. Loud enough for everyone to hear. He wants to play the game. He wants to anger the men behind me so they kill him. He better prepare to lose because this mother isn’t the weak woman he thought me to be.

  Not anymore.

  I throw my head back and laugh. I should be frightened over what these men could do to my mind if I didn’t know them. They are psychopaths: serial rapists, pedophiles, and murderers. I’m not scared in the least. Not like they’ll soon be.

  “You shouldn’t talk about what kind of woman I am in bed in front of my father. Learn your manners. Or, didn’t mommy and daddy not teach them to you?”

  Zackery’s eyes narrow, and he swipes his tongue over his teeth.

  I want to rip his throat out.

  “Did I strike a nerve? It’s my understanding your parents disowned you the day you both were kicked out of college. Cut off trust fund boys with no money and nowhere to go. Boys who disappeared out of fear of going to prison. Is that why you formed XYZ? For the money? It’s too bad you can’t take it to hell with you. The Devil doesn’t care about money. To him, you’ll be another corpse he’ll fuck in the ass, but you’ll feel it. Every day you’ll feel the flames that will burn you over and over. You mess with fire, you’re going to get burned. Isn’t that what they say? You messed with the wrong family, asshole.”

  His chest heaves, and he cast his eyes away from mine.

  His first mistake or second. It depends on if you count the fact he was caught. Either way, he’s going to die with the sound of my voice forever ringing in his ears, the knowledge his family cast him aside.

  I don’t know much about their families. Only the bits and pieces my father and Lane told me on the way here. I’m using what I have to my advantage by hitting them right where it hurts.

  “You’ll never know if I fucked with anyone in your family or not. Untie me, and I’ll show you my lack of manners, bitch. Tell me, are you a fighter or do you lay there and take it? From what I hear, you lay there like a dead fish. It’s a damn shame a woman as gorgeous as you can’t find pleasure from a dirty fuck,” he whispers.

  I say nothing. That doesn’t mean I’m not trembling inside, that his malicious words aren’t hammering on the wall in my chest.

  “I’d make you scream for more. One little pill would have you grinding your pussy against my dick. You, though, I’d make you fight me. Instead of begging for me to fuck you, I’d make you beg for me not to. I’d tie your hands to your ankles and fuck you until you bleed. I love it when we first take them, and they fight. Love to fuck them roughly until I’ve had my fill.” Zackery shrugs, head tipping to the side to stare at everyone behind me before flicking his gaze at Yves, who has yet to say a word.

  He better not speak either until I tell him to, or Lord only knows what I’ll do.

  Yves is agitated and nervous, though. Drawing it out by tapping his fingers against the wooden arm of the chair. Funny how he’d do that on the steering wheel as he drove through the streets of New York. I did
n’t give it much thought. I figured it had to do with the crazy traffic.

  How wrong I was. He’s nervous and pissed about something. Knowing my husband, he’s behind Yves’s anger. It’s the nervous part I’ve yet to figure out.

  I won’t let Zackery see he’s struck a nerve with me too. That, of course, I laid there and took a man raping me over and over. Any woman in her right mind would. As hard as it is to think about, I would have given anything at the time to have a pill to make me want it. Unless he’s lying, it’ll make me sleep better at night knowing those girls might have been out of their heads while being raped. It’s the coming down from whatever high they were on, the aftereffects of not knowing what runs through their minds that will forever haunt me.

  I draw my hand back and bitch slap Zackery again across his cheek, provoking a string of curse words out of his filthy mouth.

  “I’m not the begging type. Since you love it rough, should I untie you, strap you down to one of those tables behind you and shove the hammer waiting to pound a nail through your pathetic dick up your ass? If so, by all means, try to terrorize me again. By the looks of you sitting there in nothing but your boxers with nice deep cuts across your chest and arms, your legs shaking from what looks like someone took a torch to your flesh, I’d say you are suffering without a pill to take over your body. To numb you from the pain that has to hurt. You have no power here, boy. But by all means, please taunt me more. I’d love nothing better than to smile while watching you beg.” I lift both brows and dare Zackery to say he knows me. In a way, I wish he would, so I could watch him die.

  I take a seat across from them. Crossing my legs as I do. Bile swirls in my stomach, my throat suddenly dry. My gaze flits between the two, not quite sure what I’m looking for, but I study them the same way I did every man from my bedroom window when I was younger.

  A smile works its way to the corners of my mouth as I sit forward, resting my elbows on my knees, and glue my eyes to Yves.

  “There’s a lot to be said about men who hide things from people. I don’t mean that in the way either of you might think.” As I lean in a little closer to Yves, I watch him with eyes wide open, the mask that I wore every time I slipped into the back of the car long gone. Yves isn’t wearing the one he did for four years while he chatted with Luca effortlessly, played catch many times with the football while they’d wait for me either. Nope, he’s a wide-open book.

  I see a scheming son of a bitch who pulled the wool over not only my eyes but his partner next to him.

  It’s a little too late to save him, but he can bet before he dies, he’ll give up everything he knows.

  “Cunt, please don’t try to get into our heads. You’ll fail. We know we’re going to die, but you’ll never know if your son is dead or alive. You’ll never save the bitches we killed. You’ll never save yourself from a lifetime of mental distress. You want to dangle your sweet, caring mommy body in front of us to get us to talk, by all means, spread your long legs, and maybe we will.”

  I sit back in my chair, pondering how to address Zackery. His gaze slides up and down my body. Eyes are flaring in lust. He’s looking at me like a shark circling its prey. One bite and he’d rip me in half, just like Joseph used to look at me.

  He’s examining me to see how far he can push until I crack like an egg. He won’t be able to. I broke a long time ago, and I’ll soon heal because I’m not leaving until I find out where my son is. Zackery doesn’t have a clue, but Yves does.

  I remain stone-faced and stoic. Luca isn’t dead. With every breathing fiber in my body, I know he isn’t. Those girls aren’t dead either. No. Joseph is on the run, and he has those girls. He’s why they got caught. He fucked them over. What does Joseph have up his sleeve? What is he doing with those girls, and where is he going?

  Here. My husband is coming here—panic tremors through my body. Joseph is so close I can smell him, and so is my son.

  I swallow down the urge to flee, to run off somewhere, anywhere so Joseph can find me. The need to protect anyone else from harm slips into my veins like a healing drug.

  I won’t let Joseph near anyone I care about.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Zackery? You’d like to tear right through me the way you did those girls. You’d like me to believe my son is dead when we both know he, nor those girls are.” I manage to spit out my words without letting the tears drip from my voice.

  Luca, hold on, my sweet boy.

  That panic tries making its way to my bloodstream. I harden it right along with those tears. They turn to ice.

  “You have no idea what I know. I might not take my money to hell. You bet your sweet little body I’ll take what I know about Luca with me. You must be deaf or dumber than a box of rocks if you didn’t hear me the first time. I’m not saying shit. Bring on the big guns, sweetheart. If you are going to go up against me, you better be packing something bigger than a slap to my face and words that don’t mean shit to me. Otherwise, you are wasting the last bit of air I have left.” Those eyes of Zackery’s hold more than he’s letting on. As empty as they are, he doesn’t want to die any more than Yves does.

  Well, that’s too damn bad. He’s disposable to me. I want him out of my face so my uncle can work on Yves.

  “Oh, I’m packing alright, and it’s not a gun. You are scared out of your mind not knowing how you’re going to die. I bet those girls you stole thought that every single minute of the day. You need to do better than that if you want to play with me, boy.”

  Anger snakes through my gut. I need to know where Luca is right now. It’s time to move my pieces across the board.

  “Call me boy one more time. Yves loves it. It’s his favorite word.” Hardly. Yves’s favorite word is shit. Because that’s what he has to be doing right now, is shitting his pants. He’s about to get tortured to his death.

  “You’re good at trying to get in my head, asshole. I’m better. Especially when you two boys are sitting on death row with the clock ticking down.”

  Sucking in a breath, I prepare myself to get Yves to talk. Strengthening my resolve that wants to scream at him as I claw his deceitful eyes out.

  “It has to be tormenting to you both. Knowing you’ll never touch another girl. Never claim another mind. Never feel the control you need to hurt them. Then again, men like you have never felt pain so excruciating in your entire lives except for the nights you laid in bed missing your families. I bet you hated not being able to watch your sister walk down the aisle, Yves. Did you know she’s expecting her first child? I’ll be sure to friend her and her child. I wonder what she’ll say about you when we meet for lunch. I bet it rots your gut that you didn’t get to say goodbye to your father when he died, Zackery. How does that feel to be a disappointment to the people who once loved you?”

  With a tsk, Zackery shakes his head while Yves finally shows his true colors by letting out a barking laugh like a wolf howling at the moon.

  My gaze immediately snaps to his.

  “Fuck, you are better than the old man behind you who tried getting us to talk. It’s too bad for you, I don’t give a fuck about my family anymore. Kind of like I don’t give one about your son or you. I will give you a little reprieve since you have guts. No one has hurt your son. Not physically, anyway.” Through clenched teeth, he growls.

  His so-called reprieve grates on my spine enough to coax me into standing and punching him right where it hurts a man the most.

  In his balls.

  As far as I’m concerned, he doesn’t have any.

  I grip Yves by the hair, denying him the right to bend forward. “You should know that the old man will play with you before he takes your life. You will bleed to death before he shows mercy on your rotten soul. Don’t fuck with me when it comes to my son. You have five minutes to tell me where Luca is, or my father is going to make a phone call and put a bullet through your sister’s head.” He isn’t. Yves will never know even if the next words out of his mouth aren’t something I want to
hear.

  “Fuck you, cunt. You must think I’m stupid.” His eyes scream that he’s sorry. Mine yells it’s too late for him to have a guilty conscience. His life might have been saved if he had stopped the car at any time and told me he was getting me out of hell.

  Then again, there are many lives he took to spare him the luxury of living. The videos he was a part of. The parents left behind always to wonder what happened to their daughters. The hell they will live with for the rest of their lives with no closure. No chance to watch them grow up to become everything they wanted to be.

  “No, but you are. Now sit there and stew on what I said.” I give a condescending motherly pat to his cheek, and turn toward Zackery, needing to get out of here and breathe.

  “How about you, asshole? Do you want the same, or don’t you give a fuck either? Explain to me how three men who grew up in good homes, loving parents, no sign of abuse, would deprive others of their spirits before they had a chance to spread their wings and fly? If you don’t, the men behind me will prolong your death. They are like you, only better with mind games. They could spend days in here while chipping away at your flesh a little at a time.”

  A flash of silver hits the corner of my eye, my uncle swinging it back and forth between the two. I step back several feet. My heart is thrashing against my ribcage. I might never get answers if my uncle doesn’t catch on to what I’m doing and shoots Yves instead of Zackery.

  “A man never kisses and tells. If you don’t like my answer, then you, right along with them.” Zackery pauses with a lift of his chin and a vindictive grin that causes me to freeze in place.

  I can’t describe his stare other than it’s like staring at a leopard wondering if he’s going to play with you or attack for nothing more than a midnight snack—a bona fide monster who gets off on rooting around in people’s heads. The expression causes every hair on my body to rise. “Can go fuck yourselves.” Kicking his head back, he spits at my feet.

  I flinch at the same time being grateful when a gunshot rings out and hits Zackery in the chest, propelling him backward, landing on his side with a heavy clunk of wood and blood. For a few seconds, he holds that smirk until my uncle kneels beside him, grabs him by the throat and drags him out of the room, leaving a trail of blood behind them.