by Hazel Grace
Marty is going to come here, Eli taunted me with the camera that hovered over Reagan’s place and told me to wave.
I didn’t.
I’m fully informed of who has access to them. Who will come to the rescue and possibly get himself killed. He’s going to play a hero when he’s not one. And with Reagan in Eli’s grasp, there’s no way he won’t arrive with one hell of a temper. He’s come this far to keep Reagan safe.
This will be no different.
“Reagan,” I convey again for the hundredth time. “You’re hurting yourself. Please stop.”
“We...need...to....get out,” she grunts, trying to slip one of her hands free.
No shit.
“Please look at me.” She doesn’t, chin tucked into her chest as she stays focused on tugging at her ties. “Reagan, you’re pregnant.”
Her neck snaps up to me, raven hair in her eyes as she glares at me. The female version of her brother, just less violent and cocky. And the only way to get through to him is if I have his full attention.
“You’re going to hurt yourself,” I continue. “Enough.”
“We can’t just sit here,” she snaps.
“And you can’t saw your hand off with plastic. Do you want to hold your baby with both arms or no?” She opens her mouth, but I quickly cut her off. “Let me try. You just be quiet and breathe.”
“Try, what?” she challenges. “I’m almost—”
“Marty...” His name is rancid off my tongue because I’m still mad. I’m here, in a spot I shouldn’t be, because of him. “Will be here soon.”
“He sure will,” Eli booms through the room, striding in with two armed men behind him.
Both are the size of Bishop—tall, wide, and menacing. Each holds their own hazardous vibe, especially with the guns across their chests.
“You’re. Fucking. Dead,” Reagan rants the moment she hears his voice. “Where the fuck is my son?!”
“Stormi,” Eli’s voice coos softly. “You need to teach her some manners.” He peers over at her before his brows snap together. “Like shutting the fuck up.”
“Fuck you,” she counters, leaning forward to make sure her words hit him in the chest. “Where. Is. My. Son. And. Husband, douchebag.”
“Reagan, please,” I beg.
I don’t mention the baby because I don’t want Eli to do something stupid.
Trust no one—that’s my new motto. Eli appeared like a second grade teacher when I first met him, and now he looks like a douchie beach boy with a trust fund.
“Your husband will be here soon to join the party,” Eli replies before plopping onto her couch. “Then you and I can finish what we started so many years ago.”
My face twists as I look over at Reagan, who is staring daggers into his frame.
They know each other?
“Still raping woman?” Reagan chides sharply. “I guess daddy’s money couldn’t buy you everything, huh?”
“He raped you?!” I exclaim—more like involuntarily blurt—as Reagan straightens her back and leans to rest it against the chair.
My next inhale doesn’t happen as I watch Reagan bore daggers into Eli.
She doesn’t materialize any fear or misgivings about him. Her body isn’t shaking like mine has in the past. No cowering or stepping down from his words as she keeps her chin raised like a queen.
“Tried to,” she mutters to me. “With one of his little buddies.”
“We just wanted to see if you were interested in having a little fun,” Eli counters, picking up one of her framed pictures off the side table. “You were the hottest girl there.”
“Then ask, fucker. Don’t lure me into a pantry closet.”
“Get over it.” Eli dismisses her with his watched-hand. “All you had to say was no.”
“I did.”
“Don’t worry, I’m already getting bored with you.” He flicks his dark eyes to me. “I’d rather help someone else that needs it. Your family has done nothing but destroy others.”
“Don’t make yourself a martyr,” she seizes. “You’re a piece of shit.” Eli slides off the end of the couch and stands, striding in our direction.
His perfect fitting outfit fills out his tall frame and chest, but he looks like he hasn’t lifted a finger to do anything in his life. When he entered the book store today, dressed to the nines, I thought it was because he was trying to impress me.
Even though I wouldn’t call it a date, I didn’t mind that he spent time looking nice.
“You can thank your bitch of a husband that we’re here,” Eli calmly announces to Reagan. “This is all because of him. All of it.“
“Your dad was also a piece of shit,” Reagan spits out. “He stole money from honest citizens and blew it on whores and trips. Wade got him out of a few messes, but good ‘ole pa still wanted his dick sucked every—” His palm slams across the side of her face, and a gasp leaves my lips at the sound.
“Shut the fuck up.” He leans over, aligning their faces. “Your brother is worse than my father ever was.” He points at me. “Look at her cheek.”
He refers to the now small scar from Marty’s knife when I wouldn’t speak to him.
“Take her out,” Eli suddenly commands, his voice echoing off the walls. “I have some things to discuss with my book buddy.”
“Hell fucking no,” Reagan counters back. “She stays with me.” And just like that, his burly men move, picking up the whole chair with her in it and begin carrying her off, screaming at them and Eli to put her down, to leave me alone.
Like her brother—always wanting to protect me.
Except she doesn’t want to leave me.
“I am so sorry.” Eli reaches for one of Huck’s small plastic chairs from a table along the wall and sits in front of me. His knees almost hit his chest as he studies my face. “This sucks for you, I know. It won’t last long, I promise.”
“What do you want?” I mutter. “I don’t know information or—”
“It’s not that,” he retorts, bowing his chin as though his next words are going to be hard. He folds his hands together and continues. “Wade sent my father to prison where he was murdered about two and a half weeks ago. He did shady shit all the time but still had the nerve to send my father, a mayor with health issues, to jail. It broke my family apart.”
I don’t respond, not knowing what to say but not feeling sorry. If he was capable of attempting to assault Reagan, I’m believing that the apple isn’t going to fall far from the tree.
“When this is over,” Eli says, trailing his focus back to me. “I can help you.”
My body veers back from his so-called help. Apparently I’m not set up in life to have any sort of peace. And I’ve fallen into the hands of another man who takes advantage of women.
I’m not sure why he’s prettier than me.
There should be a Black Friday line of females waiting for him to glance their way if you like that sort of dude.
But maybe he’s the type that likes the struggle. The pursuit of the chase.
And that sort of man is what scares me the most.
Eli’s hand reaches out to touch my face, but I pull away, a wave of goosebumps prickling at my body.
I can’t pretend that it’s okay.
That I’m not leery of him if he tried to attack Reagan with her strong and brave persona.
I’m zero of those things, making me perfect to fall into his clutches.
“Reagan blew everything out of proportion,” he claims, pulling his palm back. “She threw me a birthday party, our eyes caught a few times, I thought she was into me. But when she kneed me in the balls, it was safe to say I was wrong. I drank too much, apparently.”
“I...just want to go home.”
He nods. “Of course, I understand.”
Like now.
“What are you...going to do?”
“I can’t tell you that because—” He shrugs. “—I honestly don’t know.”
I knit my brows. “W
hat? How could you not know?”
His hand splays on my knee before his fingertips press into the sides. “It’s going to depend on Marty. This is his mess, he has to clean it up.”
“And I’m going to do that with your fucking face,” Marty’s octave bellows, rattling the air like a hurricane. “Get the fuck away from her.”
Peering over Eli’s shoulder, Marty’s steps are determined, filled with fury, and he mirrors something that’s about to rip Eli’s head off.
He hasn’t looked at me yet, searing into Eli’s skull instead.
Me, on the other hand, I take him all in.
Faded gray jeans and a white tee, Marty’s muscles alone allude peril. They issue out commands and warnings to listen, even with the two outfitted men standing behind him in the distance, Marty doesn’t care.
He’s fearless.
He’s livid.
He’s what Reagan called Eli—a piece of shit.
But the organ that people draw on love notes and display around their homes still lurches out of my ribcage for him. It still beats in rapid and calculated movements because he sways it to.
Marty still controls my body.
It betrays me, yearning to see, feel, and touch him because it’s the first time I’ve ever felt alive.
Whole.
The very beginning of a future without fear and trepidation. He hauled it out of me. Made me believe again that my life wasn’t always going to be men like Hollis trying to work me into their screwed up fantasies.
He’s the reason I felt safe.
Now, even though he’s in the same room with me, it only ping pongs the truth around in my head. The one that I always pondered and wished away. The same truth that I ignored.
Marty and I were that couple with massive chemistry, but a means to an end.
He was him.
And I was me.
He wanted to kill.
I wanted to live.
His world was darkness and secrets.
And mine was light and candor.
“Marty,” Eli greets as he still remains seated in the kids’ chair. “Happy you made it.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Marty snaps, feet away from him.
“Eli Montgomery.” He weakly winks at me. “Sorry, love, didn’t know how much you knew about me.”
“Why would she know anything about you?”
“I’m surprised you don’t.” Eli rises, brushing the side of my face with his hand as he does before turning to face my monster. “I would’ve thought you would’ve gotten something out of the men that you took from me.”
“You picked good ones,” Marty quips to my surprise. “Didn’t get much.”
“That’s why you chose people with everything to lose. And you, my friend, are going to lose a lot of shit today.”
I can’t see Marty with Eli blocking my view, but I can feel the tautness in the air.
He’s going to get himself killed, and the idea of that drops like a cinder block to my chest.
I’ve seen Marty pissed enough to fill in the blanks within my head of how irrational he may be. His words are spoken with confidence, but Eli came equipped.
And Marty is clueless.
It’s not lost on me that Eli chose the two people that could hurt Marty—Reagan and I. It’s enough to make bad things happen and ample enough to create a sense of unease coursing through my veins.
Eli may be an entitled prick, but he’s a smart one. He made himself faceless, had others do his dirty work, and led us here—at his mercy.
Which I believe he’ll have zero of.
He still isn’t listening to what I’m saying—I told him to step away from Stormi because his presence surrounding her is fucking with my patience.
“That’s why you chose people with everything to lose. And you, my friend, are going to lose a lot of shit today.”
This entitled little prick looks me up and down like I’m beneath him.
In a way, I guess I am. But not in the way he wants to fuck with.
He can think he can step on me like I’m a piece of gum on his shoe that he can throw out, but I’ll waste this shithead quicker than Fat Joe’s music career.
“What do you want?” I leer. “You obviously don’t do this.”
This being kidnapping, killing.
The kid isn’t pushing past Reagan’s age, and the last time he probably picked up a knife was when he was buttering a croissant or cutting into his wrists because being a rich fuck was hard.
I flick my eyes to his wrists—nothing.
So he’s a pussy.
I already gathered that off the impeccable ironing on his white pants—is that still a thing—and his haircut looks more expensive than my whole outfit.
“Do what?”
“I won’t bother you with the gory details of what this is,” I reply. “I asked you what it is you want.”
Eli–I’ll give him credit—he’s unbothered by the way I can pounce on his ass and get at least four to five good shots on him before I get shot or my ass kicked by King Kong and Andre the Giant behind me.
Both of them are ugly fuckers with AK-47s strapped to their backs like Rambo and two handguns at the waist.
I’m going to beat the shit out of Bishop if I get out of this for bailing on me. I could use his muscle and height right about now.
“I want you to pick,” Eli deadpans.
We both stare at each other for a hot minute before I give, my temper begging to be released for just a split second.
“Are you the Riddler or some shit, spit it out,” I snap.
He sighs, appearing bored before he motions with his hand. “Bring Reagan back in.”
“Move,” I sneer.
Eli perks a perfectly-shaped brow. “Excuse me?”
I move closer, fisting my hands to stay put because they have to. I can’t make any dumb ass decisions, even though I want to when Stormi is within his possession right now.
“I said move.” Surprisingly GQ gradually steps aside, giving me the first real glimpse of Stormi since I walked into my sister’s family room.
Fitted out in a light pink dress with white flowers at the hem, Stormi is already gaping at me like a ghost.
And fuck me, she’s so fucking beautiful it physically hurts to look at her and know what’s transpired as a whole. My heart skids and crashes in my chest, wanting her to touch it again because it belongs to her.
She has it, the whole thing. I’d never be able to get it back even if I tried.
Her light blue hair contrasts against the color of her dress, airy and cheerful, the exact opposite of me. The perfect missing piece to my life, and I shoved her out of it just for us to land back here.
Except I’m not in control—yet—and she’s been—
“Did he touch you?” The thought slams into my mind quicker than I can examine to see if there is any evidence.
She shakes her head, relieving me somewhat, but I won’t be fully relieved until she’s out of here. Then something else dawns on me that should have the moment he said his name.
Montgomery.
Mayor Holden Montgomery.
“You happen to be related to that old prick that got put in jail for embezzlement and solicitation of prostitution?” I don’t turn to look at him, keeping my eyes locked on Stormi’s blues.
The only thing keeping me grounded, and it shouldn’t.
Relying on her is dangerous; however, that’s all I’ve been doing. I never understood how people became dependent on others. Children, yes, but grown-ass adults? Our fully-developed emotions get the best of us, and we don’t forget shit.
I’ll never be able to dismiss Stormi from my head no matter who attempts to come in and take her place. I’ll never admit it to anyone else, but she has me fucked up and trapped in the palm of her hand.
“I am,” Eli replies. “And all it took was one text message for you to believe that once he was found dead in his cell, that this was over. Except while he’s been in jail, I
’ve been overlooking his plans. I’ve been making things move.”
“Did you kill him too?”
“For what,” he sneers, giving away the first sign of emotion. Clearly, he’s pissed that Wade got his father rightfully locked up, but—I mean—Holden stole money from Bridgeport what the hell did they think was going to happen when he got caught?
“You still haven’t answered my question—” I turn, meeting his knitted brows and pinched eyes. “—what the fuck do you want?”
“I want Wade Lockwood.”
I shrug. “Okay. What does that have to do with any of us?” I cock my head to the side. “Don’t tell me you used the old lure trick. You’re telling me you couldn’t grab one person?”
Eli’s jaw twitches, his tongue pushing out his right cheek. “You killed Bianca, didn’t you?”
The light bulb goes off in my head. The “You took from me, now I take from you” bullshit. Which means that little Eli over here can’t handle a real woman and has to take the desperate ones who stay for money, drugs, or sex.
“I did,” I acknowledge. “You could’ve done better. She was fucking the dude you and your pops sent to kill my sister. So I have a bigger vendetta on you than the other way around.”
“I don’t think so,” he rebuffs, raising his chin. “My cousin was in that crossfire when they tried to obtain Stormi the first time.”
“Didn’t ask for names or reasons. Why were you trying to take her?”
“I thought it was Bianca—” He steers his eyes to Stormi. “—the resemblance is amazing.”
Yeah, no shit.
“Too bad you landed on the wrong foot with that one. Kidnapping isn’t a love letter or sign of expression. So, let her go.”
“You did,” he emits. “Then you let her free.”
“She doesn’t like me,” I lie.
“Looked pretty heartbroken when I found her.”
I’m sure she did.
If it matched anything that I was feeling over the course of two weeks, Stormi is probably getting to the point where she wants to shove something up her nose and scramble her brains around, so it doesn’t hurt as much.
The sound of movement grabs my attention, two more idiots with AKs striding purposely in my direction, and behind them is Reagan, hoisted up in the air like she’s in a Greek wedding.
