by Amy Cecil
She’s rubbing her hands along her arms. “Spiders are crawling all over me. Get them off me, Sainte, please,” she begs and begins to cry. And the hell begins.
I rub her arms as if I am shooing them away, and her hysterics subside. She clings to me as she whimpers. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about. Tonight is gonna be the worst, but we will get through it together.” I walk to the dresser and grab a bottle of water and a protein bar. After opening the top on the bottle and tearing the package on the bar, I hand them to her and say, “Here, eat this, and you need to drink lots of water.”
She takes the bottle and protein bar and takes a big gulp of water. “I’m not hungry, Sainte.”
“I don’t care. You need protein. Now eat it.”
Reluctantly, she does as she’s told.
“That’s a good girl,” I say. When she finishes the water and the protein bar, she lies back down.
“I fucking hate this,” she says as she rolls on her side toward me. “Are you gonna stay with me all night?”
“I told you; we are glued at the hip.”
“Thank you, Sainte. I don’t know why you are doing this, and I’m sure I’ll tell you more of how much I hate you before the night is over, but I really appreciate it.”
I chuckle. “I’ll try to remember those words when you’re throwing shit at me.”
“Maybe you should just wean me off?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Nope, doesn’t work that way. Besides, I flushed it, remember?” I stop and think. Unless she didn’t give it all up. “You don’t have more stashed away somewhere?” I swear if she lied to me earlier, there will be hell to pay. I’ll put the damn feisty bitch over my knee and spank her ass. Knowing her, she’d probably like it.
“No, I gave you everything, but you have my phone. We could call Slash.”
“Nope,” I say as I sit on the bed next to her. “You know that shit will kill you, right?” I ask. “Do you know you are not only burning a hole through your nose, fucking up your brain, and destroying your life, you’re also setting yourself up to die? Cocaine will kill you.”
“I know.” Silent tears roll down her cheeks.
“Then why?”
She doesn’t answer, just shakes her head. She has no idea. Most addicts don’t. They just know that for a few minutes, the real world doesn’t hurt so much. “I’m gonna be here for you. I will give you whatever you need, but I will not enable you to get more coke. I refuse to watch you die, Honey.”
“Now it’s my turn to ask you why. Why are you doing this?”
I chuckle. “I would have thought you would have figured that out by now.”
She smiles, shaking her head. “Nope, don’t have a clue.”
Now I don’t know if she really doesn’t know or if she is playing coy. “Because Ice told me to,” I retort back, and she pouts. We need to change the subject. I’m not ready to discuss feelings with her, and she is definitely not ready to hear them. “How about I read to you? I had Tiny pick up that smutty novel you mentioned earlier.” I have to keep her mind off the coke as much as I can.
“Okay,” she says meekly. I know she’s disappointed that I didn’t cave and call Slash, but I also think that deep down, she knew I wouldn’t.
I watch her curiously for a moment, and for brief second, I believe she’s also disappointed I didn’t give her the answer she was fishing for when she asked me why. One day, she’ll get the answer, but not today.
I pick up the book called Ripper by Amy Cecil. I’ve never heard of this author before, but I also heard Emma talking to Ice about this book the other day. She said it was romantic and suspenseful. Looking at the book, I roll my eyes. Oh, well. The title does intrigue me, and I’m hoping a book involving Jack the Ripper will be a little less like a chick book and something maybe even I could get in to.
“Okay, get comfy and relax.” I get up and pull the covers back, then get into the bed with her. Looking down at her, I ask, “You good?”
She nods, so I begin.
“Known facts about Jack the Ripper.” So far so good. I continue to read, and by the time I get to Chapter two, Honey is asleep again. I ease my way out of the bed. I need to take advantage of the times when she’s asleep, ’cause each time she wakes, she will be worse than the time before. The melatonin is really helping her sleep, which is a good thing, but it won’t make all the detoxing side effects go away. Melatonin is a natural product, so I am not worried if it will be yet another thing she can get addicted to.
I pull out my laptop and place it on the desk in the corner of her room. I need to look into this so-called Tranquil Gardens Spa. I begin by checking the name, advertising, and its clientele, but everything appears squeaky clean. I jot down a few notes.
Established in 2015, has a steady clientele, quarterly report shows over two million… Nothing out of the ordinary, really; it’s the only spa of its kind around here, so the quarterly income is not alarming.
I shake my head. My hunches are normally right on, so there has to be more. That’s why I’m so good at what I do. It’s like a natural instinct I have. There’s something else here. I pull out my other laptop. This is the laptop not many know I have and rarely gets to see the light of day. This is the laptop where I search the dark web. This baby will give me the answers I need. It’s not always my first choice, however, because I like to find out as much legit information on the target as possible before I see their dark side.
Once it’s fired up and ready to go, I search. I find that there are more than nine thousand illicit massage businesses in the US alone, and it appears Tranquil Gardens is one of them. My hunch was right. These businesses are utilized to move women from state to state or, worse, country to country using ports-of-entry cities such as New York, Los Angeles, Miami, and so many more. Erie, although not strictly a port of entry like the others, is also a good location for transport into Canada. The one thing that doesn’t match the key indicators of these illicit massage businesses is that Tranquil Gardens isn’t hiding. They are out in plain sight, and they advertise as a legit business. Traffickers operate in the shadows, so why does this business pose itself as if it has nothing to hide?
I am surprised to read that trafficking related to massage parlors is second in prevalence only to trafficking in escort services. I think about how many people, men and women, who go to these types of businesses without even thinking about how they may never come out the same. Do they have any idea of the risks involved? Do parents worry when their daughters and sons attend these establishments? They have no clue until their loved one ends up missing and never to be found because they have been sold into slavery in some godforsaken country. It makes my stomach turn.
So who owns Tranquil Gardens?
I continue to search and find that a company called Jadco, Inc. owns our little Edinboro spa. Jadco? Where have I heard that name before? I think for a minute, but nothing comes to me.
It will eventually.
Just then, Honey stirs again. I look at my watch. She slept for almost a whole hour, which is a little longer than before. She whimpers and then I hear her teeth chattering. The cold stage. I go to the closet and pull out a couple blankets and lay them over the bed. She seems to settle a little as she warms up, but she’s still restless. I’m pleased, however, that she doesn’t wake. I wish I could make this all go away.
I walk back to the desk and continue my research. There are several businesses that Jadco, Inc. owns. In addition to Tranquil Gardens, there are three other massage parlors: in New York, Miami, and Los Angeles. Oh, no they are trafficking. Could they be more obvious? They also have two upper-class dating services, restaurants, bars, and strip joints scattered all over the US, all of which hover close to the major three port cities.
I continue to dig, trying to find anything I can on Jadco. And then I find the connection. Jadco is the incorporation affiliated with the Satans MC. That isn’t good. From what Ice has told me, he has brok
ered a piece with the Satans. Does he know about their side business? I think not. This could mean all kinds of shit for the Knights if this peace turns into an all-out war. Fuck! Ice will be anxious to hear about this. I look at my watch: 10:00 p.m. He’s probably home right now with Emma. I’ll talk to him in the morning.
I decide to call it a night, but before I close my laptop, I notice one more thing that actually makes me laugh. Looks like Jadco is an acronym for “just another dumb company.” Still chuckling to myself, I power down the laptop and slip my notes inside.
Just then, Honey jumps up from the bed and rushes to the bathroom. And so it continues. I get up and rush after her. She is on her knees in front of the toilet, hurling the contents of her stomach. I walk over and hold her hair back for her.
“Sainte, go away. I don’t want you to see me like this.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I told you.”
She hurls some more, and when things begin to slow down, I walk to the sink, grab the washcloth, and run it under cold water. When it is completely saturated, I wring it out, fold it, and hand it to her. “Here, rub this on your face and then hold it to your forehead. It will help.”
She takes the washcloth from me and does as I ask.
I walk out into her room to grab a bottle of water and the Pepto and head back into the bathroom. She’s sitting on the floor, completely naked with the washcloth to her forehead.
“Sorry, I was hot.” Her clothes are scattered on the bathroom floor.
“Like I said before, ain’t nothing I haven’t seen.” I hand her the bottle of water. “Here, rinse your mouth out and then drink as much as you can.”
“I can’t. The thought of putting something back in my stomach makes me want to throw up again.”
“Do it. I promise you’ll feel better.”
Reluctantly, she takes the top off the bottle and does as I ask. Before long, half the bottle of water is gone. “See, you feel better already, don’t you?”
She nods. I pour Pepto into the cap and hand it to her.
“Oh God, Sainte, please no. That pink shit is nasty.”
“Sorry, but you gotta. Trust me.”
She reluctantly takes the cap, closes her eyes, and plugs her nose with her free hand and downs the capful of Pepto. I try to hold back my laugh, but I can’t. She looks like a toddler who doesn’t want to take their medicine.
“Good girl.” I reach for her hand and help her up. She shivers, her legs shaky. I swoop her up into my arms and carry her to the bed. She wraps her arms around me and lays her head on my chest. “You are so warm,” she murmurs.
When I get to the bed, I pull back the covers with one hand and lay her on the bed. “Get under the covers. It will help warm you up.”
Once she’s situated, she looks at me with tears in her eyes. “Sainte, please,” she begs. “Call Slash.”
“No.” I walk to my laptop and put it back in the bag. I’ll talk with Ice about everything I found in the morning. Right now, she needs me. I give her another dose of the melatonin and two aspirin. After grabbing another bottle of water, I hand it to her.” Here, take these.”
I take off my jeans and shirt and crawl into bed next to her. “Let’s get some sleep.”
Chapter 12
Honey
I hate this hell. My body is rebelling against me, and if only Sainte would call Slash, this would all go away. I hate him for doing this to me. This is all his fault for telling Ice in the first place. Can’t forget Emma’s part in this too. She’s such a meddling little bitch. And then Hawk had to die. They’re all ganging up on me. They hate me. I’m sure the whole club knows about my little outburst this afternoon. They’re all telling me to leave.
The last conversation I had with Hawk plays over and over in my mind, and I watch him die again and again. Every time, he adds words to the conversation: Wake up, Honey. Don’t do this to yourself. You don’t want to be a user, love. This broken person is not the person I love. Wake up.
I don’t want to be a user, Hawk. You know I made that decision a long time ago. We’ve talked about this numerous times. You were always so proud of me for beating my addiction.
So then why did you start using again?
Because I couldn’t deal with the guilt. I can’t deal with what I did to you. Oh God, I’m so sorry, Hawk, for everything.
You have nothing to be sorry for. Listen to Sainte. He will get you through this, I promise.
I miss you, Hawk…
I’ve woken from another nightmare, crying. As I sit up in bed and wipe the tears from my eyes, I look over at Sainte. He’s beautiful, with his chiseled features and snarky attitude. He’s dropped everything to help me, and I can’t help but feel a bit of gratitude to the man I swore I would hate forever. Hawk’s last words were about him. Hawk talks to me in my sleep about him. He was sure Sainte was the right man for me. Hell, I wouldn’t know the right man for me if he were staring me in the face. How could I fuck up my life so much? Will I ever learn?
I thought Ice was the right man for me, and we all know how that turned out. Enter stage right, the long-lost love of his life. And I really thought I could make it work with Hawk. He truly cared for me, and he loved me. Why couldn’t I love him the way he needed me to? If I could have, would I feel so much different about his death? I would. I would be mourning the man I loved instead of feeling responsible for his death.
I can admit it to myself. I’ve tried to blame Sainte, Ice… hell, anyone but myself. The truth is, the blame falls entirely on me. I feel that if Hawk had something to live for, he never would have stepped in front of that bullet. If I could have promised him a future…
My thoughts trail off. No sense worrying about that now ’cause it will change nothing.
I lie back down and have a sudden urge to snuggle against Sainte. I need to feel the warmth from another human being, even if it is him. As I nudge closer, he rolls over on his side and pulls me in, protectively placing his arms around me. Yeah, this is nice, I think as I drift off back to sleep.
I wake to the sun shining in my window. It’s so fucking bright, making me remember I didn’t close the blinds last night. Obviously, I had other things on my mind. I look at my watch, almost twenty-four hours since I’ve had a hit. Almost one day clean. Baby steps.
I look around the room, and Sainte is gone. Where did he go? And then I hear the shower. He’s still here, but he left me alone. Suddenly, I realize I have a few minutes to myself. I jump from the bed and rummage through my dresser drawers, throwing clothes every which way. There’s got to be some left. All I need is one tiny bit. Just to get me through the day.
I find nothing. I sit down on the bed and cry.
I’ve lost touch with the sounds around me, and the fact that it is pretty obvious what I have been doing by the clothes scattered everywhere and some of the drawers left open.
Sainte’s voice startles me. “I leave you alone for five minutes and look what happens.”
I turn to face him. I could come up with a story about trying to find something. Oh, I don’t know, maybe some precious family heirloom or some shit like that, but I don’t. One of the steps to sobriety is honesty. “You caught me. I thought if I could just find a little, it would help take the edge off.”
“Not gonna happen, darlin’” He’s got a towel wrapped low around his waist and nothing else. His hair is wet and tousled, but my eyes quickly gravitate to his abs and the delicious patch of hair that leads to his happy place. He smirks. “Like what you see?”
“Actually, yes I do.” I get up from the bed and wipe the tears from my eyes. I walk toward him and stand close. He smells of Irish Spring, and I can’t help but take a deep breath. I lay my hand on his chest. Slowly, I slide it down the middle of his chest and linger at the edge where the towel meets his skin. “I fully acknowledge that you have a beautiful body, Sainte.” I press my lips to his chest. “But that doesn’t make me like you.” I step away.
“Of course not,” he says. �
��At least we have reduced hate to dislike.” He drops the towel and reaches for his boxers. “That’s progress.” He grins as he continues to get dressed, and of course I can’t help but watch. He really is beautiful. One thing he successfully succeeded in doing was to get me to think of something other than my next hit for a few minutes. Now that’s progress!
Once he’s dressed, he asks, “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Okay.”
“Are you hungry?”
I shake my head. “No.”
He walks to the provisions Tiny brought yesterday and grabs a banana. “Here, try to eat this?”
“Sainte, please, I can’t.”
“I’ll make a deal with you. You eat the banana and drink some water, and I’ll let you go downstairs for a bit. You can have some coffee too.”
“Really?” I ask. I would love some coffee. Hopefully he is serious.
“Really, but you have to eat and you have to stay away from the alcohol behind the bar. It should be pretty quiet this time of the morning, so I’m not so worried about you bribing brothers for their phones or skipping out.”
I give him a sideways glance, but then when I think about it, he’s right. If the opportunity presented itself, I’d fully take advantage of it. So like a good girl, I eat the banana and drink the water. Surprisingly enough, I do feel better. I think it was more just the thought of it that made me feel bad.
When I’m done, he says, “Why don’t you jump in the shower? It’ll make you feel better.”
I nod and rummage through my clothes that are scattered around. I find a pair of boyfriend jeans, the baggy kind, and a Harley T-shirt, along with a bra and undies.
“And don’t mind me. I’m just gonna clean up your fucking mess.” Sainte calls to me as I disappear into the bathroom.
When I’m done with my shower, I decide to give Sainte a taste of his own medicine. I brought my clothes into the bathroom with me but wrap myself in a towel and carry them out. I notice the room is completely clean, all my clothes put away.
