Catching a Fallen Starr

by Adriana Law

  “I will find her. You don’t need to worry. I will take care of it all.” Sawyer shrugs off his black jacket and drapes my shoulders with it. I hadn’t even realized I was cold until remnants of his body heat fill my body. He undoes his tie. “No matter what you hear…” he then precedes to rolling up his sleeves giving the impression things are about to get dirty, “…do not open this door until you hear my voice on the other side of it.”

  As Sawyer walks away, it hits me. So many emotions: fear, expectations, happiness, relief, doubt. This time it is different; different from the times we would get arrested on the weekends and then dumped right back into the lifestyle come Monday morning. All the men who have hurt me. Ricin. They are all about to pay.

  My hand on Sawyer’s arm stops him before he reaches the door.

  Our gazes not only meet, they clash, our wills both strong and on opposite ends. Sawyer only wants to do what is right by the law. I however, have something ugly and needy inside me, something ugly Ricin put there, something that wants to see suffering. Great suffering.

  “You can’t leave me shut up in this room,” I tell Sawyer. “Take me with you.”

  He takes two steps toward the door. “Not happening.”

  “You have to.”

  “Why?” he asks.

  I consider what answer will give me what I want. “I need to see Ricin being arrested. I need to know that it is over.” That’s partially true.

  “I can’t do that.” Sawyer sets me aside. “You have to stay in here, where it’s safe. It’s what your father would want. He paid me to keep you safe…that’s what I intend to do.” He cracks the door. I shut it.

  “I don’t care what my father wants. He’s not here. I’ve spent months being unsafe; another couple of minutes won’t matter. I’m not afraid to go out there.” My tone turns desperate which I’m sure matches my eyes. “Don’t take this away from me, Sawyer. I earned it. I have to know he can no longer hurt me.”

  Sawyer’s dark eyes search my face. He’s conflicted. I can see it. I fake the appearance of someone needing peace when what I want is to see Ricin stripped of his power and made to feel like nothing. “Please.” I need to see Ricin pay and suffer as I have. I need to see fear and uncertainty in his eyes.

  Sawyer comes closer and studies my face for long moments. His head tilts, his brown eyes narrowing. He gently brushes the lines that make up my sad frown, saying, “I don’t want you going anywhere near the guy or speaking to him.”

  I start to argue, thinking that was a no. “I—”

  “You have to stand back and let us do our job. Ok?”

  “You’re the boss.”

  “You can’t get in the way.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Can you do that, Mya? Can you distance yourself?”

  “I’ve been distancing myself my entire life.”

  ***

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Poison

  DEA jackets are everywhere: casually moving up and down the long hallway, along the staircase, and huddled in small groups discussing the night’s events. How it all went down so fast. We pass one of the surprised party-goers: a man in a business suit, his ruddy cheek smashed to the wall, his hands locked low behind him while DEA read him his rights. The business man speaks in a foreign language; even though I can’t understand him I know he is pissed that his night has been ruined.

  We pass a young girl, nineteen maybe. It’s hard to be sure. Her tired expression is full of tears as she begs for the officer to let her return to her “family”. Black mascara runs beneath her sad, vacant eyes. She is tall, her legs long and slender, pale coming from the black leather mini skirt. She leans a drooping shoulder against the wall. As we pass, I can feel her eyes on me. Cooperating with a cop is frowned upon. It’s something we don’t do. “Stupid twat,” I hear her call me.

  Her assumption that I have sided with the enemy cause my stomach to contact and squeeze what little food is left in it. I almost turn; take the cowardly way out by going to hide in the room like Sawyer wanted me to, but the need to look into Ricin’s eyes while he is afraid is so strong nothing can keep me from it.

  We pause outside a set of rich double doors. Sawyer’s hand circles mine and I glance down. I release a long breath, my eyes lifting to his. “Sure you want to do this?” he asks.

  I straighten my posture and lift my chin.

  Sawyer’s fingers don’t lace with mine like a boyfriend's fingers would, they encase; strong and supportive.

  The instant the double doors swing open my gaze locates Ricin. The smug dickwad! An officer is in the process of securing Ricin’s arms behind his back. The officer appears to have already had his fill of everything Ricin Carter. I don’t blame him. Ricin can be like sand paper: you don’t know the damage the fine texture can do until you vigorously rub over the same spot—it will strip away layers, it will burn, and if you’re not careful it with leave lasting marks. I am consumed with my hatred. I place it all there, on his head, every single horrible unforgettable thing that has ever happened to me. Even some of the things he had no part off. In that aspect I guess he has helped: giving me somewhere to focus all my anger.

  Ricin’s maroon-colored dress shirt is as crisp and wrinkle-free as the last time I saw it, right before he blindfolded me. Black hair falls forward, strands of it obscuring his cold eyes. He doesn’t seem too concerned, relaxed even, like going to jail is a mini-vacation to somewhere nice and tropical. I don’t even think the guy perspires. Wonder if he’s aware of what guys have been known to do to other guys in prison? Bastard! I hope he gets fucked. He deserves it.

  Sensing he is being watched, Ricin slowly turns his head in our direction and my body reacts. My heart races, blood pumping crazily through my veins from being this close to the man that stole what little hope I had left. I silently beg him to look me in the eyes so I can relay how much I despise him, that I am ONE female that he hasn’t tricked into believing he is God, but Ricin’s gaze never reaches mine.

  Instead, it lowers to where Sawyer holds my hand. Even though it is innocent, the hand holding, I can tell Ricin immediately associates it with sex and possession. Sawyer’s jacket keeping me warm only gives him more cause to believe he was right when he predicted something was going on between Sawyer and me.

  When Ricin eyes finally do lift, they go directly to Sawyers dark ones. It’s a stare down between the two most significant people in my life at the moment.

  A mischievous grin instantly creeps onto Ricin’s face.

  I know him well enough to know nothing he is thinking is good.

  I spot Mattie and drop Sawyers hand, running to her side. She sits slumped, her legs drawn up in the chair, her head resting on the cushion. Her gorgeous black face is roughed-up, swollen and smeared with red blood. Her bottom lip festers; split, showing its insides.

  “What did they do to you,” I ask, kneeling by her chair. I promptly shrug off Sawyers jacket and wrap it around Mattie’s wilted shoulders and then take her limp hand. She doesn’t look at me, doesn’t respond; instead stares blankly at the far wall.

  Ricin’s arrogant tone startles me. I jump as if someone has run up on my rounded spine in the pitch-black. “You know how this works,” he is saying. I swing my head toward the sound of it, certain he is addressing me but he’s not. The deep calculating chuckle is meant for Sawyer.

  Ricin continues, “You can’t hold me and you know it. After my attorney works his magic…I’ll be out by the end of the week.” With the flick of his eyes, he gestures over at where I am kneeling by Mattie. “She chose to be with me, you know. Begged. Pitiful, really. What was I supposed to do…put her out?” I glance from Ricin to Sawyer to see Sawyers body go rigid, his jaw clenched under the surface. His hands are shoved in his pockets as if to steel himself from doing something that goes against his need to be in control. I don’t have to see Sawyer’s hands to know they are forming fist. I think: Don’t do it! Don’t let the jackass provoke you into doing something stup
id!

  The officer finishes and directs Ricin in which direction to go. He tells him when to stop, when to walk, when to sit and when to wait. I smile. Knowing being someone’s bitch has to be getting under Ricin’s skin.

  My pimp keeps running his mouth.

  “Shut the hell up,” the officer warns. “Not another word out of your mouth. I’m warning you, buddy. Make it easy on yourself."

  Ricin ignores the officer, talking directly to Sawyer, “Seriously. You might want to check her out real good before you touch her. She’s got a nasty little addiction. Being the good guy that I am I tried to help the bitch out…help her off the streets…but as you can see by her arm, there is no helping her.”

  Sawyer turns sideways, head bent, speaking in hush tones with a woman wearing a DEA jacket. He doesn’t even give Ricin the courtesy of glancing over, he pretends he’s not there. His body language says he is struggling not to charge Ricin. I see it rising in him. You don’t talk to a Bentley like that, any Bentley, without unleashing a hot-head.

  Ricin doesn’t let up.

  He keeps on slinging shit.

  “Word of warning though, this one will rob you blind and fuck your brother if it’ll get her what she wants.” He smiles when Sawyer’s eyes whip in his direction, tightening into a glare. Ricin shrugs. “I say…once a nasty whore…always a nasty whore.”

  Anger builds inside me until I am overcome with it.

  I hate him.

  I really, really hate him!

  His words dredge up things I would rather forget but I can’t: how he turned a cold shoulder on me letting those men rape me. Ricin heard me scream, he couldn’t have been certain they would stop with rape. He had to at least consider they could have choked the life out of me. It was a chance the bastard was willing to take. I see his smug ass face ordering me to “teach” a fourteen-year-old, ordering the other girls to break me down by insults. But most of all I hate what he’s done to Mattie’s head, how he is obviously intelligent enough to warp her way of thinking.

  And now, Ricin doesn’t even respect me enough to try to get at me. All his focus is on the men in the room. I don’t want Sawyer to be the one to go after Ricin. That should be my right.

  I want Ricin Carter all to myself.

  Withdrawing my hand from Mattie’s, I stand. My body vibrates from the adrenal coursing through my veins. I’m hot. Burning up. My chest tight. My body wound even tighter. I have tunnel vision, and it’s locked on the son-of-a-bitch. “One more word,” and I am going to explode.

  Ricin smirks. His blue eyes meeting mine for the first time since I entered the room. The room he tried to sell me in. The room where he stood back and watched those men abuse Mattie.

  “What’s wrong, Love?” he asks.

  Snarling, I charge, getting at him before Sawyer has the chance. I smack into hard body and take Ricin to the ground. The officer lets me. I’m on top of the bastard, straddling his waist, slinging my fist, not even caring what I hit just as long as it’s a part of his face. I want to hurt him. I want to make him as ugly on the outside as he is on the inside.

  With his hands in cuffs, Ricin’s only defense is to duck his head. “Will you get this crazy BITCH off me,” he growls. After a hit to the cheek, he peers up at me, his face bright red. “Good. I hope you’re embarrassed!” I tell him. “I hope all your buddies refer to you as the pussy that got beat up by a girl!”

  “You ARE psycho!!” he shouts in my face.

  My nails tear skin. His bottom lip oozes blood. “Get the fuck off me,” he breathes out, attempting to wrench out from underneath me, his legs working to get around so they can get some kind of grip on me. I’ve seen enough wrestling to know to keep his legs away so they can’t crush my waist.

  I manage to get my hands around his throat, and I squeeze until my arms shake. Ricin gasps, clucking as my hold gets even tighter. I want to kill him! The world will be a better place with the bastard gone! But then arms circle my waist dragging me off him. “No. No. NO! Stop! I swear…I’m going to kill him!”

  “No. You are not,” Sawyer tells me setting me a few feet away. “What you are going to do is calm down.”

  The officer is helping Ricin back to his feet. “You should be scared,” Ricin spits. “You hear me. They haven’t got shit on me!”

  I lunge. Sawyer grabs me around the waist again and drags me back. He shoves a finger at the other officer in charge of Ricin. “GET HIM OUT OF HERE!”

  “Did you hear,” I ask the officer in charge of Ricin. “Did you hear him threatening my life?”

  The officer blinks, staring back at me with empathy.

  Okay. Yes. Only a few minutes ago I said: I’m going to kill you. I’m not helping my case. I’ve lost it. Ricin knows this. If there is such a thing as a shit-eating grin, he has one.

  He licks the blood off his bottom lip. “I simply said you should be careful.”

  “You said scared…I should be scared! That’s a threat!”

  “You live the lifestyle...” he smiles, “…sooner or later you get fucked.”

  “No. You’re fucked,” Sawyer intervenes. “What you have is a nice six by eight cell waiting on you. Enjoy it.” Sawyer motions to the other officer to go ahead. “Get this piece of shit out of here. I’m sick of looking at him.”

  “Fuck you, Officer Cock! I’ll be out quicker than you can clean that shit up. ” By shit, Ricin is referring to me.

  “Stop talking,” Sawyer orders.

  “I knew you were a cop. Dress IT up in decent clothes, its still a Pig.”

  The officer dragging Ricin out grabs him almost lifting him off the floor and shoves him toward the door, telling him, “They are going to love you in prison.”

  Right before Ricin is removed from my life forever he issues a new warning:

  “I will see you later.”

  Rule # Six) never let a girl go free when there’s still some “trick” left in her

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Can I Stay?

  The emergency room doctor mashes over my ribcage and I flinch. The pain is dull. Bearable. But I play it up to be worse than it is. The doctors name tag reads: Dr. Rodgers. She is a blonde woman. Fair skin. Old enough to be my mother. Her eyes kind and caring like a mother’s eyes should be.

  The curtain is drawn, blocking the view of the hallway. Something about the small room and Sawyer sitting nervously in a chair not far away dredges up old memories. Memories I would rather forget. The overwhelming guilt that has stayed with me like an uncollected debt: it happened because of me, because of something I’d done.

  “Oh God, this isn’t happening,” I kept repeating, over and over, staring down at the blood soaking the crotch of my jeans. Jeans I could no longer button or zip. The biggest rubber band they made looped through the buttonhole stretching to the metal button to give the added space for my growing belly.

  A sharp turn into the emergency room exit had my hand flying out to brace myself to keep from being dumped in the floorboard. Sterling and I were in the back seat: me laid out with my knees bent, my head resting in his lap.

  One of our suppliers, James, was driving. He was the only option at the time. “Dude, can you be careful,” Sterling told James, his hold on me tightening protectively. “And while you’re at it…roll down a damn window. That’s brutal.”

  “What do you expect? My fucking nerves are tore up,” James returned, stroking his goatee.

  Sterling glanced down at me through heavy eyelids. “You okay?” His reflexes and thought process were not the best at the moment. I think we all wished we were sober.

  “Not really,” I breathed, clutching my stomach. “Hurts like hell. Just make him hurry.”

  James turned around in his seat, his arms draped over the back of the empty passenger seat as he navigated his piece of shit car into a parking space. He slammed the car into park jarring me again. I groaned. It wasn’t supposed to hurt. Not yet. Not this early. It was too early. Way too early. Five months too early! />
  “A little notice would have been nice,” James complained.

  “Sorry to inconvenience YOU!” I yelled. “I didn’t plan this!”

  “Breathe,” Sterling said, demonstrating.

  I growled out, “You breathe!”

  “All I’m sayin’ is…” James continued, “…it’s not all that easy driving when you can’t see fucking straight. Give me a little credit…I got you two here, didn’t I?” He killed the engine and made a move to get out thinking he was coming with us.

  “He really is HIGH,” I said, “if he thinks he’s coming in the hospital with us. No way is the guy I buy my drugs from coming inside with me!!”

  “We can take it from here,” Sterling told James swinging open the back car door. He took my hand and helped me out. “Thanks for the ride though,” he told James, slipping an arm around my waist. “Can you walk?” I nodded and leaned all my weight on him, flinching with each uncomfortable step.

  “No problem,” James yelled from the driver’s side window. “Let me know if it’s a boy or girl?”

  I felt like I was going to puke. “Please, make him shut up, Sterling.”

  “Don’t pay any attention to him. Just keep walking. Almost there.”

  “Hold up,” I said halfway through the automatic doors. “I need a breather.” I bent over, my arm hugging my stomach when the pain became unbearable. Tears slipped from the corners of my eyes. One minute I was trying to catch my breath, the next Sterling swept me off my feet and carried me the rest of the way.

  I curled up into his chest, burying my face and the tears. Why was it happening? I knew why? Because of me and my selfishness.

  “I need help here!” Sterling yelled, easing me down into one of the wheelchairs.

  The woman behind the desk glanced up. “Can I help you?” she blinked.

  “She’s in pain. Can you give her something…so she’s not…in pain anymore?? What are you staring at, woman? Did you not hear what I just said…the girl is hurtin’! She’s pregnant and shouldn’t be in pain!” Sterling stammered. His forehead was soaked with sweat, even the tips of his hair curled from being damp. His clothes hadn’t been changed in days. His tattoo’s and the glassy look in his eyes had the woman looking on him like he was a druggie loser that deserved no respect.