Fighting Control (Bay State Series Book 3)

by Hachey,Tiffany

  A throat clearing across the table rips me away from my fantasy, bringing me back to the here and now.

  Greg shoveling another slice into his mouth sets off another round of giggling from me and Julian is forgotten for now and the fact that I'm supposed to be pissed at him.

  We make it back to the office with only a couple of minutes to spare before our hour is up and I stop by Autumn's office to see if she's made it back yet. Seeing her office empty, I have my answer and I walk back to my cubicle to finish out my day.

  At ten minutes till five I hear a beep from my desk drawer indicating that I have a new text message. Sliding it from the space above my knees, I see it's from Julian and decide to ignore it for now. I'll deal with him later. Right now I have to finish with the file I'm working on and meet Ashley at her house for our study date.

  After logging off of my computer, I gather my things and walk back to Autumn's office. She's not at her desk. I wonder if that's a good sign. I take my phone from my clutch and look at the text from Julian.

  { Still have plans tonight? I miss you!! }

  I back up to my main message screen and find Autumn's name. After typing out a short message, I hit send and stuff the phone back into its little pocket. Time to catch a cab. As I'm turning from her door Greg calls after me that he'll walk me out and I accept. We talk about our hopes that everything went okay with Autumn this afternoon and we part ways at the exit, exchanging goodbyes and I see a cab already idling at the curb. Not something I normally see but I dismiss the thought. I need a cab and there's one right here. How convenient.

  Opening the door, I stop short when I see Eric holding a gun to the driver's side through the gap in the front seats and my first instinct is to bolt but I fear for the driver.

  “Get in,” he snarls and all I can do is comply as I climb in the car on shaky limbs.

  “Don't hurt him,” I plead as I buckle my seatbelt.

  “Oh, I won't as long as you cooperate. It's all up to you whether he lives or dies. And I know what you're thinking. You see, I know where he lives and if he tries anything his whole family pays.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “It's simple, I want you back. I tried telling you the other night but that asshole had to interfere. At least we don't have to worry about him anymore.”

  “What?” I whimper. Hoping he's bluffing. “You didn't have to hurt him.”

  “You're right, I didn't have to but it sure felt good cutting his pretty face before I ended it.”

  “Ended it?” Swallowing hard, I try to rack my brain. Something doesn't add up. Julian texted me not even twenty minutes ago. I decide to keep quiet and not call his bluff. For all I know, Eric has his phone and I want to hold on to the shred of hope that he's full of shit. He's obviously flown off the rails like a runaway freight train.

  “Yup.” Is all he says before barking off an address to the driver. He snatches my clutch from my hand and stuffs it next to him by the door.

  Looking at him now I can't see any of the qualities that I saw in him back in college and I wonder how I never noticed how unstable he was.

  “What about your wife?”

  “Not that I owe you an explanation but she's taken care of too. She took me away from you, her and her family, tempting me with an offer I couldn't refuse. I made a deal with the devil and now they've paid the price. I miss you Tanya, we belong together. Everything's going to be perfect you'll see.”

  The only thing I can see is me getting sick. My stomach falls to the floor thinking about his wife and her family. And what does he mean about a deal with the devil? These are all questions I really don't want the answer to so I just keep quiet until we stop in a small alley a few blocks away from a small motel that I saw right after heading out of the business district.

  As soon as the driver puts the car in park, Eric raises the gun to the man’s head and pulls the trigger. I can't help the high pitched scream that rips itself out of my throat before I pass out.

  Desperation

  Julian

  After I text Tanya I decide that now's a good time to go give Frank a visit to find out what his problem is.

  I'm not sure what time he gets off work and it being only five o'clock, I head to his office at B.C.O financials first. I think it will be better than barging over to his house to confront him; at least we'll be in public.

  The building looms above me as I stand on the sidewalk and take in the vastness of its size. It has to be one of the tallest skyscrapers in Boston and it's definitely intimidating even for someone like me.

  Pushing through the doors I walk into the lobby and up to the receptionist. After telling her where I need to go, she directs me to elevators down the hall to the left.

  Hitting the button for the correct floor, I stand back in the solitude of the empty space and think through my upcoming argument with Frank.

  The doors open to a long hallway and to my right are the glass double doors with big letters on them, indicating that I've made it to my destination. This time the reception desk is empty and I have no idea which way I need to go. There's a hallway stretching from the main room on either side of me.

  Voices are coming from my left and I wait patiently as they get closer. Two male and one female I decide right before they come into view. I recognize Frank immediately but the other two only look vaguely familiar.

  Frank appraises me, questioning me with his eyes as he says goodbye to his colleagues and stops in front of me, waiting for them to be enclosed in the elevator before he speaks.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure, Martin?”

  “Look, can we go somewhere and talk? Maybe have a drink? I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

  “Sure let's go to O'Patricks, it’s pretty low-key at this time of the day.”

  I follow him out of the building and we walk the few blocks in silence. No doubt he's mentally choosing his words before our confrontation, same as me. Call me old fashioned but I'd like the approval from the men in her life before we take it any further, if she's so inclined.

  The asphalt seems to be moving under my heels as I propel myself forward, dreading this conversation but also recognizing its importance. My heart's beating so fast that it would seem that the street's a treadmill and I'm running a 5k. I get a sudden need to turn around and burn up the pavement in the opposite direction. I have a bad feeling in my gut that I can't shake like I'm about to step foot into a burning inferno and I'll be trapped with no way out but to go up with the flames licking away at me, stripping me of every ounce of hope running through my veins and it scares me that this one woman holds that kind of power over me.

  If only my teammates could see me now, be able to read my mind. I'd be the laughing stock of the locker room, this season's pussy. We have one every year. Someone we all rag on. It's always in good fun but somehow I doubt it's fun being the recipient.

  I swallow the tension burning in my mouth like a vat of hot acid swirling on my tongue. I don't know why I'm dreading this conversation so much. I'm a grown man for fucks sake. I need to get a grip and fast. The sign for the bar is coming up just ahead, time to put up or shut up.

  As Frank's reaching for the door his phone starts to ring in his pocket and he pulls it out, lifting it to his ear.

  “What's up George?” I can't hear the other side of the conversation but he answers a silent question. “I'm at O'Patricks with Julian, you should swing by.”

  The conversation continues on the other end and Frank looks thoughtful for a minute before turning to me. “Hey, did Tanya say anything to you about where she was going after work? She was supposed to study with Ashley a half an hour ago but never showed up.”

  Shit. That's exactly what she told me too. “No. Last I heard she was meeting Ashley. Why?”

  “Well according to Ashley she never showed up and she's not answering her phone.”

  “Fuck man, I don't know.” Panic sets in deeper and now I know that this was the reason for my uneasy fe
eling.

  “I don't like this. Let's grab a cab and head over to her office. See if anyone knows anything,” Frank suggests.

  We flag down a car, tell the driver the address and hope like hell we make it while someone's still there. It is a radio station so I know there's always someone in the building, but after a certain time the place is on lockdown. No one in, no one out, unless it's an emergency.

  A voice of urgency comes over the radio and the driver picks up the receiver. “Can you repeat that? Thought you said someone's been shot.”

  Shit. This is not what we need. We need to get to WBCN.

  The voice comes over the speaker again. “Mark's been killed. They found his car right outside the business district in an alley. Looks like he was high jacked no signs of the gunman. His last call came in right before a pickup at WBCN.”

  An even sicker feeling settles deep in the pit of my stomach as I turn to Frank and see his face is white as a sheet. “Tanya,” he says before opening the door of the still moving cab and empties the contents of his stomach on the road as the lines separating the asphalt fly by.

  “I'm calling 911. I have a feeling whoever took that car has Tanya.”

  Sitting back up and closing the door, he nods his head in agreement and wipes his mouth on his sleeve. If my instinct is right, whoever has her, it's been about forty five minutes now and the clock is ticking.

  The dispatch officer takes my name and number, thanking me for the tip and tells me someone from the station will get in touch with me if they have any information about the situation.

  “Hey, can you drop us off near the scene?” I ask the driver and he gives me an uneasy look in the rearview. “You don't have to go there, maybe a couple blocks away. Please?” I'm not above begging at this point. I'm desperate. And from the look on Frank's face, he's no better. He hasn't said a word. His body is silently shaking and his face is positively green.

  “Frank,” I say, trying to get his attention but he just stares ahead in a daze. “Frank.” I try again, nudging his shoulder in an effort to pull him out of his paralyzed state.

  “Huh? What? Sorry,” he says in apology.

  “You need to call George. Have him meet us down here. We don't know who or what we're dealing with. We need all the man power we can get.”

  “Right, give me a sec,” he tells me pulling his phone from his pocket and taking a deep breath. “Where are we?” he asks before dialing his brother and putting the phone to his ear.

  I look around us for anything familiar. I spot a sign for a motel a little way up on the left. We just left the business district behind us and I'm trying to find a street sign or something to give me an idea of something to tell him to let him know our location. I've never been in this area before. It seems extremely rundown and a little scary to tell you the truth. Not somewhere I would come willingly under other circumstances.

  My mind flies back to the motel and I yell to the driver to stop the car. The motel is now a few blocks behind us. I don't think Frank noticed it. If he did, he didn't show any signs of it. Maybe it’s denial of sharing my morbid thoughts.

  Something tells me that's where she is. I have no idea who could or would kidnap her. Maybe she's just a case of wrong place, wrong time. Hell we don't even know that she was in that cab but I'm not willing to leave it to chance, if she's somewhere safe, great, if not, better safe than sorry. Her safety is not something I'm not willing to gamble with. At the very least we could be helping catch the suspect in the murder. Maybe we'll be saving someone else from this sicko's game.

  “Tell him to meet us at that motel,” I tell Frank as we get out of the car, gesturing down the street.

  I hand the driver a crisp hundred dollar bill and tell him to keep the change. “Hey man, I'm sorry about what happened. I hope they catch him.”

  He must have caught the gist of our plans because his parting words were, “I hope your friend's okay. Sick fuck.” He drives off shaking his head and we start to walk towards the motel. I look all around me at the boarded up windows of the dilapidated buildings surrounding us and I can't help but wonder how there could be such a drastic change from one part of this city to the next.

  “George is on his way,” Frank tells me as he takes in our surroundings and lets out a shaky breath.

  I just nod my head as we quietly make our way down the street. Neither one of us looks like we belong here, granted I'm in running shorts and tank top with a pair of Jordans on my feet. Frank however is still wearing his suit. We make quite a pair but either way, neither of us looks like we belong in a shithole area like this.

  Several people stand on their porches watching us, mostly gawking women. Some still in their nightgowns. Some clutching crying, dirty babies to their sides and a shiver runs through me and I thank God that I didn't get dealt this hand in life. The stench that permits the air makes me nauseous and I have to force my feet to keep moving instead of folding my body in half to upend my stomach.

  “I have a bad feeling man,” I say as we approach the motel. Only two vehicles sit in the parking lot to the building and I have no idea how many units are occupied. For some reason I think that anyone staying here can't afford a set of wheels. I know it's judgmental of me but I call things as I see them.

  “I agree. I don't like this. Let's go in and see if we can get some answers.” I follow Frank in the front door to the office and wait for him to say something. What, I don't know but when enough time passes I realize that he's waiting on me.

  Make Believe

  Tanya

  Waking up I realize two things. One, I have a splitting headache and two, my arms are tied above my head. Immediately a barrage of realization hits me, getting into the cab, Eric holding a gun to the driver's side, Eric pulling the trigger before I blacked out. None of it, not a single part of it was a dream.

  I can hear him talking to himself and I keep my eyes shut, pretending to still be passed out as I try to come up with a plan to get out of this situation alive.

  “They needed to die. They tricked me. That stupid bitch. Tricking me and taking me away from Tanya. Why did I believe them? This is all their fault. They'll never suspect the fire was me. Now I can have my happily ever after. One way or another I'll make her love me again.”

  And it hits me, exactly what I need to do, when I can't pretend to be sleeping anymore.

  I feel a sharp slap across my face and I keep my eyes screwed shut.

  “Wake the fuck up,” Eric screams at me. I can feel him inches from my face. His spit splatters against the skin of my cheek and I feel him close in and lick a path from my chin to my ear.

  What the fuck is wrong with him? Was he crazy like this while I was with him? If he was he hid it well.

  Another slap stings me, this time sharper than the first on my now wet skin. “Wake the fuck up. I want you to feel everything I have to give you. I know you still love me. You have to. I'll make you. You'll be mine again if it's the last thing you do.”

  My pulse multiplies and I have a sinking feeling that my make believe time is over. He can't possibly believe I'm still sleeping with the acceleration of my racing heart. Not only that but the way my chest is heaving, like I've run a marathon. Was anyone worried when I didn't show up at Ashley's? Will she call around looking for me? Has anyone found the cab driver? My only hope is that Eric was stupid enough to bring me to that shady motel I saw a few blocks before stopping the car. How did he get me here without raising a few eyebrows? Then I remember the rundown houses in the area and my heart sinks. It screamed drugs and if that's the case everyone was probably too high to notice or didn't give a shit as long as we weren't a cop car.

  “I know you're awake, sweetheart. Now open those pretty eyes and look at me. I'm gonna make you feel so good. Make you forget all about that pansy ass you were with,” he says with venom in his voice. How can he claim to love me? He is one sick fuck and I hope to hell that someone finds me in time. I have no idea of what he's capable of.

 
I know one thing’s for sure; my make believe time has definitely not ended. I need to keep him talking. Make him think I want and love him back. I just hope I can pull it off so he doesn't hurt me or worse, make me have sex with him. I would rather die.

  Slowly I open my eyes to see him staring down at me, his breath heavy and reeking of whiskey. When did he start drinking? He was so straight laced when we were dating.

  “I've been waiting for you to wake up. Sorry I lost my patience. I need you to feel me. I need to satisfy you. I can't do that if you're passed out now can I?”

  “Why are you doing this Eric? You left me. You broke my heart. Why didn't you just talk to me about this?” I tug on my bindings trying to loosen them to no avail.

  He looks to my wrists tied above my head and I need to think fast. “Why am I tied up? I won't go anywhere if you just talk to me. Tell me what happened. Why are you being this way Eric? Help me understand. I promise I won't try to run.”

  He eyes me suspiciously, trying to judge my sincerity. “Please Eric? You easily have a hundred pounds on me. I won't run I promise. I love you.” I swallow the bile in my mouth with the lie.

  He bends down, nestling his face in my neck as his arms stroke mine and I look around the room, taking in the one lone chair sitting next to the dresser on the opposite wall, the exit door so close in the small room. I crane my neck to see the other side of the room and he takes it as an invitation to kiss and suck my neck when its length stretches out to allow me to see. On the edge of the dresser that I couldn't see before lies the gun. The gun he used to kill the driver and I shiver. Again he gets the wrong idea and his arms leave mine to trial down to my chest but right before he gets there the door bursts open and several armed officers rush in and I see my brothers and Julian trailing in behind them.

  Before he realizes what's going on Eric's weight is torn from me and he's slammed to the floor as one of the cops cuffs him and another grabs the gun from its resting place, zipping it in an evidence bag.

  With my eyes transfixed on the scene in front of me, I hardly notice that my wrists are being freed. I'm being lifted into a pair of strong arms and the dam bursts. Tears stream down my face and onto the hard chest under it.