Protected by the Monster

by Hamel, B. B.

  We reached the door at the end of the hall and Luca pushed it open. Martin stumbled and dropped to his knees as we entered into short hall with green tiled floor. The overhead light was off, but I could see stainless steel counters, refrigerators, bowls and cutting boards stacked nearly in overhead racks.

  “Fuck,” Martin said. “Fuck. I can’t go… fuck.” He gasped, breathing hard, sweating.

  “I’m not leaving you,” Luca said. “Clair, help me.”

  “No,” my mom said. “No, he’s dead already, leave him.”

  “Mom.” I stared at her, but she shook her head.

  “Leave him,” she said.

  I released her arm and went to Martin. I helped Luca get the man to his feet as Mom shook her head wildly.

  “Come on,” Luca said.

  I helped support Martin’s weight. I got his blood on my side, but did my best to ignore it. Mom kept up, staying just behind us, and we moved into the kitchen.

  It was an open space, filled with rows of cooking stations. Luca went to turn right, but stopped in his tracks as some guys standing at the far end flanking a pair of doors began to yell. I caught just a glimpse of dark hair, light brown skin, and heard their Spanish accents. They wore earthtone cargo pants and bland black jackets.

  They leveled rifles toward us.

  “Down!” Luca yelled, throwing Martin to the floor. He grabbed me, threw me down, fell on top. Mom screamed, I couldn’t see where she was, and the gunfire started, lighting up everything around us. The bullets slammed into the cabinets, the bowls and pans, sending sparks flying through the air. I thought I was screaming, but I couldn’t hear myself over the gunshots. Luca held me down, his body keeping me pinned on top of Martin. I could feel his breath coming in ragged, his blood soaking my shirt.

  Then the gunshots stopped. Luca sat up and began firing back, using the countertop for cover. I rolled off Martin, but he didn’t move, his eyes locked on the ceiling. I checked his pulse, lowered my ear to his chest, and got nothing.

  Luca kept shooting. I heard yelling, some screams.

  I looked around for my mom, but didn’t see her.

  “Mom!” I yelled. “Mom, where are you?”

  I went to stand but Luca grabbed me, pulled me back down. “Stay,” he said. “Don’t fucking move.”

  “My mom,” I said. “I’ll find her.” He turned away from the far door and moved at a crouch. I risked a glance over the counters and found the two men slumped on the floor, one halfway to cover, the other with his rifle clutched to his chest.

  Luca started in the opposite direction, but more gunfire exploded out. I heard a scream and knew it was my mom. I jumped to my feet, started running to the far end of the kitchen. I saw her, a man grabbing her wrists, struggling against him, screaming and fighting. Two more men shot at Luca, forcing him back.

  He grabbed me, dragged me back down between the counters.

  “They have her,” I said. “They have her. We have to save her.”

  “We can’t,” he said. “Too many. And I can’t risk shooting. Martin?”

  “He’s dead,” I said, then, “Wait, What? What?” I was panicking, I knew, I couldn’t think straight. “We have to get my mom!”

  “We can’t,” he said again. “Fuck, Clair. I’m sorry.”

  “Luca—”

  He didn’t give me a chance to argue. He scooped down and grabbed me by the hips, lifting me up over his shoulder. I gasped as he slung me back then began to run, sprinting for the far exit. I screamed, looked up, saw my mom still fighting, saw one of the men punch her in the face hard enough to knock her down. I kept screaming as they shot at us, missing by inches, the bullets whizzing through the air.

  Luca slammed against the door and threw it open, stumbling into a backyard.

  Cool night air assaulted my mouth, my nose, my skin. I screamed for my mother as the door shut behind us. I began to hit him, pounding my fists on his back, but he didn’t slow down. He ran for a back gate, threw it open, ran into the street, and kept running until he was too exhausted and too weak to keep going.

  I didn’t know where we were. He put me down on the sidewalk and collapsed onto a stoop, breathing hard. We were on a nice block, well-manicured homes, million-dollar garages. I thought I could still hear gunfire, crackling in the night, mixed with sirens in the distance.

  “We have to go back,” I said as he sat on the stoop, catching his breath. “Luca, they have my mom. She might be dead. She might be—”

  “We can’t go back,” he said, staring up at me. “It’s over, Clair.”

  “What the hell do you mean?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “What do you mean? Luca, what do you mean?”

  He got to his feet. There was blood all over his clothes. I looked down at myself, saw more blood, and realized it wasn’t mine.

  Realized it was blood from that dead man, Martin.

  “This wasn’t what I wanted,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

  He stepped toward me and pulled me against him. He hugged me tight, and I felt my mind going in loops, in circles, panicking, barely functioning.

  He pulled away, took my hand, and began to walk.

  I followed, my feet moving automatically, the world turning to black and white around me, my ears ringing a rhythmic whine.

  20

  Luca

  Clair walked after me through the dark Philly streets as sirens screamed all around us. I stuck to back alleys and lingered in the dark whenever a cop car came roaring past, afraid they’d see the blood splattered on my shirt, all over Clair’s side and chest.

  I went to the only safe place left in the city.

  Steven came to the door after buzzing his doorbell for two straight minutes. His eyes were red and his hair was a mess. “The fuck are you doing here?” he asked, then his eyes opened wide as he took in my bloody shirt, Clair’s shocked face. “What happened?”

  “The Don’s place,” I said. “It got hit.”

  Steven’s face went white, but he nodded his head, jerking it back toward his house. “Come in.”

  I followed him inside, Clair coming along behind.

  His place was neat, modern, sleek. Small splashes of color broke up the otherwise brown and gray scheme. There was a leather couch, long wood table with red fabric-covered chairs, and pictures on the wall.

  “Sit,” Steven said, pointing at the couch.

  “It’ll get bloody,” I said.

  Steven grunted, rubbed his face. “Your blood?”

  “No,” I said. “Martin’s.”

  He stared at me. “Dead?”

  “Dead,” I said.

  “Fuck.” He paced back and forth. “All right. Upstairs. Guest room. I’ll get you clean clothes. I don’t want to wake up Colleen if we don’t have to.”

  “Fine,” I said.

  He took us up the steps to the first door on the right. Basic room, queen-sized bed, end tables, flower pattern comforter.

  “Stay here,” he said.

  I nodded as he disappeared then turned to Clair. She walked over to the window, stared outside at the empty street.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Ears ringing again.”

  “That’ll stop.”

  She turned back to me. “What are we going to do? What if my uncle is dead?”

  “He’s not,” I said. “No way they’d let the Jalisco get near.”

  “How’d they even get inside?”

  I paused, shook my head. “I don’t know.”

  She watched me then turned back to the window, and I wanted to say more. I wanted to tell her it would be fine, we’d get her mother back, we’d fix everything. I could see the defeat in the way she moved, the way she looked around. I wanted to reach inside her and bring her back to life, restart her heart, make her feel again.

  But it was just the shock. It would wear off, sooner or later.

  Steven came back a minute later. He knocked once, came inside, tossed a pai
r of sweats and a t-shirt on the bed for me and a pair of yoga pants and a tank top for Clair.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Get changed and come down to talk to me,” he said, then looked at Clair. “Make sure she sleeps.”

  “I don’t think I can sleep,” she said.

  “Try anyway,” Steven said. “Luca, hurry up.” He left without another word.

  I stripped out of my bloody clothes and carefully folded them. I left them on the hardwood floor in the corner, trying not to spread the blood. Clair just stood there, staring at me, as I got changed.

  “Clothes,” I said.

  “My mom—”

  “Clothes,” I said again.

  I saw a flash of anger. A little brief burst of life.

  But it faded. She stripped down, got changed, threw her bloody shirt on the bedspread heedless of the mess.

  I grunted and shook my head, piling her clothes on top of mine.

  “Stay here,” I said. “Try to get some sleep if you can. I promise we’re going to do what we can for your mom.”

  “They’ll hurt her,” she said, stating a fact.

  I didn’t want to lie to her. I really, really didn’t want to start telling her pretty lies. But I knew that if I gave her the whole truth, it might break her further, and I needed her whole, needed her thinking.

  “She’ll be okay,” I said. “She’s important. If they kill her, they don’t have leverage.”

  “But she’s expendable. In the long-term.”

  I gestured at the bed. “Sleep, Clair.”

  She turned back to the window without a word.

  I left her there, staring out at the street, her face blank and empty. She was a mannequin, a representation of herself. She was in shock, and sooner or later she’d wake up again, but right now she was barely there.

  I found Steven sitting at the kitchen table on the phone, glass of whiskey in front of him, another glass in front of the seat across from him.

  “Right,” he said into the phone. “That’s right. How bad? How many? Fuck, okay, I understand. Yeah, I’ll gather them. Right, he’s here. Okay, okay. Fine.” He shook his head, hung up the phone, stared at me.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “You fucking tell me,” he said. “You’re the one showing up at my door covered in blood in the middle of the night.”

  “Shit went down at the Don’s,” I said, drinking the whiskey. It was good stuff, left a slight burn, but felt warm in my stomach. It helped to unwind some of the kinks in my brain. “We heard gunshots, yelling. I barely got out.”

  “How many dead?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Martin for sure. I killed at least four, maybe five.”

  “Five Jalisco?”

  “Yeah, and they had more.”

  “I didn’t know they had that kind of firepower.”

  “They must’ve been hiding it from us,” I said. “The Don told me something like that might happen soon, but I don’t think he ever thought they’d come to his place.”

  “Nobody would’ve guessed that.”

  “Who was on the phone?”

  “Vincent,” he said. “He’s out looking for his dad right now.”

  “He’s got to be alive,” I said. “No way he didn’t have an escape plan.”

  “Yeah, I agree. And I don’t think the Don was the target, anyway.”

  “That would be Clair,” I said.

  “Right.” He took a deep breath, let it out slow. “Fuck, Luca. This is so much worse than I could’ve imagined.”

  “I know. I thought that safe house was the last of them, but they keep springing up again like mold.”

  “For now, lay low here. We’ll watch over Clair until the Don gets in contact.”

  “You’re going to be in the crosshairs then,” I said.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’ve got the guys coming here. We’ll watch the place in shifts. Make sure Colleen’s safe, too.”

  “How could the Jalisco pull this off?”

  Steven shook his head, slow and sad. He sipped his whiskey, then stared at it, then threw the rest back. He put the glass down, let it rattle, watched until it came to a stop.

  “We’ve been strong,” he said. “Too strong. Alliance with the Russians made us go soft. Maybe we needed something like this to shake things up.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “I don’t know.”

  “We got complacent. But we won’t be complacent anymore.”

  I nodded, staring at the table top.

  I kept thinking about Clair back in the house, screaming for her mother, trying to run to her. I kept thinking about the Jalisco guy, knocking her mother to the ground. The poor woman never wanted any of this, just wanted to be left alone at her own house. And now she was in Jalisco hands, despite trying our best to keep her safe and out of harm’s way.

  “We’ll figure out what to do tomorrow,” I said, voice low. “But things are going to get bloody. You know that, right?”

  “I know it,” he said, his face serious.

  “All right.” I stood up. “I should make sure Clair’s okay.”

  “You do that. I’ve got more calls to make.”

  “Thanks, Steven.”

  “Yeah, brother.” He nodded at me. “You’d do the same, if you were me.”

  “Sure would.” I walked around the table, back to the steps, took them slow.

  Clair was still at the window when I walked into the room. She half turned to me, opened her mouth like she had a question, but nothing came out. I could see the fear, the anguish in her expression. I went to her, took her hand, and pulled her to the bed. I made her get under the covers, made her lie down. I turned off the light, got in behind her, pulled her body against mine.

  She felt warm and small, so damn small.

  I kept thinking about her fear, her screams. About the bullets in the air, bursting into the wall, the shrapnel hitting my face, scratching it up.

  I would do anything for her, I realized. I’d kill anyone for her, go as far as I needed to go just to make sure she was okay. And now that they had her mother, I knew this wouldn’t stop until they were all dead, and I was standing over their bodies.

  Clair hated killing, hated that I could be a monster.

  But she needed a monster now more than ever.

  I didn’t want her to look at me like that, with fear in her eyes, fear and loathing. I was afraid if I let myself loose, she wouldn’t be able to see anything else.

  There was no other choice, though.

  21

  Clair

  I woke up in a strange bed, sheets tangled around my legs, sweat on my skin. I took a gasping breath like I was surfacing from underwater and sat straight up, staring around the bland room, at the closet door on the far wall, at the floral-patterned comforter balled up at my feet.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

  I rubbed at my face as a pretty red-haired woman stood at the far corner of the room holding a tray in her hands. There was some toast, some butter, and a steaming mug of coffee on it, and she looked like she was about it set it down on top of the bureau.

  “Oh,” I said, trying to shake sleep from my skull. My ears were still ringing.

  “My name’s Colleen,” she said. “I’m with Steven.”

  “Hi,” I said. “I’m Clair.”

  “I’ve heard all about you, Clair.” She smiled, straight teeth, pretty lips, big green eyes. She wore a loose Metallica t-shirt and a pair of black jeans.

  “Where’s Luca?”

  “Downstairs,” she said. “The boys are plotting.” She hesitated then sat the end of the bed. “I know you’re going through something right now, so I won’t pretend like I can help. But if you want coffee and some toast, here it is.”

  I leaned forward as she put the tray down on the bed. I took the mug and sipped it.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Being with Steven’s taught me a lot,” she said. “Abo
ut trauma. About dealing with fucked-up things.”

  “You ever see your mom get kidnapped by a bunch of killers?” I asked, my voice sharp. I felt bad as soon as the words left my lips.

  She shook her head. “No,” she said. “But my uncle did kidnap my father. Hurt him bad, too. I did some things to get my father back, and I just… I know what you’re going through. To some extent, anyway.”

  I chewed on my lip, sipped the coffee. “I don’t think I even know what I’m going through,” I said.

  She laughed, light and breezy. I liked her, even if I didn’t like much of anything right then.

  “Luca’s a good man, even if he doesn’t seem like it sometimes,” Colleen said. “I promise, you’re in good hands.”

  “What happened at my uncle’s place…” I trailed off.

  “Bad things happen to these guys sometimes,” she said, shaking her head. “And we love them despite it.”

  I looked up, eyes wide. “I don’t think— I don’t know if I—”

  She laughed and reached out to touch my knee.

  “It’s fine,” she said. “You don’t have to love him. I’m just saying, these men, they’re in so deep they can barely see out of it. But I promise Luca will do anything he can to make sure you’re safe and to get your mom back if he can.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because Steven did that for me,” she said. “And I know Luca is just like Steven.”

  I chewed on my cheek again, sipped my coffee, stared at the red and blue flowers stitched into the comforter.

  “Did you ever get used to it?” I asked.

  “What? The danger?”

  I nodded. “That, and the killing.”

  “Not really,” she said. “But I accepted that it’s a part of their lives. They avoid it whenever possible, but they don’t shy away from it, either.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “There are people in this world that will hurt and kill just because they like it,” she said. “Luca and Steven aren’t like that. They kill when they have to because the family demands it, but they don’t enjoy it. I know Luca, I know he doesn’t love killing, even if he is really good at it.”