by Coralee June
Twenty-Two
Sunshine
The room was dark, that was the first thing I'd noticed. I was sitting in a rickety chair, my wrists tied to the wood which was splintered and digging into my skin. My head hurt, and I wondered how much more my poor brain could take.
There was a distinct smell in the room. Tobacco. It smelled like the motels we stayed in while on the run. It was musty, and every time I breathed it in, I imagined myself inhaling an entire cigarette. It reminded me of when Ryker used to smoke. I used to associate the scent with his wise blend of strength and comfort, but not anymore.
One. The room was dark.
Two.
Three.
I then waited. I waited for a light to be turned on. Four. The only glow in the room was from the crack under the door. I wasn’t sure what time it was.
Seventeen. I couldn’t sense where I was. There was just a straight line of light in my eyesight, and I stared at it like it had all the answers of the world. I was determined to keep awake. I didn’t know who was holding me here, but I needed to be alert. Thirty-five.
When Grace was rescued from Santobello, they said that he liked to toy with her. He would dress her up and make her eat dinner with them. She was kept in a beautiful room, too. Nothing about this was like what she described. I was covered with dirt and dried blood.
Seventy-nine. My clothes were torn. There was no glamour in this. After a while, I couldn't hold my bladder anymore. I pissed myself, shame the last thing on my mind. If anything, I hoped that it would deter anyone trying to rape me. I was in survival mode. It was a state of existence that I was used to. I knew how to turn off my thoughts and observe a room. I knew how to cling to my senses, trust my ability to get out of shit.
I kept losing count though. I’d hear a noise then hyper-focus on the origin of it.
One.
Two.
Three. My men were coming for me. They had to.
I wasn't starving. I'd starved before. Hunger had lost its novelty. My lovely little bones knew what it felt like to have no nourishment. I’d eaten out of trash cans. This was nothing. The growls in my stomach were just an old friend coming back to say hello.
I wished I had a clock or some sense of time to work with. I wasn’t sure if I’d been here for hours or days.
It felt like forever.
My entire time there, not once did I scream. They didn't bother gagging me, and I didn't know if it was because we were in a location where no one would hear me, or if they wanted to listen to me break. Either way, I didn't give them the satisfaction nor did I waste the energy.
That was another one of those survival skills I’d learned on the run. Energy was a valuable resource, you never knew when exhaustion or burn out would claim you. It was best to prioritize the things you could control, or you’d lose yourself to the shit that didn’t matter.
I worked my skin against the rope keeping me tied to the chair until blood was flowing from my forearms. One, two, three, four. It was like rubbing against knives, the sharp rope biting me. I strained to listen for any sounds, but I could only make out a fan on full blast in the next room. No television. No voices. Just that goddamn humming sound.
Finally, the doorknob started to wiggle, and when the door started to open, I froze. I wondered if this was how my father's victims felt. Did they feel helpless? Did they stare around the room, wondering when he’d get it over with? Did they beg for death? It seemed fitting that his daughter would meet the same fate as his victims. Or maybe I was a little weak and deliriously thinking that I somehow deserved this.
When the room filled with light from the hallway, I squeezed my eyes shut to allow them to adjust to the brightness. When I opened them again, I watched as a woman walked into the dark room alone. She switched on a light so that I could fully see where I was.
Swallowing, I looked around, taking in the concrete walls. It reminded me a little too much of the cabin, but I didn't want to show this woman any of my weaknesses. She had pale blond hair, the kind you couldn't get from a bottle. It was beautiful and flowed all the way down to her waist. She was older, yes. And she was regal, or at least that's the best way I could describe the way she carried herself. While I committed her appearance to memory, I caught her observing me back.
"Not one word, huh?" the woman asked while smiling at me. "You fought against one of my best men, then sat here for almost two days, and not once did you ask for water or food or to be let go." The woman walked up to me and crouched at my feet, peering up to inspect what I assumed was a wound on my forehead.
She wrinkled her nose when she smelled the piss on me. Although I hadn't been able to see it for myself, I knew that my injury was pretty bad, thanks to the throbbing.
"I don't usually make it a habit of respecting the people I capture, but I'm all about girl power and shit. Especially when they surprise me. Two days," she said before whistling. “Wow. I’ve known grown men trained to handle torture to not last solitary for five hours.” She then chuckled.
I kept my mouth shut. Days? I wondered if the guys were losing their minds worrying about me. Was Callum okay? And even though I didn't voice these questions out loud, the woman smiled at me, as if she could read my mind.
"Yes, yes. You got your men worked all in a tizzy. One of my own went missing this morning. He was annoying though, so they're doing me a big favor. Either way, I'm assuming that we have about two hours before they figure out where my little hideaway is, and I plan to be long gone by then."
I looked at the woman—really looked at the woman. She looked like Alessandro. Same nose, same pouty lips. Oh my God.
"You’re Lilly!" My words were rough against my throat, and the realization of where I was seemed a little less daunting, now that I knew who had captured me. "Mr. Moretti told me that you would come to us. I didn't realize there would be such…fanfare," I said while trying not to roll my eyes. I could've done without a blistering headache and the bleeding wrists. The dark, scary room was a bit overkill too.
"I have eyes everywhere. The moment you walked into that prison, I made plans to see what you were about, and boy was I not disappointed. How was Lorenzo, anyway?” She smiled wistfully at me as if lost somewhere in her memories.
“He seemed fine. Thought highly of you,” I replied.
“There’s something about a Moretti, never was able to shake my memory of him. I hear you’re married to his son? Girl, you better hold on tight to that one.” She shook her head and licked her lips, and I wasn’t sure how to respond. This felt more like girl talk than dealing with the queen of a crime operation.
“Look. Santobello’s been a real buzz kill lately. I’ve been looking for a good opportunity to bring him down. You look like just the girl for the job.”
“You don’t know me,” I replied with a scoff.
“I know you’re married to a mob heir. I know that your father is a serial killer. I know that you want to live happily ever after with your man—or men—and escape the game and all the bullshit that comes with it.”
“How? How do you know all of this?”
She let out a short puff of air, pushing her pale blond strands back with the force of it. “For starters, I know everything Santobello does. It’s where your man went wrong. He was looking for you and forgot to watch his back. It's an honest mistake. But also, I know you want out because that was me when I was your age.
You’re never really out though. Never really free. You learn how to cope with the chains you’re born into.”
“I wasn’t born into this life,” I interrupted.
“No. You chose it. You chose him. I’m not sure what that makes you,” she mused while looking me up and down. She then reached out and pressed on the bruise on my forehead, making me hiss. It hurt damn bad, like scraping a knife against the curve of my skull and tapping my brain with the tip of the blade.
“You should probably have a doctor look at that.”
“You going to let me go?” I asked.
“Well, of course. You’re no use to me dead.”
I let out a sigh, and she smiled at me, taking in the relief on my face with pity. “Oh no darling, don’t look so happy. I’m giving you a death sentence. You go against Santobello with this, and you’re likely not to survive it.”
“So why aren’t you doing it?”
“Because I’m much happier when I’m not in the thick of shit. I’m an observer.”
“Is that why you left your son to fend for himself in the foster system?” I asked before I could stop myself. Lilly reared back and slapped me across the face, the ring she was wearing nicked my cheek, and blood slowly trickled from the cut and down my chin.
“Sore spot, I see,” I said before licking at the blood that had collected around my lip. “Alessandro is doing well, by the way. Saved our lives.”
“I don’t have a son,” Lilly whispered before standing. She slid the bracelet she was wearing off of her wrist. I looked at it. It was pretty but nothing overly flashy or noticeable. “I’m giving you my favorite bracelet. Got it as a gift from Lorenzo. Onyx was always my favorite. Twist the ball at the end of the cuff, and you’ll find a nice little SD card.” She demonstrated the movement for me, and when she pulled it off, sure enough, there was a card hidden there.
“This has a video that will put Santobello away for life. I also uploaded a little something extra for you. Sucks when evil men are treated like gods. It’s up to people like us to bring them down a peg. It seems we both had monsters for fathers.” She smiled, a crazy sort of smile that made me feel uncomfortable but intrigued.
“My...my father? You have evidence of my father?” I asked.
She smiled. “I make it a habit of gathering evidence against evil men. I have people everywhere, searching for anything that would be of use to me. Blackmail keeps me alive, darling. But since he’s dead, I have no use for it anymore. He liked to record himself. Santobello destroyed the tapes from before he signed him on, but he kept one.”
Swallowing, I didn’t flinch when she placed the bracelet in my shirt pocket, brushing her long fingers along my neck as she pulled away. “Be careful in how you use this. I’ve got a house on a pretty beach waiting for me, and I don’t plan on sticking around to clean up any messes.”
She stood up and brushed her hands together, like touching me left dirt on her skin. Maybe it did. I felt dirty in this room.
“Why now?” Maybe it was foolish to ask Lilly this. She’d already shown how volatile she could be.
“Because I don’t fear Santobello anymore. Because blackmail isn’t my only defense. Because maybe I’m bored.”
Or maybe she did care about Alessandro? Who knows. “Thank you,” I whispered.
“Oh, honey. Don’t thank me until you’ve survived. I’m just going to leave you here, okay? Your men should show up soon. Toodles!” She wiggled her fingers at me with a sly smile before leaving the basement. How did she know that they would find me? And what if they never did?
I looked down at the bracelet in my pocket and frowned. Even though it wasn’t a particularly heavy piece of jewelry, it seemed to weigh me down. It wasn’t Santobello’s evidence that felt like a curse either. It was Paul Bright’s.
I was carrying his sins next to my heart, and I didn’t know whether to be thrilled or terrified.
Twenty-Three
My muscles hurt. Lilly said that my men would be here in two hours, and even though I didn't have a clock, I knew that it had been much much longer than that.
I hated the silence. It gave me time to think and time to obsess about all the things Lilly had warned me about. I didn’t feel like I deserved the respect Ms. Russo claimed to have for me. The loneliness felt like spiders crawling along my skin, and I couldn’t wipe them away.
My stomach growled again, this time feeling more intense than before. It wasn’t long before I was cramping from hunger, it was the first sign that I was starving. When was the last time I'd even eaten anything?
My head was pounding, partly from dehydration and partly from the wound on my face. It was the kind of indescribable pain that grew over time, screaming at me in that overwhelming sort of way as I waited to be rescued.
But none of the discomfort compared to my racing heart, a side effect of the emotional turmoil I was in. The bracelet in my pocket seemed too toxic to touch. I was sure that if I could feel it against my skin, the black metal would be burning through to the bone, snapping it in half.
Once again, I’d taken up staring at the line of light through the crack in the door, and it had become my focal point, teasing me with a metaphorical light at the end of this tunnel.
I listened carefully, trying to hear if anyone was coming. Karma would twist this opportunity in its fist. Here I was with evidence to bring down Santobello in my pocket, but I was tied to a chair and dying for a drink of water.
I hated myself a little bit for waiting to be rescued. I could have pushed my chair back, broken one of the legs that was keeping me still. I stopped waiting for someone to save me the moment my mother picked my father over me, so why was I sitting here helplessly? I had what I needed.
I started to scoot back. It took a considerable amount of energy, and I almost couldn’t handle the jolt of my body as the wooden chair scraped against the concrete floor. My movements created a loud noise in the room. It was difficult with my ankles strapped to the wooden legs, but still, I moved. Inch by inch, I scooted until my back was hitting the concrete wall and I was out of breath. My stomach started cramping again.
I was just about to start screaming. I was at that moment where I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t even knock over the chair, let alone get out of this mess. The only thing I had left were my yells, but even that was pointless.
“Help!” I screamed, my voice scratchy. “Anyone! Please help!” I yelled until the veins in my skull were pounding. I cried until my dry lips felt like sandpaper. I screamed pleas for help combined with complete nonsense, apologizing to my father’s victims while bargaining with God. If I got out of here, I’d avenge their deaths. I’d bring my father to justice from the grave.
Eventually, my screams became nothing but whispers. Sitting with my ass stuck to the chair felt like defeat. All the terrifying and horrible demons of my past were haunting me, triggering me with memories and flashbacks. I was tied up in a basement. I was starving. I was alone. I was all the things I hated about my past.
But still, I had hope.
I gulped in a large amount of air to prepare myself for another yell, but the door to the room was kicked open, and the silhouette of a man appeared with bright lights shining at his back.
"Sunshine?" a deep voice said that immediately comforted me. It was the same voice that used to call me on the phone late at night during my mother’s benders. It was the same calm direction that taught me how to drive. It was the whisper of affection and playful reassurance I’d always gotten when I needed it most.
Blaise Bennett always found me, and he always would.
He ran towards me and dropped to his knees on the floor with a thud and ran his hands over my body, checking for injuries while staring at my face. "God, I’m so thankful I found you," he growled before reaching into his pocket and grabbing a pocket knife. Within minutes, the rope around my ankles and wrists was cut, and he was pulling me into his arms.
He smelled like sweat, but I didn't care. I wasn’t in any better condition. I smelled like piss and was sticky with blood and sweat. My hair was a tangled mess, and my makeup was smeared in streaks down my face. I used what little strength I had and held him tight.
"Where're the others?" I asked, my voice gravelly. I needed some water soon. Blaise stood then lifted me to cradle me in his arms. I was resting against his chest and trying not to choke on my sobs of relief as he carried me out of the room. I wasn’t alone. Not like before. I always had the Bullets.
The hallway of the building we were in was lit with bright light, and I listened to the sound
of his boots against the concrete floor as he guided me to the end of it and up the stairs, confirming that I was in fact in a basement. I hated how I associated that with my father. Karma was a cruel bitch, and so was Lilly Russo.
Then, we arrived in what looked like a little apartment. It couldn't have been more than seven hundred square feet, but the open concept design made it feel big. There was a stripped mattress in the middle of the room, and he set me down on a nearby chair before reaching for his phone. Holding the burner phone up to his ear, he inspected the cuts on my face while speaking. "I found her. Bring a first aid kit. She might need a doctor. She's at your interrogation room off Ninth Street."
Blaise didn't wait for the other person on the line to respond; he ended the phone call and tossed it on the mattress before running to the kitchen to get me a glass of water.
"I'm okay," I said while watching his fingers shake. There wasn't a muscle on Blaise’s back that wasn't wholly flexed with tension. He brought me the glass of water, and I put it against my dry lips, drinking down the liquid and nearly gasping when it hit my empty stomach. Whose interrogation room?
"Do you have any crackers?" I asked in a tentative tone, looking up at him and trying to gauge his emotions. On the one hand, he seemed excited to have found me, but there was an angry tension still there. And despite everything I'd been through, I wanted to smooth away the nervousness on his face.
He didn't answer me, he simply spun around and began frantically looking through the drawers and cabinets of whatever interrogation room we were at.
Did this mean Lilly took me to one of Gavriel's properties? No wonder she was so confident that he would eventually find me. He cursed when he realized there was no food here, the only borderline edible thing was in the fridge—and it looked like a rotten piece of chicken.
