Broken Love

by Ghiselle St. James

  “You should’ve been a lawyer.” I smile. “But, yes…she means a whole damn lot to me. Now when can I expect anything?”

  “Give me three days,” Drake answers.

  I glare at him. He’s kidding, right? “She doesn’t have three days, Drake!”

  Drake gives me a lopsided grin and stays silent for a while.

  “Drake, are you going to fucking help me or not?” I grumble.

  “Only because we go back a long way,” he answers. “Give me twenty-four hours. Can you hang on to your pantyhose until then?” he puts forward. It’s not as immediate as I’d hoped, but that I can handle.

  “Thanks, old friend.”

  “Here are two burner phones for you both.” Drake pulls out his desk drawer and produces two cell phones.

  He comes around the desk and hands the phones to Matt and I. “I’ll call you on these as soon as I get the information you need.”

  This feels very dangerous, but a necessary step. Desperate times call for desperate and dangerous measures, I guess. I just hope that me, Matt or Sullivan don’t get hurt in the process.

  “And Ben,” Drake continues before we walk away. “I’m taking a chance here. If you let the police know that you’ve solicited my expertise, you’ll be dead before you can take your next breath, old friend or not,” he warns…and I believe him.

  Chapter Nine

  Sullivan

  I’m sore. Numb. Broken. Afraid. Used beyond normal use. A shell. A fucking carcass.

  But there’s still fight in me. I’m gonna fight until there’s no breath left in me. I have been tied up, beat down, fucked like an animal and still Rick can’t win. Each day my willpower fades, a memory conjures itself…

  Strong hands gliding over my curves with a sensual, intimate touch. Not intimate in terms of sex, but with knowledge, an intrinsic connection. I hear him whisper my name in those memories. When the darkness takes over and the pain I am in is too much to bear, I hear him demanding that I hang on.

  I never could deny Ben when he demanded or ordered me to do something. It was always to capitulate to him in some things. He always chased my fears away. So with memories locked into my heart, I fight.

  I fight the bruises, the filthy talk meant to degrade and demean, and the painful fucking that makes me rip and bleed. I fight it all because if I don’t, they win. My past wins.

  I take it all because I will escape this horror. I’m just biding my time. My redemption draws nigh…I can almost taste it.

  “You think we won’t break you, Delilah?” Rick promises, a sneer on his torn lips where I bit him.

  He bends to be level with me, grabbing my chin roughly to face him. He’s tied my arms behind my back, the length of the rope connected to the ceiling. In a few minutes, Ryan will pull the lever, extending my arms above me where they will use me in whatever manner they chose. Will I get pain through punishment, or pain through sex this time?

  “How much longer can you stand us tearing apart your little cunt and ass, being doped the fuck up? I’m going to break you down and build you right back up. I. Will. Own. You.”

  I smile through swollen lips and give him as challenging a stare as my puffed black and blue eyes can give him.

  “You never have,” I counter. “And you never will.”

  Chapter Ten

  Ben

  On edge doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel right now. From worrying that the police might have caught onto my plans, to anticipating a bullet to the head, I am a nervous wreck. If all that isn’t enough to give me a coronary, I glance at this stupid burner phone every ten seconds, willing it to ring with news of Sullivan’s whereabouts.

  It’s been five hours since the meeting with Drake and still I haven’t slept. I’m tired, nervous, scruffy-looking and feeling more and more helpless with each passing hour, minute and second. It’s pathetic, really.

  Finally, after the six hour mark, my eyes flutter closed. It’s a calming, peaceful sleep, betraying what I am actually feeling. I dream about scooping Sullivan in my arms and holding her tight against me while she claws her way closer to me like she never wants to be apart from me ever again. We flutter kisses all over each other and stay locked in each other’s arms.

  If I find her, I promise I’m never letting her go again. Ever. This is too much of a wakeup call for me to ignore. I’ve been stubborn and if I hadn’t been and had just swallowed my goddamn pride, she’d be here with me now.

  I jump out of that particular sweet dream to the sound of a preening phone. God, that’s annoying.

  With a pounding chest, I glance over at the bedside clock which reads 8:20a.m. and realize that I’ve been asleep for four hours. Nervously – hands, heart and brain shaking – I reach for the burner phone, knowing it will be Drake.

  “Drake,” I answer, my voice cracking through sleep and swelling emotions.

  “I’ve found out where she is.”

  The wave of relief that sweeps over me almost melts me. I let out a shaky breath and I can feel the river of emotions building and building, threatening to tip over. Keep it together, Hayes.

  “Where?”

  “He’s been keeping her in an old abandoned house in Lehigh County. They’ve moved their location twice before. I get the impression that he’s moving across the state to get back to New York,” Drake conveys.

  My scalp prickles with chaotically violent thoughts swirling in my head. Could he be moving her as we speak?

  “My advice: jump on him quick before he moves again. His moves are slow and deliberate. He’s taking his time with her. He really planned the fuck outta this kidnapping, Ben,” he informs me.

  “Thank you, Drake,” I mutter as I get up and shove my feet into the boots I had taken off earlier.

  “Ben,” he sighs gravely, “you need to get there fast. I see why you care about this girl so much and, in the same breath, I can also understand this guy’s obsession.”

  “You’ve seen them?” I pipe up, a little too squeaky, but at this point I don’t care if I sound like a kid going through puberty. “Are you there now?”

  “He’s using one of my liaison spots. Let’s just say I’ve taken care of a few problems there before. My boys are there now, waiting for word, ready to pick these motherfuckers off like flies, but I know you want that satisfaction for yourself,” he relays back. Drake knows me.

  “Look, Ben, she’s resilient. God…she’s a fighter.” That’s my girl. “But, I don’t know how much longer she can fight. He and his accomplice have really done a number on her.”

  Fuck. Ryan fucking Baylor. Rachel was devastated when she found out her prick of a boyfriend is the accomplice in Sullivan’s kidnapping and that he basically used her to get to my sweet girl. Sullivan had said she didn’t trust him. I should have trusted her words and looked into her suspicions. The shoulda, woulda, coulda’s die as I imagine the heinous things he and Rick are forcing up on her right now.

  I remember Rick saying he wanted to break her and not understanding quite what he meant, or what Drake is talking about now. I don’t want to give the possibilities that come to me a thought. Single-minded in my focus, a haze of violence clouds my vision. I can taste my vengeance. Exacting it will be sweet.

  “Call the police and tell them you got a tip, but only when you’re on your way,” Drake instructs, breaking through my stormy thoughts. “And Ben, get there fast before I do something crazy. I can have them killed in two seconds but that’ll just make things worse and I don’t think you’d want the cops or the Feds to find out you’ve been cavorting with a criminal. I’ll send the coordinates.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Cutting the call, I grab my cell phone, wallet and keys then race out of the room and down the stairs. As I reach the bottom, I realize I am in no shape to drive. Too anxious from the thought of seeing my beautiful Sullivan again and too angry from thoughts of what the degenerates could have possibly done to her.

  Downstairs, I see the two people I want
to see the most standing by the piano in the leisure room, deep in conversation.

  “Matt…Simon,” I acknowledge.

  Not sure if it’s my wild-eyed expression, but Matt realizes that I might have gotten the call.

  “Did he find them?” he questions.

  “Lehigh County,” I respond. “I want you to tell the detectives, but do it in twenty minutes. I’m going to go ahead.”

  “Do you think that’s wise, Ben?” Matt asks.

  “Wise? He could be hurting her right now,” I say to him, growing angry. What the hell is wrong with him?

  “You’re right,” he concedes, looking apologetic.

  “Simon, go get the car.”

  “Sir,” Simon agrees and stalks off toward the front door without pause. He gets it.

  “What am I going to say when the cops ask?” Matt queries, sounding far more nervous than he ought to.

  “Tell them I got a tip from someone living in the area. Drake should be sending me the actual directions.”

  At that moment, the burner phone buzzes with a text message and Drake’s directions. I relay the message to Matt.

  “Hey, bro,” Matt calls before I head through the door. “Do me a favor. Fuck this guy up some.”

  With a grim, stone-cold look, I nod to my brother. “Will do.”

  In the car, I’m all nerves, fear and indignation. I find myself silently praying that Sullivan is okay so many times that it’s a wonder I don’t say it out loud.

  The thought that Rick might have hurt her is slowly making rational thought disappear and a small part of me wishes he has so I can have an even greater reason to put a bullet in his head.

  “Simon, I’m going to need you to drive like a bat out of hell right now,” I command.

  “Sir, I’d say having my license revoked would be worth it. Consider it done,” Simon answers, eyeing me in the rear view mirror with a conspiratorial smirk.

  He’s driving the Hummer this time. I only ever drive this if I’m going out to Allure. I store my tools of domination in this truck. If I drive it, I mean business and some ass-kicking business is what I mean today.

  Simon steps on the gas, throwing me back into the backseat, weaving through cars on Interstate 76, and closing in quickly on the interchange with Interstate 476. That’s my driver.

  Picking my cell phone up as it goes off for the millionth time, I finally answer gruffly, “Who is this?”

  “Don’t do anything stupid, Hayes,” warns Detective Morelli.

  “Just make sure you guys show up before I get the chance to,” I answer, cutting the line and powering my cell phone off.

  Based on the exact directions Drake had given, Simon turns the car into a deeply wooded area. The trees that hover over us are old and creepy looking. It’s like something out of a horror movie and I am experiencing the horror minute by minute, not knowing if Sullivan is alright. God, please let her be okay, I pray repeatedly in my head as we continue deeper through the bushes.

  There is no snow, but it is freezing. We finally see a large house a good distance away. My heart is pounding in my chest and the blood is roaring in my ears. Damn, this is getting realer by the minute.

  “Don’t go all the way up. I don’t want him to see or hear us. Stay here,” I advise Simon.

  “Sir, I-I don’t think you should go alone,” Simon says nervously.

  “It’ll be fine,” I tell him, unsure of how “fine” it really will be.

  The fact of the matter is, this guy is unstable and dangerous and I don’t know what the hell he’s capable of; but, I can’t stand by and let him take Sullivan away from me. I just can’t.

  “Drake is somewhere around and the police are on their way. Give Morelli and his men the directions okay?” I step out of the car as he pulls it to a stop, my heart rate tripling its speed.

  “You will need this, sir,” Simon informs me, bending forward. After searching on the ground for a few seconds, he straightens and pulls out my licensed silver semi-automatic.

  Smart thinking, Simon old boy, I gush silently.

  I don’t know why I didn’t think of that; maybe because I was thinking of causing some serious damage with my fists.

  I take the gun. “Simon…” I pause for a few seconds, wanting him to comprehend how much I appreciate all he’s done for me, but not knowing exactly how to say it.

  Simon has been with me through so much. The tall, medium built, muscular guy is quiet and unassuming. His cropped black hair and black eyes make him look sophisticated, but behind the suits and the calm persona, Simon is a trained killer.

  A former Navy Seal, Simon left the service due to the death of his wife who was a soldier deployed in Afghanistan. Overcome with grief, he decided to take some time off and try to find purpose again. Instead, he found trouble. He’d fought off three huge douche bags that had come into Allure to start trouble. They’d gotten drunk and grabby with some of the women. Before the bouncers could take care of the problem, the silent stranger had stepped in and fucked the three men up and caused some damage to the club.

  I never thought a quiet guy like him could do as much damage as he’d done and I gave him a job that same night to pay off the destruction. That was five years ago and he's had my back ever since.

  “I know, sir,” Simon says, seemingly reading my mind. “Just bring Miss Beal home safe and you be safe as well.”

  With that, I pull my jacket tighter around me and complete the next four hundred and thirty three steps – yes, I counted – to the side of the sinister-looking abandoned house in cautioned silence.

  Sweat is dotting my brows even in the chill of the Lehigh County winter air. Adrenaline is pumping through my veins and I can’t get my heart rate to slow. I’m scared of what is happening or what might have happened to Sullivan and the thoughts are eating a hole in my brain, but I have to focus. I have to approach this with as much thought and caution as I can. I don’t want to botch her rescue with worry, so as I scope out the house I try to come up with a proper plan.

  The house is a two story cottage with tall, wild bushes all around and on it. A few windows are broken and the dark roof is deteriorating. The white paint is peeling and the floorboards on the front porch are split and crooked. The front door is hanging off the hinges, but is blocking the inside from outside view and vice versa.

  I make my way to the side of the house silently, mapping out an attack route. Towards the back of the house, I spot the big black SUV that Sullivan had described and I wonder where his accomplice is. As I advance on the vehicle to disable any potential getaway, I hear rustling behind me and I clutch the handgun at my side, ready to pull it…and use it if I must.

  “It’s me,” Drake announces quietly.

  I grab my chest and let out a worried breath. “Don’t fucking scare me like that, Drake.”

  “You are so not cut out for this,” he teases, rubbing his hands together and breathing into them.

  It’s cold, but I just can’t feel it with all this adrenaline pumping.

  “What’s going on in there?” I ask.

  “I haven’t heard anything. It’s been strangely quiet. Did you tell the police?”

  “They’re on their way. You should get out of here,” I tell him.

  “Yeah, I should. But…”

  Two gunshots cut through the middle of whatever Drake had been about to say and we hear a commotion.

  “Ah! You shot me again, you fucking bitch!” We hear a high pitched shout from a man and frantic movements like a scuffle ensuing. Oh shit!

  Drake and I trade glances and in moments, Drake rushes to the back while I head for the front of the house. Carefully, I walk up the rickety steps and I can hear muffled voices. The utter stillness afterward is more than I can take. Fearing the worst, I draw my gun then launch my foot into the front door, kicking it wide open.

  My heart nearly caves in and my legs almost give way when I see my sweet Sullivan, in ripped black lace bra and panties, cowering on the floor with a
gun pointed at two men. Her hands are shaking terribly and she looks pale and deathly. Her hair is a mess. Her whole body is black and blue, with red welts on her arms. Her ribs are a dark shade of brown, but there is also visible swelling there. I can’t see her back, but from the marks trailing the top of her shoulders, I’m sure it’s bruised.

  When Sullivan turns her face toward me, I can hardly see her eyes, they are so swollen. From what I can see, her eyes are far away but soon regain focus and she starts to tear up with…relief? I can’t help when my own eyes start to water. Has she lost weight? By the looks of it, about five to ten pounds. Her lips are swollen and I can just imagine the beating she has taken at the merciless hands of these men.

  She looks horrified, gaunt, a ghost of herself. Broken. But her almond eyes sparkle as she takes me in, and that’s the only life I see in her. In mere moments, it’s gone as she turns her gaze back to the two men. I do the same, pointing my gun right at them. I can only imagine all they’ve put her through, all they’ve done to her.

  And I.

  See.

  Red.

  I stomp over to the man holding his arm with blood running down from it. This guy is shirtless and only wearing ripped jeans. He is shorter than I am by a few inches with short, messy dark blonde hair, blue dilated eyes, and pale skin. He looks out of it, high; terrified by the gunshot wound maybe, but he should be more terrified of me.

  This fucktard must be Rick. I crack my pistol across his jaw and as he howls in pain, I catch him with a roundhouse kick. He falls hard, grabbing the area I hit then grabbing his arm, confused about where to try to relieve the pain he’s experiencing; but he hasn’t felt real pain yet.

  Ryan, with his big, marauding self, seems hopped up on drugs as well, and steps toward me, his fist glancing off my ear and another fist connecting with my mouth. Blood seeps into my mouth immediately, the metallic taste only driving my bloodlust. I smile a sinister smile at Ryan and bundle my fist, rocking his jaw with an uppercut. He stumbles back into Drake who comes from behind and decks him to the ground. I use this opportunity to feed Rick the angriest of kicks while Drake knocks Ryan around some.