Love, Lies, & Crime: Anthology

by Kimberly Blalock

  As he steps out, he smirks, and I wish him good luck.

  He pauses and spins to face me with a grin spreading across his face. Just as the doors close, he says, “See you around.”

  My cell phone beeps, indicating a text from my sister Maria.

  Maria: Family dinner tomorrow. You coming?

  I respond just as the doors open to the twenty-seventh floor.

  Harley: Yes, see you then.

  Maria: Okay! Love you!

  Harley: <3

  “Good morning Miss Rodriguez. How are you doing today?”

  The receptionist, Rachel, greets me as I walk into the firm’s halls, heading straight for my office. “Morning Rachel. Any calls for me?”

  She shouts as I walk farther away. “Yes! Three voicemails ma’am!”

  I briskly make my way to my office, ready to hear any news on the Martino case. It’s been kicking my ass for over a year now, and it’s finally cracked. After deposing multiple witnesses, obtaining a couple favors from the NYPD, and even getting an inside man, I’ve finally figured it out. Now, all I need is for the jury to give me some good news.

  “Harley! I heard the good news!”

  Robert’s voice echoes from behind me as I enter my office. I glance back, watching him race toward me. His face beams with excitement as he steps in my office and takes a seat on my sofa. I shake my head and walk over to my desk, placing my briefcase it.

  Taking a seat, I ask him, “News?”

  He nods with glee. “Yeah, with Taylor.”

  My heart jumps as my body stiffens in shock, fearing the next words may very well be the cause of the end of my career. Did Taylor tell Robert about us? Why would he do that? Maybe he was gloating? Ugh, that prick!

  “Yeah, about the fine. How it got reduced.”

  I stare at him with a puzzled look. “Reduced?”

  My confusion leads to his confusion as he pauses. “Yeah…umm, he called me early this morning and said he paid the court fine already. He said it got reduced to only a thousand dollars.”

  I glance at my phone, checking to see any missed calls from the Atlantic City clerk of courts, but see nothing. “I’m not sure what he’s talking about. I’ll ask him about it later.”

  His hands rub his temples, thinking the same thing I’m thinking. “Hmm okay. Any news about the Martino brothers?”

  I sit back in the chair, allowing it to recline. “Nope, nothing. No verdict yet.”

  “If all else fails, you can take them down in a civil suit.”

  I consider his suggestion, but it’s no good. “True, but it won’t get them jail time, especially if they get out scot-free from all of this.”

  “But with your evidence and the collaborative efforts of the DA, you got this.”

  “It’s not that easy. The opposing arguments were pretty good. It’s a close call. It’s been almost two days since the jury’s been in talks. All this waiting is turning my hair gray.”

  Robert laughs as he stands, ready to head out. “Let me know what they say.”

  “I will.”

  He whisks out of my office, leaving me to start returning some calls. An hour later, Rachel chimes in through the intercom on my phone. “Miss Rodriguez, DA Trevor Noah is on line two.”

  I race to answer, practically dropping the receiver as I pick up. “Trevor, tell me something good!”

  His laugh sounds through the speaker. “Well…does telling you the jury is ready to deliver their decision count? Get your ass down to the courthouse, now.”

  “On my way.”

  I hang up, running to use the bathroom really quick. After washing up, I dial Robert’s extension to let him know what’s going on.

  He doesn’t answer so I shoot him a text.

  Harley: The jury is out soon. On my way to court.

  Grabbing my briefcase, I head out into the hallway and tell Rachel to transfer all calls to my voicemail. She complies and wishes me luck.

  Within seconds, the elevator takes me down to the parking garage and I race to the courthouse, anxious to find out the verdict.

  Fifteen minutes later, Trevor meets me outside the courtroom as I pace, nervous as hell. A few reporters stand outside the courthouse, ready to deliver the news to the public: guilty or not guilty.

  “Trevor, is the jury ready?”

  He nods, opening the door for me. “Yeah. Come on.”

  I follow him inside and take a seat at our table. The opposing attorneys are already seated on their end. The courtroom fills with spectators, witnesses, and family members of the victims.

  The bailiff enters the courtroom, ushering the twelve jury members to take their seats in the corner. After they situate, he heads into the back, retrieving the defendant, Mr. Martino, who’s handcuffed this time.

  I watch as the defendant is escorted into the courtroom and seated with his attorneys. I stare at him, recalling our previous interaction, his threat still fresh in my mind. Even though it wasn’t the first time I’ve been threatened, it was still scary. He catches my stare and snickers, causing my insides to chill and my eyes to flinch away from his face.

  The bailiff announces, “All rise!”

  Everyone in the courtroom rises as the judge walks out of his chambers. He sits, advising us to all take a seat. The bailiff walks over to the jury, ready to hear their verdict. The foreman of the jury stands, holding their verdict in hand.

  The judge says to him, “Jury, what is your verdict?”

  The foreman nods and reads it for us. “In the matter of New York versus Mr. Martino, we find the defendant…GUILTY.”

  The courtroom gasps as we listen and I sigh with relief that the jury made the right decision. Trevor grabs my hand, squeezing tight as I smile, mentally expressing my gratitude for his assistance with this case.

  The judge calls for order. “Bailiff, please take the defendant back to await his sentence. Court adjourned.”

  He slams his anvil and exits the courtroom. I jump out of my seat, clapping and wrap my arms around Trevor as we celebrate our victory. A smile beams off my face with happiness and pride that we won.

  “Holy shit. We won!”

  Trevor lets go of me, thrilled to hear the news. “We must celebrate! Tonight!”

  “Yes! We deserve it.”

  We make plans, confirming we’ll meet later at the bar a few blocks from my apartment. I grab my briefcase and exit the courtroom, racing back to the office, triumphant. Ready to take on another case, I’m feeling like a superhero. Nothing can stop me now.

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  It’s dark, too dark. Muffled voices filter through the small gap at the bottom of the door. I can barely make out a word, but it sounds like two men arguing, or maybe it’s more than two. I can’t really be sure.

  I sink into the corner of the room, pulling my knees tightly to my chest.

  I’m scared.

  That’s the one and only feeling I can seem to grasp. Fear.

  My wrists are raw and burn from being bound together. I try to work my hands free of the material restraining me, but it’s so painful that I stop almost immediately.

  I struggle to recognize anything in the darkness of the room, a clue that might tell me where I am, but it’s no use. The only thing I can make out is the frame of a small bed in the opposite corner and the cold concrete of the floor beneath me.

  I shudder when the entire room seems to shake under the rumble of the thunder outside. There’s no windows in the room, but I swear I can feel the air from the storm outside seeping in around me.

  I don’t know how I ended up here or where here even is for that matter. The last thing I can remember is crossing the street toward my house. I remember seeing the front door, the red-chipped paint. Everything from that point on is a jumbled mess of broken memories and flickers of consciousness.

  How long have I been here?

  Days?

  Hours?

&n
bsp; I have no real sense of time.

  I tense as the voices, once too faint to hear, become increasingly louder. Footsteps sound against the floor, each step matching the thudding of my heart in my ears. I know they’re coming for me. I can feel it in the way the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

  It’s only moments before I see the shadow of someone’s feet stop directly outside of the door. I can’t tell what kind of shoes they are, boots maybe. The small opening doesn’t offer much visibility, just a small sliver of light that surrounds the person standing just on the other side of the closed door.

  I hear the lock click, followed by the protest of the squeaky hinges as the door swings open. I close my eyes tightly and drop my head down. Maybe if I keep them closed long enough, when I open them again I will see that this was all just some bad dream.

  Please wake up. Just wake up, Chloe. I plead with myself, feeling my body start to tremble more violently as the unknown person walks toward me. Each footstep causes my heart to triple in speed. By the time they stop directly in front of me, I feel as though it might pound straight out of my chest.

  “He’s ready for you,” a man says, grabbing me roughly by my restraints and hoisting me to my feet.

  My knees buckle slightly under my own weight, but his grip on me tightens, preventing me from crashing to the floor. That’s when I finally look up.

  My stomach twists violently as I take in the man’s appearance, his face perfectly illuminated by the light filtering in through the hallway. He’s large, almost like a professional bodybuilder. I can see the bulge of muscles protruding from his neck. His head is nearly bald, his hair so short I can’t make out what color it would be if there were any visible.

  “Please,” I whimper. “Please let me go.” My voice is broken and sounds almost unrecognizable.

  “Not my call,” he grumbles, pulling me alongside of him into the hallway.

  I stumble, the long corridor so narrow I’m forced to walk behind the large man which blocks my ability to see what’s coming up ahead.

  We enter an opening in the walls, a large makeshift living room coming into view. I hadn’t realized it until now, but I’m fairly certain we are in a basement. Not the normal type of basement you would expect to find in a house, more of what you might find in a warehouse maybe. It’s large and expansive with two different hallways leading back to what I can only assume are other rooms similar to the one I just left.

  I catch sight of three other men at the head of the room but barely register their appearance before I’m forced to my knees. My attention immediately focuses on the older man sauntering toward me

  “So this is her. Chloe Deltorro,” he rasps, a slow smile pulling at his thin lips.

  He’s a complete contrast to the large man whose hand is holding me in place, his fingers digging into the flesh of my shoulder to ensure I don’t try to move. This man is tall and lanky with slicked back brown hair and a large black tattoo that covers the entire side of his neck. I’d guess him in his fifties though he could be younger.

  The only thing I know for sure is that this man scares me so much more than the others. There’s something in his eyes, a twinkle of pleasure. He likes this. He likes having me bound at his feet and helpless. The thought makes my stomach clench tighter.

  “Look at me,” he commands, the tone of his voice pulling my gaze directly back to his face. “Oh yes,” he hisses, crouching down directly in front of me. “Such a pretty thing you are. I’m sure I can get double what your father owes me out of you.” His comment paralyzes me with fear.

  “My father?” I croak, my voice barely breaking the surface.

  Why would this have to do with my father? I don’t even know the man.

  “I told him I would get my money, one way or another.” He stands, nodding to the large man next to me who immediately pulls me to my feet.

  “Who are you? What do you want from me?” I fight back the tears I feel forming behind my eyes.

  “It doesn’t matter who I am.” The man lifts a hand to my chest, squeezing my breast. “But if you need a name, you can call me Mr. Jones.” His hand moves to my other breast, his long fingers twisting my nipple through the fabric of my clothing.

  His touch makes my skin crawl. I instinctively try to back away from his hand, but the large man standing behind me makes it impossible to move.

  Mr. Jones gives me a wicked smile and then nods to the man.

  “Johnson, give me your knife.” The command causes my breath to catch in my throat.

  I watch in horror as the man I now know as Johnson slides a knife into Mr. Jones’ hand, his grip resettling on my shoulder seconds later.

  “Now, let’s see what we’ve got here.” He licks his lips, sliding the dull edge of the knife down the side of my face before tracing it down my torso.

  I close my eyes, preparing for a pain I know is about to come.

  This is it, I think to myself.

  I hear the material of my shirt tear away against the knife, followed by the cold blade as it grazes the center of my chest, my bra falling open just moments later. The coolness of the room engulfs my bare torso as the shards of clothing fall to the floor. Next is my jeans; he pops the button off, tearing open the zipper before tugging the material down my legs.

  “Oh yes,” Mr. Jones hisses, running his hand along the inside of my thigh.

  “Please just kill me,” I beg, knowing it would be better to die right here and now than have to endure this man’s touch or what he plans to do with me next.

  “Oh my dear, Chloe, I’m not going to kill you.” His hand leaves my thigh, and I swallow hard, knowing he’s going to remove my panties next. Then nothing will stand between these men and my bare body.

  I jump slightly when his hand closes down on my chin instead. I open my eyes to find him just inches from my face.

  “I’m going to train you and then,” he pauses, running his nose along my jaw as he inhales deeply. “Then I’m going to sell you.”

  “Sell me?” The question falls abruptly from my lips.

  “Don’t look so worried, dear, a pretty piece like you; you’re likely to go for a small fortune. All of my top clients will be tripping over themselves to have you serve them.” He breathes against my mouth, the smell of stale cigars invading my nostrils.

  “Now let’s see here.” He turns away from me to look at the three other men in the room. “Pierce. I’m sure you’d like a go at young Miss Deltorro,” he says to a rough looking middle-aged man standing closest to him.

  The man licks his lips, crossing his fully sleeved tattooed arms in front of himself as he takes in my exposed flesh. I shrink under his gaze.

  “Or how about you, Stanley?” He turns to the next man, an older, balding man with beady eyes who stands not much taller than me.

  I open my mouth, prepared to beg, but my words are silenced by the third man who steps from the back corner of the room.

  “She’s mine.” His voice is smooth, but his face is still not fully visible.

  “You may have to fight for this one.” Mr. Jones turns toward the man just as he steps into the lighted room.

  The moment his face comes into view I suck in a ragged breath, the crispness of his blue eyes catching me off guard. He’s not like the other men. He’s younger than they are, maybe in his late twenties. And he’s very attractive, even in my disoriented state I can see that much.

  He’s tall, lean and toned. His short dark brown hair is messy and pushed back haphazardly which immediately becomes clear why when he runs his hand through his hair.

  He holds my gaze for the briefest moment before turning his attention to the man next to him.

  “You said it yourself, this is one is worth a small fortune. Do you really want to leave her in just anyone’s hands?” he asks.

  “Not a bad point,” Mr. Jones agrees, looking up at the man who stands at least six inches taller than him.

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Stanley b
arks.

  “No, he’s right. This one is special.” Mr. Jones’ words immediately silence the objections of the other man. “Alright, Walker, she’s all yours. But I may need to test her out before she goes on the market, just to be sure.” Jones lifts his eyebrows at me suggestively before turning his attention to the man behind me.

  The thought of that man touching me again makes my stomach twist violently, and for a moment I think I might be sick. That is until I realize that my stomach is void of anything to dispense.

  “Johnson, show Miss Deltorro back to her room,” Jones instructs.

  “No.” The man I now know as Walker interjects, “I want her with me. If she’s going to learn how to behave and how to properly serve, she needs to understand what to expect.”

  “Very well.” Jones makes a shooing gesture with his hands.

  Before I can react, I am being lifted from my feet and led out of the room in the opposite direction from where I entered. I want so desperately to cover myself, feeling the eyes of all the men on me as I pass, but my hands are still bound and offer very little in the way of concealing my body.

  Johnson takes me to the right before setting me to my feet. Tearing open a door that leads up a steep set of stairs, he drags me behind him, his large hand wrapped around my forearm. It takes everything I have to make it up each step without tripping, my bare feet scrapping against the rickety wood. Every fiber inside of me wants to try to make a run for it, but I know it would get me nowhere. I have no idea where an exit even is.

  I straighten my posture and look around the moment we reach the landing. The first thing I notice is how different it looks up here. I didn’t expect to walk out of that basement into a house that looks like it’s worth millions. I don’t have time to really inspect my surroundings in any real detail before Johnson is once again dragging me behind him.

  Where am I?

  We pass through a dimly lit living space and climb a wide, curved staircase before entering a long corridor on the second floor with multiple doors on each side. Johnson takes me to the last door on the right before leading me inside.