You Loved Me At My Ugliest

by Evie Harper

  Joey still doesn’t look convinced, so I add, “After the movie, I promise you can do me anyway, as many times as you want.” I slowly lick along my bottom lip and then bite down.

  “Fuck,” Joey growls out. “One movie?” he asks, double-checking the deal.

  “Yep, one movie.” It’s not exactly a compromise for me since having sex means multiple orgasms, so this is a win-win for me.

  “Okay,” he concedes. I take his hand and we head downstairs.

  We find the guys, and after the initial ‘what the fuck’ expressions, they agree to come watch a movie with us. We steer clear of the living room, none of us are ready to go back into that room yet. We go into another sitting room that opens up to the backyard. We end up watching all three Hangover movies, and it’s the most fun I’d had in a long time.

  All the guys laughed, and it fed my soul. Joey, of course, sat with me in his arms and didn’t laugh a loud, but often I felt his chest shake with it. Hopefully one day, he’ll be comfortable enough with his cousins to joke around and openly show his happiness.

  I peer around the room at these strong, rough men who were never given a real chance at life. God only knows what Michael put them through. I have faith that all of us coming together will change all our lives, for the better.

  ~~~

  I wake up well rested and deliciously sore.

  Sitting up in bed, I look around the room. I don’t think there’s a surface left in this room, on which Joey didn’t fuck me on last night. I fall back to the bed with a full smile on my face. However, the smile quickly dies when I remember the past few days and the fact that today is the day I fly back home to help Sarah organize Nick’s funeral. My chest tightens when I think about getting to her. That thought alone has me jumping out of bed and getting ready.

  Joey’s not here, which doesn’t surprise me. He’s always been an early riser. He’s probably getting dressed in his room, well, our room now. When I’m in Minnesota, I’m ending my lease on my small house and selling off my furniture. Joey told me to ship the things I wanted to keep. I laughed. I’ve done so much moving around in the past two years, I have nothing of value, only things. I still have my aunt’s house I’m renting out and a nice savings account because of it.

  Joey asked me if I wanted to sell it. I could. Marco doesn’t live there anymore so people aren’t scared to move in. But it’s the only connection I have to my family, to my aunt. I’m not ready to let it go. I’m not sure I ever will be. One day, Joey and I might go back and maybe we’ll see our fence again and realize how far we’ve come.

  Money doesn’t worry Joey. He’s not rich, but he’s not poor either. He does have an account filled with millions of dollars he inherited from Marco, but he won’t touch it. He’s talked about splitting it between The Collection women, but has been too afraid to contact them. He can handle drug dealers and killers, but facing those women scares him. It's his guilt. He can’t face that hurdle yet, but one day he will, with me by his side.

  I slide my hands down my black tank top and denim jeans, clothes I left out to wear today. Slipping into my white flats, my stomach grumbles. Pulling my hair up in a high ponytail, I walk down the stairs to the kitchen.

  I eat breakfast with Joey and the guys. Straight after, Joey grabs my suitcase and places it into the trunk of his car. I say my goodbyes to Matthew and Alexander, while William runs out the door, saying goodbye to his brothers over his shoulder and letting me know he’ll meet me at the plane.

  We drive toward the airport, but don’t enter the grounds. Instead, we keep driving straight past and then turn right at a large hangar. A white and blue jet is waiting in front of the warehouse. In the distance, I observe William carrying his suitcase and walking toward the plane.

  Joey parks, grabs my suitcase, and we head to the jet together.

  We step onto the plane, and inside is exactly how I imagined a private jet would look like. I’ve never been on one before, but I’ve flown in plenty of planes, so flying doesn’t worry me at all.

  Joey clips my suitcase securely against the back wall. Then the pilot's voice comes through the speaker system announcing that takeoff will be in ten minutes.

  I search around nervously, fidgeting with my fingers, wondering where the casket is, Nick resting peacefully inside it. I think I might be sick. Nick’s so close, his lifeless body nearby.

  Joey holds my hand and walks me off the plane. He stops us at the stairs and turns me into him, hugging me tightly. “Nick’s body went on another plane, baby.” I pull back and look at Joey with surprise. “Thinking of you on a small plane with him in that casket, knowing you’d be hurting, I couldn’t bear it.” Joey’s words are soft and full of compassion.

  Tears cloud my vision, and I hug him tightly, using all my strength to show him how grateful I am.

  Joey cups my chin and tilts my head up so my eyes meet his. “I love you, Lexi. Be safe for me, please.” His intense tone and husky voice set my body on fire.

  “I promise.”

  Joey licks his lips while lowering his mouth to mine. His kisses are gentle and loving. Our mouths move slowly while our tongues caress each other. Before pulling away completely, he hugs me tightly again.

  “I should be coming with you. I promise, as soon as this shit gets sorted, I’ll come to you. If not, two weeks, Lexi, then you come home, no more than two weeks, you got that?” He squeezes me as he asks, but it’s more of a reassurance that I understand what he wants, not a question.

  “It’s fine. I understand, and yes, I promise no longer than two weeks, and then if I need to go back to Minnesota, we go together.”

  Joey nods and tightens his arms around me, again, almost painfully.

  I laugh as I try to breathe. Reluctantly, he releases me and kisses my head.

  “I better go before I don’t let you leave.” He kisses my lips again, but swiftly this time. When he turns around, I quickly grasp hold of his hand. He stops and swings back around to me.

  “I love you, Joseph O’Connor, and I’ll see you soon.”

  Joey squeezes my hand and softly says, “Never let go.”

  I smile. “Never let go.”

  We each release the other’s hand go at the same time.

  Joey turns and walks back to his car.

  Climbing the steps, I re-enter the jet. A female flight attendant is waiting for me and closes the plane door after I enter.

  I take a seat across from William, who’s staring out of the plane's window, looking as if he’s a million miles away.

  The pretty, blonde hostess stands before us, holding out two glasses of bubbling champagne.

  “Sir,” she says as William lifts a glass and takes a sip.

  I’m not a big drinker, but the wine looks delicious, and I need something to settle my nerves before seeing everyone back in Minnesota. I’m sure when I left, they didn’t think I would return with Nick’s dead body. I shake off the guilt I know shouldn’t be mine, but it’s so hard not to take that on.

  I accept the glass, and the woman smiles kindly at me. I take a big sip and it tastes as good as it looks; chilled, fizzy white wine with a slight lemon taste.

  I sit back in my seat with my drink and find William slumped backward in his, looking around, confused. Unexpectedly, his glass falls out of his hand and crashes to the floor, wine spraying across my legs.

  My usual reaction would be to sit up quickly and move my legs out of the way, but my body feels like a dead weight. I strain to sit up, but I can’t do it.

  What is happening to me, to William? Realization hits me. The wine. We've been drugged.

  My eyelids become heavy. I only have enough strength to turn my head slowly toward the window and right before my eyes close, I watch as Joey’s car drives away.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dead Zone

  Joseph

  I’ve felt ill since leaving the airstrip four hours ago. I should never have let Lexi go alone. I needed to be there for her, to hold her up duri
ng Nick’s funeral and to give her strength when she sees Sarah. Instead, I’m stuck in Michael’s old, ugly-as-hell study working on strategy planning with Alexander.

  Fuck Serrano and his bullshit threats. I should be with my woman, not waiting around for a motherfucking asshole to strike.

  Abruptly, a woman’s screams echo throughout the house. I jump up from the office chair and sprint to where the screams are coming from.

  My feet take me to the front door, where a maid is screaming and shaking, pointing to a box on the ground.

  “Dedo!” she shouts repeatedly.

  Chills race through my body. Dedo, a finger. I approach the box quickly.

  Matt and Alex come bolting into the entry as I’m picking the cardboard box up. I find it soggy, to the point it’s almost falling apart in my hands. I peer inside and find it’s full of ice and on top of the cold -cubes is a finger. I recoil from the torn flesh, broken bone and dried blood stuck to the finger.

  Alex and Matthew come closer. “What the fuck!” they exclaim in unison.

  The maid has now stopped screaming and looks to me with frightened eyes.

  “Bucket, I need a bucket,” I instruct the maid.

  She runs off and while she’s gone, I inspect the finger.

  “It appears to be a pinkie. And a woman’s from the filed nail. What do you think?” I ask the guys, seeing if they have any ideas.

  Matthew peers around the room and says, “Are all the maids accounted for? Could Serrano have kidnapped one of them? He did see them at the party the other night.”

  The maid comes running back with a plastic cooking bowl filled with ice.

  I place the finger in the ice, but still on the top, not submerging it too far down. I need to get this finger into a bag of cold water and ice as soon as possible.

  I take the bowl from the maid and ask, “Are all the maids accounted for today?”

  The woman’s eyes widen, and then I wait patiently as she thinks carefully about my question.

  “Si, señor.”

  “Is there anyone not supposed to work today?” Alexander asks her.

  She thinks hard again, before replying, “I check, señor.”

  We all nod and walk to the kitchen with the finger, while the woman dashes off to the housekeeper’s office in the back of the house.

  “Well, we know who would do this, but we don’t know who the fucking finger belongs to.”

  “Probably a maid’s and if not someone who works for us, then possibly a woman Serrano thinks one of us is interested in? I would suggest Lexi, but she flew out of the country hours ago and...” Alex pauses, looks at the finger, cringes and continues, “...that finger definitely looks fresh. Gabrielle is Lucini’s daughter. There’s no way Serrano would sign his own death certificate.”

  I swallow harshly and falter in my step at the thought of Lexi ever having to endure that kind of pain. It can’t be hers, I walked Lexi onto the jet myself, she was safe.

  “Could it be the executor's receptionist?” Matthew asks.

  “Alexander, get on the phone and see if you can get in contact with her,” I instruct.

  We reach the kitchen, and my phone starts to ring. We look to each other quickly with tense stares.

  This could be it, the call from Serrano telling us what he’s done and what he wants for it.

  Matthew takes the bowl from me so I can grab my phone out of my back pocket. I expect to see a number I don’t recognize, but instead, I see William’s name on my screen. They couldn’t have landed already? They would still have another hour or two. Did they have to stop?

  I hit answer and put the phone to my ear. All I hear is heavy breathing.

  “Will?” I ask.

  “Christ, Joseph, I’m so sorry,” he says in a broken, hoarse breath.

  “What the fuck are you talking about, Will?” My voice is tight and my heart thunders against my rib cage. I’m fighting against my body, against my muscles which want to squeeze and break the phone in my hand, afraid of what I’m about to hear. Has the plane crashed? Did they land and something went wrong?

  “They drugged us. She’s gone. We never left the airfield,” Will rushes out.

  My body stills.

  We never left the airfield.

  I look at the finger.

  I would suggest Lexi, but she flew out of the country hours ago and that finger definitely looks fresh.

  “They left a note on me. ‘Give me Guerrero Coast route and you’ll get her back. Refuse and you’ll never see her again. You know where to find me. S.’”

  I shudder and take a raspy breath, a sob. I attempt to keep my heartbeat calm, but I can’t stop the ache which rages through my body.

  Looking straight to Matthew, who has a stiff neck and strained muscles, his eyes darting between me and Alexander, I find him clutching a plastic bag. I yell, “It’s Lexi’s. It’s Lexi’s fucking finger. Get it in the bag with cold water and ice. Now!”

  I need to save her finger. She needs it. When I find her, she’s going to need it. My mind races. It touches on the possibility of finding her dead, but I push those thoughts far out of my mind. Not after everything we’ve been through, not after all our struggles and the battles that we’ve already won, don’t let our victory have been our final goodbye.

  “Will,” I growl, “when did this happen?”

  “I don’t fucking know. I remember you stepping off the plane with Alexa, then she came back. We had a drink while waiting to take off and then I woke up here and called you straight away. There was no one fucking left on this plane.”

  “We just had a woman’s finger delivered to the house.” My voice is dangerously low.

  “Oh, Jesus Christ,” William whispers.

  Alexander rips the cell from my hands.

  I can’t stay still. I jump on the balls of my feet, needing to punch something. I want to destroy everything around me, find the men who took her and begin killing them. How dare they fucking hurt Lexi, fucking touch her.

  I watch as Matt ties up the bag of water and ice, securing the finger belonging to the woman I love.

  My blood boils. I'm burning from the inside out. The fury in me builds, and I can’t hold it in any longer. My hands fist and the rage explodes from my mouth. “Fuuuuck!” I roar. The house should shake and crumble around me from the rage that’s exuding from me.

  “Get the fuck home, now,” Alexander says in a gruff voice down the phone, staring at me. “We’re going hunting.”

  ~~~

  Alexa

  I’m woken up with a shock, gasping, the left side of my face stinging. Black dots play in front of my eyes, and they water from the pain.

  I drop my chin to my chest, gently moving my jaw from side to side to help ease the ache from my cheek. My hair hangs down on both sides of my face.

  I try to move my hair out of the way with my hands and quickly realize I’m tied to a chair.

  “Stupid bitch.” A man with a heavy Mexican accent laughs.

  I glance up, my hair sticking to my sweaty, heated forehead, and through a blurry stare, I find a man I’ve never seen in my life standing right in front of me, rubbing his right hand as if easing a sting to his palm. Asshole.

  I look back down to my lap, smirking. This guy thinks a slap is going to break me? No. I’ve endured punches and kicks. I’ve lived through harsher torture before.

  “She’s laughing at you, Rodrigo. Maybe she needs the Muerto zona.”

  I slowly raise my head at hearing another man’s voice and the scornful tone he used. I find him leaning on a wall next to a grey door.

  It’s then I glance up and around the room. It’s a square, tin room with one long light on the roof that barely illuminates the small space.

  “Yeah,” Asshole drags out, still rubbing his palm. “I think she does too. Serrano only said not to kill her, yet. He said nothing about dumping a live body in the dead zone.”

  Their sick laughter echoes around the room and then Asshole hits me agai
n, this time with the back of his hand.

  My head flies back instead of to the side, and a pounding ache radiates up through my face, causing my teeth and jaw to throb with agonizing pain. The chair rocks backwards, but then is quickly caught before I slam backwards to the cement ground.

  This hit hurts much more, but it’s the lightness in my mind that gets my attention. I should be screaming or at least crying. I feel so weak and my movement is slow, which is incredibly frustrating. Is this shock or are the drugs still in my system?

  I look down, and it takes me a minute for my vision to become clear. I view the zip ties wound around my wrist and the chair. I wriggle my fingers to check for tightness when I notice something strange. Straining my neck forward, I look down toward my left hand. I close my eyes tightly, knowing the drugs are probably still having an effect over my sight and sanity.

  I open my eyes, and it’s still there, the grisly scene I had hoped these men weren’t capable of doing.

  Chin quivering, tears fall as I take in the pretty blonde hostess lying dead at my feet; her throat cut and a finger missing from her right hand. Sadness floods my chest. I’ve seen beaten, dead bodies during my time with Marco. But the hopelessness that blankets your soul when you see one never gets easier. It’s as if death is covering your mouth with its hand, suffocating you while giving you a front-row seat to watch how easily lives can end.

  “Think yourself lucky, bitch. Serrano wants you whole for when your amigo gets here. But he did want to scare him first with a finger.” Asshole ends on a loud laugh.

  Oh, God, Joey. He must be going crazy.

  I glance from the dead woman to the abusive man, and with a shaky voice, I spit, “Fuck you.”

  Both men chuckle, and each of my muscles bunch in rage as my body tenses with anger.

  The man from the back of the room strides toward me with purpose and a pair of scissors. Fear spikes high in my chest and I hold back a scream. I’m supposed to stay whole, but maybe not scar free? The man holds down my arm and I close my eyes tightly, biting my lip hard as not to scream, not to show them they’re hurting me.