Tied Down

by Vanessa Waltz

  My mouth gapes open as Dad sinks back into his chair, the ire animating his body fading. He’s never talked like this before. “You would’ve tortured and killed my husband because he lied to you?”

  He squares his jaw. “He was trying to destroy me and made idiots out of both of us, sweetheart. I couldn’t let that disrespect slide.”

  “I’m the one married to him! We’re having a baby. How could you do that to me?”

  The bitter sound of his laughter cuts at my heart. “He’s a fucking cop! He’s a scumbag, and I won’t have him near my daughter.”

  I pry open the zipper, reach inside the purse. I whip out the gun and aim it for his middle.

  My father tenses. “Jesus, Eva. Calm down.”

  I shake. “I am done being used by you. My whole life I’ve had to live by the beat of someone else’s drum. I want Bastien, and you’re going to give him to me.”

  He raises his hands, white faced. “Baby—”

  “Don’t! I’ve sacrificed everything for you. What have you done for me?”

  His mouth opens and closes wordlessly.

  “Call it off!”

  “Sweetheart, I can’t.”

  “You’re the boss!”

  “Not anymore,” he says in a bitter tone. “Johnny’s calling the shots on this one. Maybe you should’ve pointed a gun at him instead.”

  My fingers tense over the trigger. “I’m not fucking around.”

  “What are you going to do?” he bellows. “Shoot your own father? Did that son of a bitch turn my daughter against me, too? Jesus Christ, thank God your mother died and didn’t live to see this.”

  Shoot him.

  Tears blind my eyes. I imagine the wall behind him painted with red, a hole in my father’s skull, and horror fills my heart. There were dozens of happy Christmases and birthdays, but the memories feel tainted.

  My finger nudges the trigger. I don’t want to kill him. I can’t.

  The door bursts open and the guard steps through. My father screams, “Take the fucking gun!”

  The guard seizes my arm and twists, pinning it behind my back. He digs into my wrist. A sharp pain slices into me and I scream, the pistol dropping heavily to the carpet.

  He takes the gun, shoving it into his jacket. And then he hauls me upright in a brutal grip.

  Dad still has his hands raised, his face frozen in shock. “What the fuck were you thinking? How dare you turn that gun on me?”

  “You might have cancer, but I’m the one living with it. You are a fucking disease, and I want you out of my life. If you won’t lift a finger to save Bastien, fuck you! You’ll never meet your grandchild! I’m done!”

  “Get her out!” he screams.

  Dad sweeps his bald head, gaping at me as his guard shoves me out of the office. It’s the last time I’ll ever see him. And good riddance.

  Chapter Twenty

  Sébastien

  A farm blackened with mold stands in the middle of a grassy field surrounded by trees. A wave rolls through the long grass, like dancing gold. Crushing blue skies fly overhead. Two male figures stand near the condemned barn.

  When they gave me the address, I knew something was up. Given the lack of caution they displayed when choosing our last rendezvous, it struck me as odd they’d choose a farm in the middle of nowhere. And it really is deserted. There’s not a sound except the soft whisper of leaves and the occasional birdcall. I’ve been in the city too long. The quiet unnerves me.

  The shorter man, probably Captain Ritter, waves at me. Guess I’m supposed to walk there.

  Strolling through an open field is a monumentally bad idea, but I don’t have arms dealers in my phone book or access to a sniper rifle. My service revolver has a limited range.

  I need to be closer.

  That’s assuming they don’t already know I’m here to kill them. Is this any different than walking to a noose and hanging myself on it?

  “Come on!” Carter bellows. “Hurry the fuck up.”

  No choice.

  My feet kick through the grass, the sun beating down on my head. I know this is a trap. Johnny insisted I do this in front of the family. He wanted the rat to hear. They know I’m coming, and I’m not sure if Johnny has something planned or if he’s making an example out of me, and I’ll be gunned down in this field.

  Either way, I’m a pawn in this game.

  I stop a distance in front of them, my mind screams to draw and shoot, but the trees are crowding me and just beyond the bush a reflective gleam hits my eyeballs. I raise my hand, blocking the glare as I clear the last fifty feet.

  A fresh bruise swells on Captain Ritter’s forehead. Looks pretty bad. “Stop,” he says.

  I should shoot them right now, but an unsettling feeling stops me. Needles pick the back of my neck as my gaze sweeps over the forest. “Captain, I missed you at our last meeting.”

  Ritter glances at the ground. “Got held up.”

  “Yeah, looks like it. What happened to your face?”

  Carter scowls. “He had an accident. You?”

  I bury my smile. They’re really going with, He fell down some stairs. Ritter looks beaten into submission. “I said something inappropriate to one of the wives at the baby shower.”

  A pink bubble blows from Carter’s lips and pops. “We heard about that. Anyone hurt?”

  Not a word from Ritter, who keeps avoiding my eyes like I’m fucking Medusa. “Just a civilian. She got grazed.”

  Carter makes a sympathetic sound.

  I’ll kill him. Shoot him in the fucking mouth where he keeps popping his gum. “My wife could’ve been killed.”

  He grins. “We’ve been over this before. You’re not really married.”

  “She’s having my kid, you jackass. That means something to me.”

  “I can’t believe you actually knocked her up,” he laughs. “If it weren’t for the murder, I’d recommend a distinguished service medal.”

  They know. “What?”

  “There was a fatality a couple miles from the Trillo household. Any idea who was behind that?”

  He’s fishing. I shrug my shoulders. “Nope, no idea.”

  “Really? Because our CI told us you were involved in the murder.”

  Henri. He’s the snitch. If they know, why the fuck are they asking? “What do you care about some biker?”

  Movement on the tree line catches my gaze. Long shadows warp forward around me.

  Run. Get the fuck out of here.

  “I personally couldn’t give a shit,” Carter says. “Our friends, however, aren’t so happy.”

  Men wearing leather vests step onto the prairie.

  They’re here. I waited too long.

  I yank the gun from my side, but a crack splits the air before I can sink a bullet in Carter’s stomach. A force slams into my side, tearing through my shoulder muscle with searing-red pain. Bright red splatters the green blades. The gun disappears between the thick grass. I dive for it, scrambling to shoot. Ritter moves swiftly, and behind him leather-clad men pour from the forest toward us.

  I grab the handle, aim, and Ritter swings down. A force explodes against the back of my head, knocking out all light. My hands curl into dirt. I smell the field.

  Then another blow hits me, and I black out.

  My eyes snap open to dim light. Rafters filled with cobwebs stretch across the ceiling. Yellowed windows caked with ancient dust allow light through. It bathes the figure sitting in a plastic lawn chair in muddled light. A burning red light simmers through the darkness.

  “Are you awake?”

  Carter’s arrogant tone echoes through the barn, which reeks of stale urine. The roof looks like it’s on the verge of collapse.

  A pounding ache radiates from the back and pulses through my temples. Worse is the pain at my shoulder, like hot knives slicing into flesh. Warmth slides down my arm. I look like I’m wearing a red sleeve.

  Jesus.

  I lift my hand. It stops halfway with a clang agains
t the chair I’m strapped to. Handcuffs. Police issued. I test the floor. Dirt under my feet. This chair isn’t bolted, but they’ve cuffed my ankles to it as well. The chair’s made of cheap, rotting wood, but I’m more worried about the cuffs. I won’t be able to slip out of them, but I could twist and break the legs. Every passing second pours more blood from my body.

  “I wouldn’t worry about that,” Carter says, extinguishing his cigarette. “You’re not going to live much longer. Damn shame, right, Captain?”

  A shorter figure stooped near one of the windows turns toward Carter’s voice. “I’m sorry about this, Ethan.”

  Fuck you. “Which part?”

  He smiles sadly. “You shouldn’t have killed that biker.”

  “I think his name was Crash,” Carter interjects with a snort. “Stupid fucking name. These bikers all have the dumbest handles. I swear to God, one of them said his name was Toe Crusher.”

  I strain my ears, listening for the men outside. “Where are they?”

  “They’re waiting until you wake up.” Carter glances at the workbench a few feet away. An assortment of grisly tools lies on the wood. “I sure as fuck am glad I’m not you. But look at you. How the mighty have fallen.”

  “Says the maniac with a hard-on for torture.”

  Not liking that, Carter thumbs through the tools and lifts a hacksaw to the light. “Keep talking, asshole. I’ve got the power.”

  “Yeah, you’ve got the power. ’Course, you had to have someone else shoot me, knock me unconscious, and tie me to a chair just to get it. Congratulations, you’re a fucking coward.”

  The smirk fades. “I wonder if you’ll be laughing when this saw cuts through you like butter.”

  “Jesus, are you like this because you’re still a detective?” I find Ritter in the darkness. “Captain, give the crybaby a promotion.”

  The hacksaw rotates in his hand as Carter studies its stained teeth. God knows how many limbs it’s sawed through. “Like you, I don’t give a shit about being a cop anymore. This is more than I dreamed.”

  The MC would be a seductive force for someone with a hunger for authority and brutality. A sadist like him would be drawn toward organized crime.

  I’m not surprised, but Ritter is. He shoots looks of deep disgust behind Carter’s back.

  “Why the fuck am I here? Revenge?”

  “Partly.” Carter sets down the hacksaw and selects a bolt cutter, squeezing it. “Our CI told us you’d try to kill us.”

  “Henri.”

  “Bingo,” Carter says.

  Ritter watches him approach with the bolt cutter. It’s one of those heavy-duty steel cutters. Good for slicing through locks, chains, human fingers.

  “What are you doing?” Ritter says uneasily.

  “We should have done this weeks ago, Captain. He told his whole crew he’s a cop. Our names. His name. Everything. They know everything. The fucking bastard sold us out.”

  Ritter rakes a hand through his short hair. “We should’ve never gotten involved with these people. What a goddamn mess.”

  “We owe them, Captain.” Carter shrugs. “There’s nothing we can do.”

  “At first it was information from our undercover.” Ritter paces through the beam of light. “Now it’s extortion, torture, and murder. I can’t do this.”

  He’s chosen a fine time to take a stand. “You’re both a bunch of fucking morons. When the mob finds out I’m dead, they’ll kill you both on principle.”

  Carter shoves the bolt cutter under my jaw. “Nice try, asshole. We know they loathe you.”

  “I’m son-in-law to the boss. He’ll be obligated to respond to save face.” The longer I keep them distracted, the more time I have to think about a way out. The chair might break with blunt force. Might as well save the effort until—until what? Help isn’t coming. I’m on my own.

  The metal digs into my windpipe, cutting off my air. “Can’t believe this son of a bitch tried to kill us.”

  “Carter,” Ritter calls out, testy.

  He leans into it. “You tried to shoot me.”

  My lungs scream for air. I flex, the handcuffs digging into my flesh. The wood splinters. If I could just—slip out of these.

  The pressure releases from my throat as black spots crawl over my vision. I gasp lungfuls of stale air as Carter’s cackle fills the barn.

  “I dare you to let me go,” I rasp. “Let’s settle this among men.”

  “I’d love to, but I’ve got my orders. Crash’s brother is going to take a blowtorch to your face. See that syringe there? It’s filled with industrial-strength silicone. Apparently, it’s extremely painful.” He talks in excited tones. “Can’t fucking wait.”

  Disgust shines on Captain Ritter’s face.

  Carter notices. “What?”

  “You sound like one of them.”

  Carter points the bolt cutter at Ritter’s heart. “Maybe you should shut your fucking mouth. That’s what got you that bruise on your head. These guys don’t give a damn that you’re Captain. Neither do I.”

  “Watch it, son,” Ritter glowers. “I can end your career as quick as you can swing that.”

  Full of bravado, Carter nudges Ritter’s chest with the sharp point. “So maybe I ask our friends to pay a visit to your wife after we’ve taken care of Ethan’s.”

  I stop my struggle to escape, blood running cold with dread. What?

  They’re after Eva?

  She’s a loose end.

  Horror fills my chest. They’ll kill her because she’s met Detective Carter and knows my whole story. They’re cleaning up. I need to get out of this. Now.

  Furious, Ritter bats the bolt cutter out of his face. “That’s enough! Put it down. You’re not one of those goddamn thugs.”

  Carter seems beyond reason. “Maybe I should call them back inside and repeat what you said about them.”

  Captain Ritter marches toward the door, fury blazing behind his glasses. “I’m done with this. You’re a fucking disgrace.”

  Carter swings, his arm coming down in a wide arc. A meaty, blunt sound sends a chill through my spine. Captain Ritter stumbles forward, blood shining on his head.

  The chair flips over as I seize the arm with one hand and yank. It cracks, and the stump breaks in my hand. Carter advances on Ritter, who shouts, and then there’s another violent swing. It’s like a watermelon cracking open.

  I wrestle with the other leg. The blood keeps slipping my grip.

  Carter stands above Ritter as the life pools from his body. The old man’s head gashes open in a giant crater. No way he’s coming back from that. The fucking psycho killed Ritter for me.

  He’s dead.

  Another loud crack from the chair seizes Carter’s attention. He turns, sees me escaping, and surges forward.

  Gunfire splits the air, making him halt. Three loud cracks pop in succession outside, followed by the shouts. Heavy footfalls of bikers race through the field. Crack. Crack.

  What the hell is going on?

  Carter and I share a moment of surprise, and then he swings. I catch his weapon on the links of my handcuff. We crash to the floor, my hand still tightened around his. The chair flips as Carter charges into me. He rips out of my grip and screams, whirling the bolt cutter through the air. He misses, hand bashing against the wood. I swing the handcuff in my palm and smash it into his mouth. His gums flash with red as I pummel him.

  Fury blinds me in white-hot flashes. He went after Eva once—never fucking again. I beat him so hard my hands feel like stumps of raw meat, and then I roll him onto my chest. I stretch the metal links over his throat and pull. Carter strangles, fingers trying to pry the metal off him. His fist launches at my head. I let the dull blows land on me as the barn fills with the sound of Carter’s gagging. His nails rake the backs of my hands, leaving long, bloody marks. Then his tongue lolls out of his mouth, and he goes limp. My knuckles whiten on the chain. He’s not dead until I’ve squeezed every last drop of air from his lungs. I count a few
minutes, and then I shove his body off me. Carter’s lifeless eyes stain with red, broken capillaries surrounding his brow.

  The shouts outside grow louder. Only a matter of time before they’ll burst inside and find me. I shove my heel through the chair, ripping apart the wood to free my ankles. Then I grab the hacksaw on the table as a body slams against the wall. A shot fires through and I dive out of the way. The doors wrench open, sunlight stinging my eyes as a burly man wearing a leather vest steps over Ritter’s body. His razor-sharp gaze finds me. “You!”

  He sprints forward, and then a hole blows through his heart. Mid stride, he stops to look at his chest soaking with blood, and collapses to the floor. Behind him stands a man in a pinstripe suit, his gun smoking.

  Johnny.

  I can’t believe he’s here.

  The Montreal boss gazes at his surroundings in disgust, and then finds Ritter’s body. “Wow.”

  For a moment I’m too shocked to speak, and then the pain in my shoulder throbs. The floor is dotted with my blood. I sink to my knees, lightheaded.

  Johnny approaches me. “Went all out, didn’t you?”

  Actually, Carter did that. “Why are you here?” I force out. “I don’t understand. You said I had to do this myself.”

  Johnny lied to me. Probably followed me to the meet and had his men ambush the MC.

  Why?

  “I have my reasons,” he says, tucking his gun into his waist. “Needed to know if you were telling the truth. I knew if I ordered you to kill the cops, the rat would pass it along. I was right.”

  Shouts ring behind him as his men chase the bikers into the forest. Johnny pays them no mind as he searches the pockets of the biker bleeding out on the floor. He finds a set of keys and tosses them to me.

  I fail to catch them. Too tired. “It was Henri.”

  “I know,” he says, wandering to the workbench with the tools. “He’ll be taken care of, but I still need one more favor from you.”

  Fuck. “I’m going to bleed out.”