by Evelyn Glass
I wondered if that’s why Thad and his crew had gone for me in the first place. It wouldn’t be out of the question for psychos like these; maybe they saw all the work my father did and decided the ultimate insult would not be to kill him, but would be to make sure that his baby daughter wound up bundled into one of those cells with no hope of escape. If it hadn’t been for Breaker, they’d have gotten their wish. The thought was chilling, sending a frost spreading out across my chest. I couldn’t imagine anything more twisted than what they had already done to me, but there it was. Hurting me to dishonor the memory of my father. I wondered how long they had waited in the shadows, what exactly he had dug up that made him a target. Why hadn’t they gone after Mom and I as well? Or had they wanted to wait to make sure that we suffered a life without him before they delivered the final blow?
I remembered so vividly cleaning out his desk. They got me in to do it, after I kicked and screamed and let them know for damn certain that if anyone else did it I would never forgive them. I was so sure I would find something profound in there, something that would tell me how to go on with my life, but of course, there was nothing. He’d spent so long on the undercover work that he hadn’t actually left much in his desk, just some pens and notebooks and scribbles of paper here and there. The only thing that seemed of any note to me was a torn–out page from a notebook, one that sat in the center of his desk when I arrived. It had a series of names written on it – all female, and all one–word. Felicity, Tamara, Eva, Dana…but one was circled at the top of the list. Rose. It didn’t make any sense to me then, but I handed it off to the chief anyway, who glanced at it as though it was obvious and tucked it away in a drawer to go with the rest of my father’s case file. It had seemed so bizarre back then, but they must have been the names of the girls he was trying to get out. It was the only thing that made any sense.
The wind whipped through my hair and drew my skin taught against my face as we drove, back to that place. Part of me still wanted to tell Breaker to turn the bike around and get out of there, to leave it all behind and start again elsewhere, but I knew that I could never let that happen. I had to take them down, because if I didn’t, all my father’s work would have been in vain. Not to mention the fact that this felt like some way to find a connection with a man who I’d barely known before he died. He hadn’t even known that I went on to be a cop, for Christ’s sake, and maybe I could find out what drove him to this kind of work if I pursued it myself. Apart from the obvious.
I tightened my grip around Breaker’s waist, and pressed my head into his back. And then, of course, there was the issue of us to deal with. I couldn’t believe I’d said what I had to him back there. I had no intention of coming out with any of it, no intention of telling him how I actually felt. I stretched my mind back over all the times we met before, all the arrests, and wondered if there had been something more to them. I’d known of course that he was a criminal, so I wasn’t just finding reasons to arrest him because I wanted to flirt, I could be sure of that. But I remember that odd, twisted–up feeling of triumph in the bottom of my stomach when I saw him after the first time. My brain flickered back to the first time I’d arrested him, waiting on a street corner while I waited for the squad car to arrive to take him back to the station.
“They couldn’t get you a uniform to fit yet?” He remarked, nodding towards the clothes that hung off my form. I ignored him, and he reached out to touch a toe to my leg to get my attention.
“Hey!” I flashed around in annoyance, and he held is cuffed hands up.
“I wasn’t trying anything,” he promised. “I just…I have a decent tailor I know, up on the West side, who could—“
“Of course you do,” I shot back with a roll of my eyes. “All you wannabe–Mafioso types do.”
“Maybe I just wanna look nice,” he shrugged, eyeing me with amusement. I could tell that he was pleased to have my attention, and the fact that I’d given it to him so easily annoyed me. It was only my second week out on the job, and I was finding myself being a whole lot more compassionate than the job required me to be. Still, as I turned away, I couldn’t keep the small smile from my face. I had put it down to triumph at catching someone who I’d seen wanted around the office, but I couldn’t deny that the way his hair curled down around his ears – it was longer then, unkempt and messy – made my heart hitch up in my throat.
And now, here I was. Clinging to him on the back of a motorcycle, my pussy still raw from the way he’d fucked me only minutes earlier. I remembered the way the words seemed to blossom up inside me and fall, half–formed, from my mouth. I didn’t even realize what I was saying till he responded, till the both of us were murmuring it frantically against each other’s mouths as we kissed, as I came, as he pushed himself inside of me. I had never in my entire life felt anything as intense as that before, and I craved it again, even now. But I knew that we couldn’t work like that. As soon as this was over, I had to go back to my life. I wasn’t walking away from that to join forces with some criminal who I knew would probably drop me as soon as he found someone else he wanted to save. And it wasn’t like he could go straight, either, with a rap sheet as long as my arm. If he came back with me, to my life, he might as well have dumped me on the spot, because we’d never see each other again once he’d served out all his combined sentences.
That just made me want to clutch him tighter. As long as we were in this odd middle ground between crime and justice, between lawful and unlawful, we could be together. That was the only place that we made sense, the only place that we could truly exist. And, as much as I wanted to find some way to make us happen outside of that, I knew that wasn’t how this was going to work.
It took us a half–hour to get back into town. The sun was setting and the traffic was thick and heavy thanks to rush hour as we made our way back down to the apartment. I was certain we were going to get pulled over by someone thanks to our complete lack of safety gear, but there wasn’t a peep our whole way back. I prayed no–one had noticed the bike crashed on the way out of town and called the cops; my prints were all over it, and I would have some explaining to do. They all still thought I was on a sick day, and I couldn’t imagine what their reactions were going to be when they found out what I had actually been up to. I would deal with that when I came to it. Right now, all I could think about was getting back to the club, and finally making some moves to take that place down. Especially now that I knew it contained the woman who had killed my father, and attempted to take down the man that I was falling for now.
We were around five minutes away when I first smelt it. It started out as nothing more than an irritation at the back of my throat, but it soon turned into a thick fog, stinging at my eyes and making me cough with every inhale. Even before we saw it, I knew what I was going to lay eyes on.
The club was aflame. The apartment building next door, the one that we had been staying at, was also vomiting smoke from the windows, thick and black, the entire street heavy with it. A handful of people were standing outside, and I swung my leg off the bike and hurried towards the auctioneer.
“Where’s the fire department?” I demanded, and he replied with a worried shrug.
“Thad won’t let us call,” he muttered. “There are girls in the cells, and—“
“What the fuck?” I yelled back over him, the sound of the crackling fire practically drowning me out. “You have girls in there? Locked up?”
“Yeah,” he nodded, looking down at the floor as though he was a naughty schoolchild who knew they were in the wrong.
“Give me the keys to the fucking cells,” I snapped, grabbing what I could to protect myself from the flames. Gloves from the bike, some kneepads. The auctioneer stared at me.
“You can’t go in there—“
“Either you give me those fucking keys, or you come in with me. Your call,” I snarled at him, grasping him by the lapel. Breaker went through his pockets, and swiftly produced a clattering set of keys. He thrust them
towards me and I stuffed them into my pocket. Breaker caught my arm, and I shot him an impatient look.
“What is it?”
“Get out of there in one piece,” he replied, and grabbed for his phone. He turned, walked away, and I could tell that he was calling up the fire department. I thanked God that he wasn’t going to try and stop me doing this. He must have known as well as anyone that there would be no point getting in my way right now, because I had my sights set and nothing was going to stop me.
I took a deep breath, covered my mouth with my sleeve, and barreled into the place. The door was open, and I found myself standing in the bar area once again. I glanced around, but there was no–one still hanging out in there. I half–expected to see the bartender, still calmly washing glasses, behind the counter in a moment of unbridled madness, but I shook the thought from my head at once. The girls. The girls in the cells. They were the only ones who mattered at that moment. Everyone else could burn as far as I was concerned, as long as I could get my hands on them and make sure they made it out of here alive.
How many of them had been in the same position as me – snatched from the streets, bundled away, given no chance to fight for themselves? They were probably already terrified beyond belief, and now they were being left to burn alive in these cells. Because not one person out there was brave enough to sacrifice their own soulless selves to save these innocent women. Though I imagined that if some of them knew what was waiting for them had the club stayed standing they would have happily waited for the flames to take them. I knew I would have, if I’d have had half a clue.
The smoke was thick, and seemed to mostly be emanating from the back room where Breaker and I had gone to play cards that one day. There were no visible flames anywhere else, and I could see the flicking under the door as I approached. I knew I shouldn’t have, but I had to see who was inside. There had been waitresses here, after all, and they didn’t deserve to die like this. I pushed the door open, and gasped.
Thaddeus Bane, slumped over in his seat. He was tied to a chair at one corner of the room, while the poker table had been set on fire. There was an abandoned gas canister cast aside on the floor, and it was clear that none of this had been a mistake. I took a single step towards him, ready to drag him out—but if someone had started this blaze, it was going to spread fast. If I had to make a choice between him and innocent girls—I stepped away from him and ran towards the stage area. The door was locked. I cursed as I fumbled with the keys in my too–big gloves, and eventually found one that fit the lock, jammed it in, and opened the door up.
I was met by a cacophony of coughing as soon as the door flew open, and I felt a rush of relief as I realized that at least a few of them must have been alive if they were making that kind of sound.
“Hello?” I called into the darkness, and I heard a rustle of movement as my eyes adjusted to the light. Five women approached the bars of separate cells, and I groaned internally. I needed to act fast if I was going to get them out of here alive, and there were so many keys to get through.
“Who—who are you?” one of them asked fearfully, and I recognized the dress she was wearing – it was the same one they had put me in when I’d first arrived here. They must have purchased them in bulk. The thought made my stomach twist up with anger, but I knew there was no point getting distracted by that now.
“I’m a cop,” I replied quickly, trying out a key in one of the locks. Miraculously, it opened, and the woman stumbled out on to the floor in her bare feet. I heard a noise behind me, and spun around, my heart racing. But to my relief, I found myself facing Breaker, a scarf wrapped around his face as he held out his arms to the woman.
“Get them out of here,” I ordered, the officer in me taking over as I tried to get a handle on the situation.
“What happened?” One of the women asked, and I shook my head as I tested out some more of the keys.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” I replied. “We just need to get you out of here.”
I worked as fast as I could, as the smoke continued to leak on under the door. Breathing was getting more difficult, and I hoped that someone had called the fire department outside. We were all going to need oxygen, and fast. Breaker ran the girls outside, but there wasn’t much more we could do until the fire department arrived. As I helped carry the last girl outside, I heard the distinctive sound of a gun cocking.
I turned slowly, my eyes streaming as the smoke hit them. After everything…no, surely not. No one would be trying anything now. I held my hands up, spluttering slightly, and saw a figure standing at the other end of the hall. Breaker appeared behind me and placed a hand on my shoulder, tugging me towards him.
“What are you waiting for? Let’s get out of here,” he muttered, a wheeze already appearing in his chest, but I stood still. I couldn’t make out who it was, but I could the shape of a woman, advancing towards us, a gun outstretched. Breaker suddenly seemed to spot her too, and just like they, he froze solid on the spot.
“Raven?” he asked, his voice filled with disbelief. I squinted into the shadows as she approached. Yeah, it was her. But what was she doing here? And why was she pointing a gun at the two of us?
“Don’t move!” She called out through the ever–increasing fog of smoke between the three of us. I looked up at Breaker, eyes wide. I thought the fire would be the scariest thing we were dealing with today, but turned out I was wrong.
“Raven, they’ll sell you out,” Breaker warned. “If you kill us, don’t think for a second you’re going to get away with it, especially if Thaddeus—“
“Fuck Thaddeus,” she spat the words, full of fury, and they landed on the floor in front of us. “I hope he dies here. I hope he watches this place burn to the ground around him before he burns himself. Slowly.”
My eyes widened. This had been her doing. But why? I thought she worked for the club, not that she wanted to bring it down.
“Raven,” Breaker was speaking slowly, as though trying to talk down someone on the ledge threatening to jump. “Raven, if this is about me being with Angel–“
Raven laughed, but there wasn’t a hint of humor in her voice. The sound echoed off the walls around us, and I shuddered at the noise of it surrounding us.
“You fucking narcissist,” she snarled in response. “You think everything has to do with you, don’t you?”
“We need to get out of here,” I cut across her urgently. “Please. This place is old, it’s not going to last much longer with the fire—“
“Don’t you get it? I don’t want you to get out of here.” She rolled her eyes, close enough now for me to see the disdainful expression on her face through the smoke.
“You’ll die too,” I pointed out, hoping that I could at least talk my way out of this corridor. It was windowless and dark, and it was filling with smoke so quickly that I was beginning to choke. The thought of burning to death in this place flashed fear down my spine. I could talk my way out of this, I knew I could, but not under the pressure of this place collapsing down around us.
“I don’t care.” Her eyes softened as she hissed the words in our direction.
“Why are you doing this, Raven?” Breaker asked, and I could hear the fear and the anger in his voice. He had always been small–time, keeping his nose just clean enough that his life was never in any actual danger, but now here he was, facing death in some hit that he had nothing to do with. Raven’s face seemed to explode with emotions, and she lowered the gun momentarily. I would have lunged for it, but the smoke was too thick and it was messing with my depth perception. She looked at the ceiling, and then glanced at one of the cells. To my surprise, something that looked like a smile flickered out over her face.
“I promised I would never come back here,” she said, lifting her voice a little so we could hear her over the sound of something cracking loudly in the room next door. I caught Breaker’s hand, searching for any comfort I could find, and he squeezed back tightly.
“What?” Brea
ker sounded confused. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“This is where they brought me,” she glanced around. “This is where they bring all of us.”
The smoke was filling the corridor, from the end that we were standing in. With my hands still carefully raised, I took a few steps towards her, away from the choking scent of it.
“What are you talking about?” I asked quietly, my tone different from Breaker’s. If she was saying what I thought she was saying, then I had to find a way to connect with her. Maybe all three of us could make it out of here alive if I could figure out some way to prove that I was on her side, that the two of us had been in the same boat.
“They took me here first,” she shot back, the gun tilting down slightly, away from my head. I let out a brief sigh of relief. Some time bought, at the very least. I nodded for her to continue.
“When they caught me, they brought me here, and they told me they were going to put me up for sale,” her voice was shaking badly, and I was surprised she could even get the words out. Tears were pricking my eyes as she spoke, my body viscerally recalling the fear I’d felt when I had been in her position.
“But there was a bust,” she went on, apparently going into some kind of trance as she forced herself to look back up at me. “A cop. A cop had infiltrated the place. Garret Greer.”
