Reckless

by Teagan Kade

  I wonder if Gabe knows how unbalanced Triss has become, but somehow I think she’s managed to keep this side of herself well hidden. What she’s been through… It’s clearly broken something deep inside her psyche, which is why I have to be especially careful here. Triss has killed people. She’s probably seeing this as another operation.

  I press that fear right down as far as I can and swallow, speaking even though my lips are so dry my tongue’s sandpaper against them. I try a different tact. “Why don’t you let Gabe decide who he wants to be with?”

  She stands and rounds on me. “Let him decide?” she laughs. “He doesn’t know what’s good for him.”

  “But shouldn’t it be his decision?”

  I can almost hear the cogs turning in her head, the logic being squeezed aside to be replaced with something far more sinister.

  I keep going. “I just don’t see how this is going to help you. If you let me go, I promise I won’t say anything to him. We can all just…” I struggle to get it out it sounds so ridiculous, “sit down and talk it through.”

  The laugh that comes back at me is thick and loud, booming in the hollow space of the warehouse. “Talk? Politicians fucking talk, you know. They jabber away while people like Gabe and me, actual feet on the ground, are torn to pieces thanks to bad intel or clear neglect for human fucking life.” She uses her fingers to air-quote. “Fucking ‘talk’ never got anything done in the real world.”

  I’m worried she’s gearing up for a battle to the death, hand-to-hand combat. If it comes down to that, I’m screwed.

  Triss appears to settle somewhat, crouching again and shuffling a bit closer to me. “Look, we are going to talk. I intend to have a nice, long chat about all of this.” She places her hand on my knee, her tone reassuring. “I’m not completely unreasonable. Don’t worry. Just sit tight here for, I don’t know, a couple of days, maybe a week at most, and we’ll go from there, okay?”

  So that’s how it’s going to be—Triss’s masterplan.

  “Once Gabe realizes you skipped out on him,” she continues, “once he figures you’re out of town or whatever, you can go back to your boring old civilian life and hook up with someone more appropriate… A therapist, maybe? Something tells me you’re going to need one.”

  Triss turns to leave. She’s going to walk right out of here. The panic I’ve been suppressing geysers up into the loudest scream I can muster, my throat burning with the effort.

  Big mistake.

  Triss spins and slaps me hard across the face. My head snaps sideways. I swear I felt my brain rattle around in my skull from the force of it.

  “Tr—” I start to slur, until a great thumping begins between my eyes.

  I pass out, my head slumping to my shoulder.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  GABE

  I park the four-wheel-drive out the front of Shannon’s place and step out.

  I decide to try her cell one more, but it’s not even ringing now. She must have turned it off.

  I stand there for a moment as a trio of mothers with strollers pass, all heads turned in my direction. I smile back, but I’m thinking of Shannon.

  I’m listening to my gut and it’s telling me something’s off here.

  The strong sunlight at my back casts a shadow onto the door as I knock.

  No answer.

  I knock again and press the doorbell for good measure.

  Nothing.

  It’s close to sunset, past business hours. She should be home by now.

  I consider breaking in, maybe swinging around the back for a better look, but her neighbor is watering the garden beside me, humming to himself. Given the soaking he’s giving a single rose bush, it looks like he’s going to be out here for a while.

  I come down the steps and walk over to him. “Hi,” I start.

  “Hey there,” he smiles. “You looking for Shannon?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He points down the street. “I saw her heading down that way earlier.”

  “Was she with anyone?”

  He shrugs. “Sorry, son. I had to head inside—nature calling and all that. You military?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Navy, right?”

  “How’d you guess?”

  “Something about the way you walk.”

  I’ve heard this one before. “Like I’ve got a stick up my ass?”

  He chuckles. “No, son. You walk like you’d rather be running.”

  *

  I stand against the car wondering what to do. I call Triss.

  She answers on the first ring. “Is this a booty call, baby, because I am down.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  A pouty moan of disappointment follows. “That’s a shame. We can hang. We don’t have to fuck.”

  I get on with it. “You haven’t seen Shannon, have you?”

  “Shannon?” she replies. “No, can’t say I have. Is everything okay?”

  I debate how much to tell her, but I’ve always been able to count on Triss. She’s been rock solid. “I can’t get hold of her. To be honest, I’m a bit worried. It’s not her just to up and disappear like this.” I think of her animal family. “She’s got responsibilities.”

  “Why do you need to see her so bad?”

  I choose my words carefully. “I need to sort some stuff out with her, figure which way I’m going to go.”

  It’s a lie. I already know I want to be with Shannon.

  Triss remains sympathetic. “Well, I’m sure she’s fine, and I get it, Gabe. I do. Maybe after your mom died she just wanted to make a clean cut, get out of here. Shit, if I was in that girl’s shoes that’s what I’d do. I mean, it’s not as if you guys were even that serious, right?”

  I never told Triss Mom died. The temptation to press her on this is strong, but I hold back.

  My chest starts to tighten.

  I’m being played.

  Fuck.

  I need to work out what’s really happening here, and straight out aggression isn’t going to cut it. I have to be smart. “You know, you’re right. We should get together. Where are you?”

  She sees right through it, her hesitation hanging heavy on the line. “Well, shit,” she says, finally, calm as a millpond, “I fucked that up, didn’t I?”

  “Triss, where’s Shannon?”

  She ignores the question. “I always let shit like that slip. You remember? I’ve never been good at holding my tongue… except when it’s wrapped around your cock, of course.”

  I’m sick of holding back. “Triss, where the fuck is Shannon?”

  She’s being way too casual about this. It doesn’t bode well.

  “Calm down, Navy. There are all kinds in the group, you know—MARSOC, Spetsnaz, SAS… It’s a fucking fruit salad of badassery. You’d love it. I know you would.”

  “Triss!”

  “Shut it,” she snaps. “Look, if I can forgive you for leaving me to fucking die, the least you can do is forgive me for showing you how much better off you’ll be without that civvie bitch slowing you down. You belong with me, back in your element. I know that takes time, but you better start thinking about it, because this is a limited time offer, baby.”

  She hangs up.

  I heave the cell against the road in anger. “Fuck!”

  The neighbor looks over before hurrying back inside.

  Think. Think it out.

  I try to call Triss back, but her cell’s been switched off. She’s gone dark.

  I scroll through my contacts until my finger lands on Jason.

  “’SC,” he answers. “I’ve got a six-pack here and only two hands. You keen?”

  “Jase,” I start, “I need your help.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  SHANNON

  I come to and immediately want to go back under. My cheek throbs where Triss slapped me, my vision wavering.

  Three identical Trisses sit on a milk crate in front of me.

  I reel back until I realize
they’re holding out open bottles of water.

  Slowly, three become one, which is even more terrifying.

  She’s not looking at me like I’m a human being. She’s looking at me like I’m something far less—an animal in a cage.

  Prey.

  A wave of nausea threatens to overcome me, but I manage to swallow it back by closing my eyes.

  She’s still there when I open them.

  She pushes the water bottle forward towards my lips. “Go on. Drink.”

  I can’t see the point of drugging me again, so I place my lips over the neck of the bottle and sip. When I pull them away I realize my nose is bleeding, the iron tang of stale blood has settled on my lips.

  This is real. This is happening.

  I can’t move. All I can do is keep talking to her.

  Triss takes a stack of tissues from her pocket and turns the water bottle upside-down into it, using the wet tissues to dab and clean my face.

  I wince when she runs over my cheek.

  “Yeah,” she nods, “that one’s going to glow real good in the morning”.

  She moves to my eye and I wince again.

  She shakes her head. “My, my, you are a delicate little flower, aren’t you? But we can’t have you looking like an MMA fighter now, can we? How would you ever pick up a guy?”

  I’m on the verge of tears, but I refuse to cry in front of her. “Triss,” I plead, “please, let me go. I won’t say anything. You have my word.”

  She laughs. “I’ve come to realize ‘my word’ doesn’t mean much in the real world.”

  I attempt to bring Gabe into it, unsure of how she’s going to react. “The way Gabe spoke about you… I can tell he really cares about you.”

  Triss tosses the water bottle behind herself, fingers running over the tissues in her hand, a Rorschach test of blood bloomed pink. “Is that so?”

  “You’ve been through things—unimaginable things. He told me all about it.”

  Triss continues to nod. Maybe I am making progress here.

  Buoyed, I continue. “I know you’ve been hurt, but you won’t come back from this, not in Gabe’s eyes.” Here it comes. “But, if you let me go, who knows? Maybe we could be friends.”

  Triss continues to stroke the tissues in the absence of a reply. I keep going. “I wish I could be strong like you, I really do, but I’m not. I’m weak.”

  “You are,” she acknowledges, still not making eye contact.

  “Yes, you’re right.” I’m speaking faster, rushing to get it out. “I’m useless. I’m nothing.”

  She looks up to me.

  Is she reconsidering?

  I’m getting through to her. I’m doing it.

  …Until Triss reaches behind her back and returns with a pistol in one hand. She lines it up with my forehead.

  I freeze.

  No. Not like this.

  “Shannon, Shannon, Shannon,” she tuts. “What am I to do with you?”

  She takes the pistol away, cradling it in her hands, inspecting and caressing it. “Do you think what you’re going through here, this little ‘ordeal,’ is something special?” She jabs the gun at me. “It’s fucking nothing. Shit like this goes down all the time, every god-damn day of the week over there. You’re not special.”

  I can’t speak, but even if I could I’m not sure what I could say, what could possibly make a difference here.

  “Do you want to know what I went through, when Gabe left me in that alley?”

  I remain stiff and quiet.

  “Let me tell you. Let me tell you all about it.” She pulls the milk crate forward until her breath is hot on my face, her legs in-between mine. “They start with something they call the ‘humiliation.’ No prizes for guessing what that entails. After that, they hosed me off and stripped me down, bending me at the waist and forcing my head, neck and legs into a car tire. I couldn’t fucking move at all. They asked questions, the same questions, while they ripped into me. Most had bats, sticks, but one of them had this braided electrical cable bullshit. That fucking hurt. And that went on, and on, and on. I passed out. I woke up. They didn’t let you sleep, shit… nothing. Over and over they went with the questions. Chains, car batteries, cattle prods… You don’t even want to know where they put that fucking shit. But I gave them nothing, not a word.”

  I can make out the color in her iris she’s so close, the fiery pattern of it spreading out from the bottomless black of her pupils. I can’t imagine the things she’s describing, what it would do to someone. “I’m sorry, Triss.”

  She points to the scar under her eye. “This beauty? They did this with a fucking butter knife. Who the fuck does that? Heating it up in a fire, pressing it into my face. Fucking animals.”

  She shakes her head looking up at the roof. A sliver of hope works its way inside me that yes, maybe I am getting through here, that I’m relating to her somehow. “You think I’d be broken after something like that, wouldn’t you?” she says.

  “I, I don’t know,” I stutter.

  “You know what? That experience cut something out of me, surgically removed this thing I never knew was keeping me down. I should thank those bastards in a way, for making me stronger, stronger than I ever thought possible, more than human.”

  Now’s the time. “We can get you help.”

  “’We?’” laughs Triss. “Save the appeals, little girl. I don’t give a fuck, and if Gabe won’t see we belong together, that he owes me that much at least, then…” she cuts off. “I suppose it’s best for you if I don’t speculate.”

  She stands and kicks the crate away, tapping the pistol against her leg. “By the way, Gabe called while you were snoozing.”

  Hope blooms again, but fades fast when I realize he’s not here. I’ve got to keep her talking. “What did he say?”

  “He hasn’t even noticed you’ve gone, you know. He couldn’t care less.” She shrugs. “Oh, well. It’s all for the best, I suppose.”

  She smiles and walks off, the gun continuing to tap against her thigh.

  She reaches the side door and opens it, disappearing from sight.

  Sitting there, it all becomes clear.

  She’s going to kill me.

  I don’t know why she hasn’t already.

  I try to shift against the cuffs, but they’re too tight.

  Breathe. Just… breathe.

  I take stock. Gabe has no idea where I am. I don’t have my job anymore, so no one else knows I’m missing.

  Think.

  It comes to me. I remember Gabe talking about the time he had to break his thumb to get out of handcuffs. What did he say?

  I try to piece that conversation together, but there’s so much noise in my head right now it’s hard to concentrate. My heart’s pumping hard, my pulse racing.

  I force myself to breathe deeply, but I can’t afford to waste time here.

  It’s a better option than sitting here waiting to die.

  I place my thumb outwards against the bottom of the chair and start to rock forward. There’s pressure there, but it’s not so bad.

  You’re not seriously going to this, are you?

  I’m not sure what the alternative is. The longer I wait here, the greater the chance Triss is going to wise up and shoot me in the head.

  I grit my teeth and go to snap forward, placing what weight I have on the thumb, but I chicken out.

  Come on, Shan.

  I picture Gabe. I don’t want to lose him—not now. I know how good we can be together.

  I grit my teeth together and slam forward as hard as I can, way harder than I realize.

  That does it alright.

  At first, there’s not a great deal of pain. I’m vaguely aware of the way my thumb is hanging, separated from the joint.

  That wasn’t so bad, was it?

  Then it hits me. Maybe the adrenaline was holding it off, but when the pain arrives it does so in gulping, heaving waves that slow my breathing and make my head spin with every intake.

&
nbsp; My ears are full of cotton wool, muffled. Nausea sweeps over me.

  Hold it together.

  Even with my limited medical knowledge, I know my thumb’s going to swell soon.

  I twist in the chair and try to pull my hand free, but the pain’s near-on unbearable. I want to let it out, force it from my mouth, but that would draw Triss’s attention.

  I can’t risk it.

  Do it!

  I press my teeth together hard enough for my jaw to hurt and pull my arm up. With another sharp twist my wrist pulls and comes free.

  I stare at my thumb, the cuffs hanging loosely from my other hand. My shoulders ache.

  My thumb is wrong. It’s all wrong—the angle of it, the color.

  The world starts to fade to a pinprick, but I won’t allow myself to faint. I can’t.

  With my good hand I reach down and start to tug at the rope binding my ankles to the chair. It takes some effort, the pain flaring, but finally I manage to strip them away.

  I’m free.

  I check for Triss, but she must still be outside.

  My thumb’s throbbing, already fat and enflamed.

  I stand, but immediately have to sit down. I’m woozy, know I’m pale, but I have to do this.

  I force myself to my feet again and hold the hand with the dislocated thumb close to my chest.

  I can’t exit using the door Triss went out of, so I start to move around the perimeter of the warehouse. The windows are covered, which isn’t helping, and there don’t appear to be any more doors out—until I spot one down the far end.

  I head towards it, each step sending a hot stab of up my arm.

  I’m going to get out of here. I’m going to live.

  I double the pace, running as much as the pain will allow until the door is within reaching distance. It’s not even closed fully, not locked at all.

  I reach for the handle when I see a shadow under the bottom of the door.

  No.

  I stop, glued to the spot.

  The sound of footsteps.

  I examine the shadow, listen.

  It’s not one shadow. There are two, two sets of something.

  The door opens slightly.

  It’s Gabe.

  I’ve never been so relieved to see someone.