Blame It on the Shame- Part 3

by Ashley Jade

  His body lands on the concrete floor with a heavy thud.

  “Please,” he pleads through a strangled sob.

  “Sorry, man,” I say as I cock my gun. “You pulled the short straw today.”

  I look to my right and glare into a pair of frightened eyes belonging to the head of the P.I. team I hired. “You better find her,” I warn him. “Or you and your entire team will end up like your friend here.”

  He opens his mouth but the sound of me pulling the trigger halts him.

  A mixture of blood, brains, and skull fragments splatter on my suit and I mutter a curse as I step over the body.

  “Clean this shit up,” I bark to my men.

  I pull out my phone and type a quick text to Tyrone, letting him know I'm running a few minutes behind and I'll be there as soon as I can.

  I make sure to leave out the reason I'm running late.

  I wasn't planning on murdering anyone before I met up with him, but the opportunity struck and I didn't want to waste it.

  Besides, these bozos needed some incentive.

  I usually try not to kill unless it's a last resort, but when it comes to Lou-Lou, I don't fuck around...and neither should they.

  “You have one more week,” I inform them. “Or I'll make what happened to your friend look like child's play.”

  I want to kill them all right here and now, but they're supposed to be the best.

  “We're trying—”

  I point the gun at him. “Understood?”

  He swallows thickly and nods his head.

  “Good. Now leave, you're wasting time.”

  I walk over to the set of lockers in the back of the warehouse and grab a change of clothes before heading for the bathroom.

  I shut the door behind me and close my eyes.

  I need them to find her—I need her to be safe.

  I open my eyes, strip off my now blood soaked suit, and glare at my reflection in the mirror.

  Dark eyes stare back at me as I lean my hands against the sink and blow out a breath.

  When my eyes fall on my right bicep, my chest burns and my throat begins to tighten but I force myself to keep staring at it.

  Because it was my fault...and I deserve to live with the pain.

  Her face flashes through my head again and my stomach knots.

  You can miss someone so much it will destroy you, bit by bit and piece by screwed up piece...that's a fact.

  But I'll take it all...every single ounce of it...because she deserves her freedom and her happiness.

  And there's not a damn thing I wouldn't do to ensure she has both. I just need to know that her happiness and freedom are coming second to her safety.

  But right now this feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me something's wrong.

  I just don't know if it's because she's actually in some kind of trouble—or because of my own fucked up feelings and this overwhelming need and want I still have for her.

  A need that will never go away—but I learn to live with it.

  I turn on the nozzle and stick my hands under the water. The blood stains the white sink and I can't help but acknowledge the slightest bit of shame coursing through me.

  Lou-Lou would hate the person I am now—which is exactly why it's not me who's out searching for her.

  I won't ever let her see this part of me, this monster I've become.

  This demon that lurks deep inside me that I can no longer control.

  Because I don't want to.

  Because it calms my other demons.

  The ones that live in the light and make you feel and experience things like love, happiness, and acceptance.

  Which in turn bring you nothing but heartache, grief, and pain.

  But my demon in the dark? He doesn't feel any pain.

  He causes it.

  And the best thing of all?

  In the dark, I can't see Lou-Lou or the baby we lost—and I like it that way.

  I run the washcloth over my arms and wash away the rest of the blood.

  And then I smile.

  Because I know it's only a matter of time before my hands will have blood on them again, and the darkness will consume me and suppress all the pain.

  “I'm proposing to Shelby the second Jackson's out of jail.”

  I damn near crash the car with those words. Instead I end up taking down a slew of orange cones and Tyrone laughs.

  Jesus, I really have been distant. I knew he was serious about her, but not this serious.

  “When did you make that decision?”

  It's not that I don't think he loves her, I know he does. I'm just a little worried about Shelby's head space.

  The girl did leave him once already.

  And now that he's disabled and fighting like hell every day of his life like a goddamn warrior, the last thing he needs is for her to crush his heart into dust.

  Because I'll take her out if she does.

  “You'll what?” Tyrone barks, his eyes shooting daggers at me.

  Shit, I didn't mean to say that last thought out loud.

  I focus back on the road. “I should take her out...you know, to celebrate.”

  “You're a horrible liar, asshole.” The corners of his lips turn up. “But a great brother.” His eyes turn hard. “But that don't mean I'm cool with you talking about killing my future wife.”

  I lift a shoulder in a shrug. “I'm not going to kill her, Tyrone.” I pause and look at him out of the corner of my eye. “As long as she doesn't fuck you over,” I mumble under my breath.

  “She won't,” he assures me. “But it's good to know you still give a shit.”

  I huff out a breath, ignoring the guilt fluttering in my chest. “What's the matter, Tyrone? You need some flowers and chocolates? Maybe a warm bubble bath and some scented candles?”

  “Well if you're offering.” He barks out a laugh. “Man, I missed this. It's nice.”

  “Driving to visit our best friend at Rikers is nice?”

  “I meant this.” He gestures between us. “An actual conversation, in person. And not one where you're rushing me off the phone or heading out the door after five minutes have passed. Like you've filled your quota and you have more important stuff to get back to.”

  “Tyrone, I—”

  “Yeah, I know. You're the head of the mob now. You do big things and shit. I just wish you were around more is all. I mean, hell—when was the last time you stepped inside a ring, brother?”

  “It's been awhile,” I admit, hating that my punching bag is no substitute for being inside the ring...or the cage.

  Fuck, I miss it.

  “I miss it too,” he whispers and my stomach twists.

  “I'm sorry,” I say, knowing that no amount of apologies will ever make up for what happened to him.

  And hating myself for not preventing it in the first place.

  “It's not your fault.” He blows out a breath. “But physical therapy is no match for your coaching skills. Maybe you can carve out some time and we can start training together again.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Did the doctors clear you for all that?”

  He nods and grins. “Yup, I've exceeded all their expectations and then some.”

  He reaches across the seat and punches my shoulder. “Getting stronger every day. Which means I can definitely train for a few hours with a punching bag. So what do you say, coach? Think you can give me an hour or two a week?”

  “Yeah, I can do that.” I think for a moment. “There aren't a whole lot of good boxing or MMA gyms around, but I'll find one.”

  Tyrone makes a face. “Why would you do that? Last time I checked, Mr. Wise-guy, you own an entire underground fight club...complete with a sweet-ass gym.”

  Shit...he's right. Obviously, the club has been closed since that night, but it's technically mine now.

  And I'd be lying if I said the idea of going back didn't make the feeling in my chest a little lighter.

  “Okay it's a deal—” I stop mid-sen

tence when Tyrone's eyes resemble saucers.

  I open my mouth to apologize but then he says, “Have you spoken to her at all?”

  I ignore him and breathe a sigh of relief as we near the end of the bridge. I slam my foot on the gas of my Mustang and Tyrone grabs the handle above his door as I fly past the security booth and continue soaring until I bang a sharp left and peel into the parking lot of the prison.

  “I'll take that as a no,” he mutters as I open my car door.

  After we make our way past security and avoid the long line of inspections and pat downs that other visitors have to go through, we finally meet Jackson in a private visiting room.

  I slip the guards some cash and tell them to make sure that the other person I came here to see today is ready for me.

  Jackson seems more on edge than usual this visit, but it doesn't surprise me since his trial is so close.

  “How's Alyssa?” he immediately questions, and that's when I realize his anxiety has less to do with the impending trial and more to do with Alyssa's pregnancy.

  She's starting to show now, and I know that scares the shit out of him because he's still stuck in here and he has no idea what the verdict will be.

  What he doesn't realize is that guilty or not, he's not spending the rest of his life in a fucking prison cell for murdering his little sister's piece of shit abuser who took her life.

  But I'll let him go about it the honorable way, seeing as he's so hell bent on it and only step in if I have to.

  Tyrone and I exchange a glance. Due to Alyssa being pregnant, Jackson doesn't want her coming here anymore because of the potential dangers regarding the visiting process.

  However, Jackson talks to Alyssa every day, he even video chats with her, given that's the only special privilege he let me use my pull for and allow me to set up for him.

  “She's doing great, “ Tyrone says. “But she spoke to you this morning, so you already know that both her and the baby are perfectly healthy.”

  Jackson rubs the back of his neck. “She had another prenatal appointment yesterday.”

  Tyrone nods. “Yeah, I know. Shelby and I went with her.”

  Jackson pounds his fist on the table. “But I didn't go with her,” he bites out. “I'm missing everything.”

  His gaze cuts to me. “Is everything really okay?” He waves a hand in the direction of Tyrone. “I know he'll only tell me whatever Alyssa wants him to because she doesn't want me to be extra stressed when I'm supposed to be focusing on the trial—but I know you'll give it to me straight, Ricardo.”

  I look him right in the eyes. “Both your girl and your son are perfectly healthy, I swear. She has the best doctor in New York and I'm making sure she's getting shitloads of healthy food delivered to her.” I give him a smirk. “Although she keeps requesting more pickles and ice cream.”

  “And mustard,” Tyrone adds, making a face.

  Relief crosses over Jackson's features and he exhales sharply. “Okay, good. I just—she was acting a little weird when I talked to her this morning.”

  “Weird how?” I ask, and for a moment I regret moving out of the apartment complex.

  His brows draw together and he props his forearms on the table. “She kept falling asleep when she was on the phone with me. I don't know if it's because my trial has her so stressed and she's not getting the proper amount of rest, or if it was her way of getting me off the phone to avoid telling me something bad or—”

  “Because she's pregnant?” I interject. “Trust me, man, it's completely normal for her to be so tired all the time.”

  My stomach twists as I recall the time Lou-Lou fell asleep mid-conversation right after I asked her to go on a date with me.

  Jesus how could I be so stupid? That was definitely a sign.

  He nods and I don't miss the brief look he gives me. The look of sympathy and remorse.

  Shortly after Jackson got arrested, I ended up visiting him. I pretty much broke down and told him about everything—including Lou-Lou being pregnant and the heinous act that was forced upon her.

  I couldn't keep it inside anymore and I needed him to understand where I was coming from and why I was taking DeLuca's place.

  I knew Tyrone would understand, seeing as he knew who I was before Jackson found out due to Lou-Lou telling him because she didn't want him to blame me for his accident.

  I just wasn't sure how Jackson was going to handle it all—considering that the moment he put everything together was at the warehouse—when I was holding a gun up to his girlfriend's back as my father recalled how he killed her father and purposely set her up with a sex tape.

  Christ, that day still haunts me...and not just because of the obvious—but because I feel like I'm missing something.

  I know Emilio ended up enlisting Ford and that's how everything got set up, but there's still something awfully unsettling about it.

  I originally thought it was DeLuca behind everything. But he was too freaked out about Lou-Lou ending up in the middle of it all.

  And if he had set it up with Ford on the down low, surely he would have been prepared for Lou-Lou being there.

  But he had a genuine look of fear in his eyes for her, or rather the child he thought she might have been carrying at the time.

  And that right there tells me one of two possible things.

  One—if it was DeLuca's plan, it obviously got fucked up...because someone ended up crossing him and setting him up in the end.

  Well, other than me and Emilio.

  And two—the option I now believe to be true.

  DeLuca couldn't be behind what happened at the warehouse. At least, not with Ford's help. Because DeLuca spilled the beans about everything to Alyssa...including Ford's part in all of it.

  There's no way Ford wouldn't have seen that coming and there's no way in hell he would have went along with that. He knew that Alyssa finding out the truth would be the end of his sick relationship with her.

  There's also the glaringly obvious fact—if DeLuca really wanted to get revenge, he would have done it in the form of a crow bar to the head or a bullet when they least expected it, not set up a long drawn-out meeting in a warehouse with Ford of all people.

  DeLuca was simply thinking on his feet and purposely confusing everyone. He would have been more prepared if it was his own plan...and there's no way he would have ended up dead.

  Hell, the only reason he even ended up there in the first place was because Alyssa was holding Lou-Lou hostage.

  There had to be someone else other than Emilio and Ford behind it all.

  Someone else behind the scenes that manipulated everything for their own personal gain.

  But there's only one person who's still alive that can tell me who that person might be.

  Jackson and Tyrone give me a curious look when I stand up. “I'll be back in a little while,” I tell them. “I have to handle some business.”

  They both look like they want to say something but I walk out of the room before either of them have the chance.

  I walk down a long corridor and into a room all the way at the end.

  I hand the guards some more cash and they nod and walk out—leaving me alone with him.

  I have to say, prison hasn't been kind to former special agent Ford Baker...and it's downright hysterical seeing him in his orange jumpsuit.

  He lifts his head and glares at me. Looks like there's still some fight in those rat blue eyes of his after all.

  “Well I'll be damned,” he scoffs. “If it isn't junior DeLuca.”

  He snorts. “Right down to the damn suit.”

  I snicker, look around the small room, and take a step forward until I'm standing directly in front of him.

  And then I jam my knee into his nose so fucking quick he doesn't know what hit him.

  He screams out in agony as I hear the satisfying crunch of the bones in his nose breaking.

  “Jesus Christ,” he wails.

  “No, not Jesus,” I say as I fish my knife out of my pocket.

  “But then again...the devil's son doesn't have a name—does he?”

  His eyes open wide and that's when I see the unmistakable look of pure fear in them. And I relish in it.

  I hold the knife up to his face. “What's my name, bitch?”

  Tears are forming in his eyes and it's fucking beautiful. “R-Ricardo,” he chokes out.

  That's when I drag the knife down the side of his face—slicing him from his ear to his jaw, purposely resembling the jagged scar DeLuca had. “Wow, would you look at that,” I sneer. “Now you look just like him too.”

  “What do you want?” he cries out. “I'm already in jail—haven't I been punished enough?”

  “Not even close,” I bark. “But I may have mercy on you...if you give me some information.”

  “What kind of information?”

  “Who else was behind the shit that went down in the warehouse?”

  His eyes turn hard and he smiles. “I plead the 5th.” He holds the side of his face and he starts cackling. “Because knowing what I know...is worth rotting in a prison cell.” He bares his teeth. “And watching you all suffer...will be worth dying for.”

  In one singular moment, my hand wraps around his throat and he's gasping for air.

  I knew Ford wasn't going to play nice, but the fact that I now have confirmation that there's someone else behind this—but I don't know who the fuck it could be, makes my stomach fill with lead.

  But it also means I can't kill Ford because he's the only shot I have at finding any answers. However, despite his cowardly nature, he's a tough nut to crack.

  Which means I have to break him to the point he'll spill...and that might take a few days.

  I dig the knife back into the gash I've made on his face and twist it, loving the feeling of his muscles and tissues separating—combined with the sounds of his screams.

  After a minute or two, I pull the knife out and he lets out a small sob.

  And that's when I start laughing. “Not so pretty now are you?”

  I lean in close and whisper, “But don't worry, Special Agent. I promise Bubba's gonna make you feel real pretty tonight.”

  Panic flashes across his face as the door opens and in walks one of the biggest motherfuckers I've ever seen.

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