by J. C. Cliff
I shudder to think what would happen if we were discovered. Even though Graham has never physically hurt me in the past, it doesn’t mean there wouldn’t be serious repercussions. I’m not familiar enough with him anymore to know exactly what he’s capable of. He’s already proved just how deceitful and underhanded he can be. With him having a criminal mind, God only knows what he’d do to me or James.
James, I’m sure, has played in these passageways day in and day out. It’s obvious he has, because he moves with such self-assuredness and purpose. He knows exactly where he’s going. Me, on the other hand, I’m trying not to freak out. It doesn’t help that I'm claustrophobic. The pitch black is highly unnerving, and feeling the walls on either side of me, I tell myself they’re not closing in on me.
This is the kind of crazy mansion that belongs in a movie, and it makes me wonder what other types of provisions have been added to this house to accommodate for Graham’s safety.
I squeeze James’s hand as I focus on staying calm, not wanting to lose control of myself. I hear him whisper something, but I can't make it out. Blessedly, a flash of light shines against the dark walls, illuminating the narrow aisle. I realize it’s James who turned on a flashlight to guide us the rest of the way. I breathe out a sigh of stark relief.
We continue to move at a snail’s pace, not making a single sound. There have been far too many split-offs, twists, and turns for me to know what hallways go where, and I realize then that I won’t be able to figure out the way back by myself. Not that I plan on going back, especially without James, but I don’t like the helpless, vulnerable feeling.
When we hit a set of stairs, we have to sidestep in order to descend. The stairs are so steep it reminds me of a set of stacked Legos, and it’s as if I’m going down at a ninety-degree angle. I can feel the temperature change as we keep making our way down yet another flight of stairs. The cold, damp passageway seeps into my bones, making me shiver.
I’m assuming we’re in the basement now, but I dare not utter a sound, not until James says I can. James suddenly stops, and I bump into him. He yanks on the fabric of my blouse, signaling he wants to whisper in my ear.
“You stay right here. Let me make sure it's safe. I'll be right back,” he states bravely. Has my son officially lost his marbles? Since when did he become so gutsy and in control of a dangerous situation? As if he could read my mind, he adds, "I know what I'm doing, so don’t worry.” If I wasn't so stressed out and full of anxiety, I would laugh right now. I would laugh at the absurdity of this little boy and his courageousness.
He lets go of my hand, the flashlight clicks off, and then he's gone. I’m left with myself and my thoughts in the dark. An ominous chill runs through me, making my flesh crawl in fear. I don’t have a good feeling about this, but of course, I’d say that about anything dangerous and unpredictable. I’m not an adrenaline junky, not like Stryker, and apparently not like our son, James.
I don’t realize I’m trembling until James slips his hand back into mine and tugs me downward. “Mom, it’s gonna be okay.” When did my little man grow up to be so fearless and yet have such compassion for people?
I steal a deep breath for courage. “Okay,” I tell him, “let’s do this.” Is this how Stryker feels every time he's in the middle of a dangerous mission, and he is the stalker and not the stalked? It's a different kind of adrenaline rush, and at least knowing we have the upper hand right now makes me feel good.
The dim overhead lighting places a dull sheen against the stone walls, ominously illuminating a row of barred cells on either side of us. I peer into one of the cells and see chains are hanging from the walls. They are threatening and scary. Blood pounds through my veins, the growing angst building with each step we take, getting closer to Stryker.
I shiver in fear, witnessing firsthand the cold hard reality of the cartel business and its dirty side. My husband, if he is still considered that, has enemies he tortures here, right under his very own roof. And then he most likely has them killed. I don’t know this for sure, but one doesn’t get to be at the top of the cartel business by being nice.
My hand covers my mouth to stifle a horrified squeal, because the seriousness of this situation has kicked up a hundred-fold. Thoughts of Stryker being chained and beaten have me crying out in a panic, and I can’t stay behind James any longer. I frantically run from cell to cell, half-whispering, half-crying out his name, “Stryker?”
I hear a rustling in the last cell on the left. “Stryker?” I call again, my heart beating wildly as I run toward the last cell.
I hold back a shriek, full of shock at seeing him laid out flat on the cold stone floor. My hands wrap around the thick bars, and I pull hard, trying to jar them open, but the door is locked. “James!” I want to scream, but instead I manage a low, frantic whisper.
“Calm down,” he whispers, then he gives me a confident smirk, and I just want to shake him. How can he be so calm right now? I keep forgetting he’s only five with an eight-year-old’s brain, but he’s still a child. I have to understand they don’t experience the raw fear and reality of death the way adults do.
He produces a metal key from the front pocket of his shorts, and I look at him incredulously. I don’t even want to ask. His hands are steady as he unlocks the gated door, but mine are trembling. The second he pushes the door open, I barrel through. I rush to Stryker’s side, falling to my knees.
“Stryker, my God, baby,” I choke out on a cry. I reach out to touch him, full of hesitation, not knowing if I’m going to hurt him or not. He’s badly beaten, and dried, caked-on blood is everywhere. Rage fills me and I want to scream. It’s cold and damp down here, and he’s soaking wet.
He opens one his eyes and I die a thousand deaths on the inside. “Hey, darlin’,” he says in a scratchy voice, but speaks as if it’s just another normal day. He’s breathing is shallow as I pat over his body with shaky hands, frantically searching for broken ribs. Honestly, I’m so out of sorts I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. My hand skirts over one of his ribs and he winces.
“Val.” He looks at me seriously. “You shouldn’t be down here.”
“The hell I shouldn’t be,” I tell him defiantly. I lean down and softly kiss his cheek. “You came for me.” Even though it’s not a question, he doesn’t respond. I frown, wrinkling my forehead when he looks away. “Stryker? You did come for me, right?” I ask, acutely aware that something’s off with him.
He turns his head back to me, and my heart stills. I can not only feel, but I can see the animosity radiating from him. “It looks like you didn’t need rescuing after all,” he growls angrily.
My eyes open wide at his crass statement. “You think….” I trip over my words and try again, trying to explain, “I didn’t know. I was deceived.” I speak cryptically, still cognizant of the fact James is here and listening. “I don’t know what’s going on, or what you know, but I’ve been played for the past year. What I was told, was led to believe, were all lies.” My hands shake as I tell him the God’s honest truth, and pray he believes me. “Look at me, Stryker,” I plead.
His eyes narrow into tiny slits, and the second his gaze locks on mine, I gasp. His dark pupils are so full of anger and rage, they overshadow his green eyes.
“You kept only one secret from me, the only one that really matters. Everything else could’ve been forgiven,” he sneers, “but not this one.”
“I can explain,” I start off, but he bites back, cutting me off.
“Too late for that,” he says angrily.
“No… you don’t mean that,” I search his face, desperate to get through to him.
“James?” he calls out, ignoring me.
James scoots in on the other side of Stryker, asking, “You okay?”
“I’m good,” he says, but I know it’s a lie. He’s half crippled. He forces himself to sit up, and as he does so, a long, deep grunt escapes his lungs.
“Can you walk now?” James asks.
He nods
his head in acknowledgement then runs his hands carefully over his face then down to his chest as if he’s assessing the damage.
“I don’t think you can walk, Stryker,” I try to reason. “Maybe there’s a way I can sneak away and call somebody.”
Stryker’s laugh is faint and humorless, but his tone pierces my heart all the same. “Yeah, great idea. They should be here as quick as it’d take for a pizza to be delivered.” He looks at James and places his hand on his son’s shoulder, and I want to cry. “All you gotta do is show me the way out. I got the rest.” I watch as he clenches the muscles in his jaw, the flexing of muscles rippling all the way to his bald head. It’s more than apparent he’s fighting against his pain, refusing to let it slow him down. “Can you do that, James? Show me the way out?”
James nods, and he couldn’t be anymore serious, as he tells Stryker resolutely, “I can show you.”
Stryker rolls onto his side in an effort to get to his knees in order to stand up. It takes him great effort to do so, and watching him struggle pierces my heart. The instant I lay hands on Stryker to help him up, he callously shrugs me off. He does, however, allow James to help him to his feet.
I nervously lick over my dry lips, wondering how all of this is going to play out. I need him to take James and me with him. I need him to understand he’s got his signals all wrong. I swallow down the tears threatening to surface and step in front of Stryker, stopping him.
“Valerie, time is of the essence,” he scolds impatiently. “Right now ain’t a good time.”
“We’re going with you,” I whisper, my tone telling him I won’t accept anything less. “We show you out, we go too.”
“What?” James squeaks out. “We can’t do that, Mom,” he says adamantly.
“The boy’s right.” Stryker eyes me down with a knowing glare. “He belongs with his father,” he says cruelly, “and you’re still married to your husband. It ain’t happening.”
I can’t recall ever having to swallow back tears of this magnitude before. I hate the searing pinprick that hits right behind the eyes, just before the tears are to start. My heart is being ripped ruthlessly in two. By the grace of God, I find a way to speak around the thick knot in my throat, my voice cracking on every syllable. “You remember the confusion, and what it looked like to me the first time we broke up?”
“Valerie, this is different,” he growls.
I’m grasping at straws, desperate to change his mind. “No, this is the same thing, Stryker. Please give me the chance to explain, you have to believe me,” I beg, my eyes welling up with tears. As James reaches the door, I turn around and lean in close, whispering for his ears only, “Stryker, I love you. Please, don’t do this. All I ever wanted was for James and me to belong to you.”
He grasps my shoulders, pushing me back a step. The look on face is unreadable, but mostly it’s his body language that tells me he doesn’t want me near him. Desperation and anxiety consume me, and knowing he has to leave this instant in order to escape, making it clear he doesn’t want us has my heart shattering. I don’t know if I’m ever going to get to see him again, and that simply cannot happen. I grab onto his torn shirt with a vice grip, not willing to let him go like this.
“Ohhh, fuck,” James whispers in the oddest tone I’d ever heard. I’ve never heard him curse like that before either. Both Stryker and I look at James in question, and he looks back at us as if he’s seen a ghost. Before I can ask what’s wrong, Graham steps into the room exuding an air of power and authority, while Caleb follows closely behind.
CHAPTER 47
~ Stryker ~
“Well, well,” Graham says in a deceivingly calm tone as he enters the small cell. Startled, Valerie’s hand presses into her heart and she backs up a step, bumping into me. “Seems somebody had tripped a sensor, alerting me to some activity down here. Guess Monopoly wasn’t your game either?” he snidely asks Valerie with a sidelong glance. Caleb steps into the cell, right on Graham’s heels, while sidestepping James.
“Don’t even think about it,” Graham tells me arrogantly. “Even if you got past me, you wouldn’t get past the twenty or so men already stationed outside this house, ready and waiting on my command to do anything I bid them to do.”
“Somehow, I believe you,” I sarcastically reply.
“You should,” Graham says coldly. Never removing his eyes from mine, he instructs, “James, go to your room and don’t come out until I come get you.”
To my surprise, James stands his ground and faces his father in a man-to-man standoff. My God, but the kid reminds me of me when I was his age. A defiant little shit who could get away with anything, because he was too fucking smart and too charismatic for his own good. But the charm and his dimpled smile ain’t on his side today. This is real business that’s about to go down.
Graham arches a brow at James in such a way that screams a punishment is imminent, but James stands strong and squares off his shoulders in defiance. Graham grabs James by the nape of the neck and scowls. I glance over at Valerie and note she’s wringing the hell out of her hands. She’s never been able to digest and react quickly to stressful situations.
With the snap of Graham’s fingers, Caleb steps forward, and when he lifts his hand to point a gun at me, Valerie screams. I hold my hands up in the air to show I’m not going to make a stupid move for the door. “Get yourself and James the fuck out of here, right now.” Graham’s words slice through the air like a lightening strike, but still nobody moves.
“No!” Valerie cries out, finding her voice. She steps between me and Caleb, using her body as a shield. I don’t think the man knows what to do, but he sure as hell can’t point a gun at a cartel leader’s wife. He’s caught in the middle, so he lowers his gun off to the side.
“Stop! Please!” James cries out in a panic. His frightened eyes bounce back and forth between Caleb and Graham.
“What are you going to do, Graham? Have him killed in cold blood, right in front of James? Show him the monster you really are?” Valerie challenges.
The man is vibrating with rage. He’s not used to his authority being defied. “I said to take our son and leave,” he grits out in a low, threatening tone. The instant he nods to Caleb to take action, Valerie makes a fast move and kicks Caleb right in the balls.
“Fuck!” The man doubles over in pain as I grab Valerie by the elbow and spin her around to face me. I glance over at Graham, who’s struggling to hold James back. He’s seething, but with me being unchained, he keeps his distance, knowing not to fuck with me. He doesn’t have his backup in here yet, but I know it’s coming.
“Valerie, take James and go,” I gruffly order. This is no place for women and children.
“What? No!” She looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind.
“It’s over,” I tell her.
The shock, anxiety, and her anger come to a head, and her eyes well up with tears. “It’s not over. You don’t mean that,” she croaks out in a faint whisper.
I breathe through the pain pounding in my ribs. I hurt like a motherfucker, but my heart is catching the brunt of it. “What I’m trying to tell you is there’s no escape, Valerie. They’ve got me – it’s over.” It finally registers on her face what’s about to go down, with or without her or James being present. “I’d rather you and James not be a witness.”
She shakes her head in denial, whispering, “No.”
“Dad,” James butts in, “you can’t do this. He’s one of the good guys.” James then turns his frantic gaze to Caleb, his voice cracking with emotion, pleading in such a way it’s breaking my heart, “Caleb, you can’t let this happen.” He sounds so sure of his words, and for a fleeting second Caleb flashes a pained expression just before he schools his features. When Caleb says nothing in response, James begs again, but this time with tears in his eyes. “Caleb, you can’t… you just can’t…” he trails off, unable to finish, the horror of it all getting the better of him.
“Enough!” Graham bellows, his v
oice echoing, bouncing off the walls with such clarity even Caleb stiffens. Still having James by the scruff of the neck, he pushes him outside the cell door, and by this time, Caleb is back on his feet and pointing his gun at me again.
James tries to fight, yell, kick, and scream his way back inside the cell in a storm of fury, but it’s no use. He’s not strong enough to fight off his father. Another guard surfaces just in time to take orders from Graham. “Take him to his room, and make sure he can’t get out,” he clips out angrily.
I grit my teeth in anger, watching my son being manhandled as he fights in vain to get free with his sole intent being to free me. Maybe he felt an unspoken connection to me? Is that why he laid so much on the line not only to break me out, but also try and defend me?
He’s dragged off down the hallway, kicking and screaming with futile efforts to break free. I can hear his screams fade the farther away he gets, but it’s obvious his fight hasn’t waned even a tiny bit. My chest constricts in pain, thinking this is the last time I’ll have seen my son alive, and the way he’ll remember me will stick with him for the rest of his life.
Graham then turns his attentions and vexation on Valerie, and it would appear by her stance that she’s going no where. She stoically places her back to my front, trying to protect me. Her bravado has Graham giving pause – an eerie respite amidst the chaos settles over the room. He tilts his head to the side, seemingly thinking for the first time about his wife’s odd behavior and her wanting to protect me.
“Well, fuck,” he says with narrowed eyes, as if he’s come to a conclusion. Graham reaches inside his suit jacket and pulls out his own gun. Valerie backs herself farther into the front of my body and I wince. She’s all up against my cracked ribs. “I should’ve seen the resemblance before now,” he says, waving his gun in front of us. “Is this him? The lover? The bastard who left you pregnant and penniless all those years ago? He asks in an unstable voice, one that makes Valerie’s entire body tremble in fear. “And now come to find out you’ve been fucking him all along!” He roars.
