His Captive

by Zahra Girard

  Son,

  It means a lot to your mother and I to hear from you. We might not see eye to eye on your decisions, we might not ever agree with the life that you’re living, but I want you to know that I respect the intent behind your choices.

  I’m never going to stop trying to remind you of the better things you could be doing with your life. I’m never going to stop loving you, either.

  You’re still my son. Even those times you’re a dumbass. In fact, I think that might just prove you’re even more a Halloran than you think.

  Your mother and I both want you to know that we’re here for you. To talk, to listen, to help if you decide to change the path you’re on.

  It’s been a long time, but we still care. We still love you.

  Mom & Dad

  I set the letter down and I just stare at it. I couldn’t speak if I wanted to. It’s one of those things that just doesn’t seem real.

  I never really expected an answer from them, even with Evelyn’s help. I just wanted to explain things to them before my dad died. That’s all.

  Never expected my dad to listen. Never expected this.

  A chance at forgiveness.

  I’m a killer. I’ve hurt countless people. I do the kind of things that give people PTSD.

  But even I can be forgiven.

  I can have a family. I just need to reach out and take it.

  If I can be forgiven, then why not Evelyn?

  I just need to decide where my heart is. Is it with the MacCailins? Or is it with the woman that I can’t stop thinking about — the woman who, by her own choice, helped me mend fences with my parents? The woman who saw the good inside me?

  I don’t know why I’ve been hesitating over this goddamned question. The answer seems pretty fucking simple to me.

  I grab my guns.

  She’s worth risking it all for.

  Even if it kills me, I’m going to save her.

  Evelyn Thomson is mine. My love. And I’ll kill them all if they try to take her from me.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Evelyn

  I can’t breathe.

  My body won’t let me. It’s already accepted the fact that I’m going to die.

  Every time I inhale, every time my lungs inflate, it’s like nothing happens. The air rushes in, but my lungs don’t do their job. It’s been this way ever since the phone call, and it’s only gotten worse the closer I get to Karen’s.

  I step out of the taxi about a half block from Karen’s house.

  I’ve still got a bit of a walk, but I can’t risk endangering the taxi driver by having him take me right to her door.

  I’ve put enough people in danger today.

  My footfalls echo on the sidewalk. Everything seems louder, more intense. I’m seeing details in the world around me that I never noticed before; cracks in the sidewalk, dewdrops on leaves, all the tiny things that I never paid attention to. It’s like I want to take everything in now that I know it might be the last time I see it.

  Is this what it feels like, knowing you’re going to die?

  Karen’s place is just three houses down.

  My whole lifespan can be measured in feet, now.

  Every step, it’s harder to breathe. My chest is in this vice grip and footfall is another tightening twist.

  Is this what Connor’s victims felt like, right before the end?

  In the end, it all comes down to him.

  He drew me in, he kept me captive, he made me want to stay, he made me surrender, and then, when I thought I’d really trusted that I’d found the good inside of him, he ripped my heart right out of my chest.

  With him, I felt so alive, only to be thrown heart-first into the grave.

  He’s a murderer.

  And I’m just another victim.

  A house away and I wish I could walk slower.

  Stopping, I look around. This isn’t the prettiest neighborhood — Karen and Mark both still have plenty of bills from medical school — but it’s probably the last bit of freedom I’ll have. I try and soak it in because once I step through that door, it’s over.

  I look at the distinctly middle-class yards, the two-storey homes, the family sedans and minivans, the basketball hoops in driveways.

  I smell the crisp air. And the foul stench of whiskey and sweat.

  Wait a second. What?

  I sense him before I see him. Connor. I turn around. Disheveled, a bit grey-complexioned, but still, undeniably, Connor.

  He comes closer, hands in his pockets, a wan smile on his face.

  “Hey, lass,” he says.

  I’m not afraid anymore. I’m angry.

  I storm the short distance between us and I hit him. A fist-clenched, everything-I-got kind of smack right in the face.

  Doesn’t even faze him. Barely makes him turn his head.

  So I do it again.

  Around time number five, he reaches out and seizes me by the wrist.

  “Calm down. You make too much noise and the guys inside Karen’s house will hear you. And neither of us wants that.”

  As much as I hate it — much as I hate everything about him right now — he’s right.

  I lean into him, seeking solace in his embrace. Then I pull back.

  “Why do you smell so bad?” I whisper.

  He really does smell. Like someone doused their used gym clothes with Jameson and left it in their locker over a hot weekend.

  I wrinkle my nose. Then pinch it shut with my fingers.

  “Oh, come on, it’s not that bad,” he says.

  “Connor, it is.”

  “Well, then, do you think Karen will let me use her shower?”

  He says it so nonchalant that it catches me by surprise. Like there’s not a bunch of thugs in my best friends house, about to kill her and her fiance and then me.

  “Huh? What are you talking about?”

  “Because I’m going in there. Do you think she will let me use her shower?”

  Is this for real?

  My head hurts trying to understand him.

  My heart hurts just seeing him.

  It all comes down to him. First, my love. Then, my pain. And now, maybe, my salvation?

  “Why are you going in there?” Somehow I force those words out. I’m afraid of what he’ll say: that he’s here because he’s going to be the ones to finish my friends off, that he wants to be here to support his criminal family as they ruin everything that’s important to me.

  His eyes meet mine and I freeze.

  “I’m here for you, Evelyn. Just you. Because I hurt you. Because you’re far too good for me. Because I need to set things right. I’ll understand if you never want to see me again once this is all over, but I’ll be damned if I let anything happen to you.”

  Turns out I have some tears left in me, because they are running hot down my cheeks as I sob into his chest.

  The last twenty-four hours have been a nightmare and I spent them all feeling like I have no hope, that no matter what happens, this is all going to end in only one way: with me and everyone I care about getting hurt.

  Then, he shows up.

  Maybe this will be ok.

  I trust him. Even though he smells.

  When he puts his arms around me and pulls me into him and I hear murmured words of comfort rumbling in his chest, I could burst with relief.

  “Stay here. Stay out of sight. And don’t come until I call for you,” he says.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Whatever it takes.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Connor

  The front door slides silently on well-oiled hinges.

  It’s not quiet inside. They’re not being cautious. They’re not expecting anyone other than the beautiful brunette outside.

  I can hear them, laughing, stomping around, joking. There’s four of them. They’re in the living room. It’s just down the hall and to the left.

  And Riley’s here. Obviously in charge, giving the occasional o
rder, sounding every bit a MacCailin.

  I wish it was anyone but him. If there’s a good one in the MacCailin family, it’s Riley. But he’s still a MacCailin. And I know he’s going to use this chance to prove himself to his father and his older brothers.

  This isn’t going to be easy.

  It’s a good thing I’m the best.

  I draw my guns. A pistol in each hand.

  I’m not nervous. Killing people, putting my life on the line, that’s what I’m built for.

  My best shot is to be fast. If they have any chance to react, they’ll kill their hostages and I will not allow that to happen to my Evelyn.

  So it’s pretty simple: I’m going to kill them before they see me coming.

  It’s ten steps to the living room.

  Go.

  One breath.

  Two pulls of the trigger sends two bullets into the chests of two men.

  They fall.

  I recognize their faces. I drank beer with them. Shot pool. Said ‘Merry Christmas’ to them every year. Heard about their girlfriends.

  Another breath.

  Two shouts as Riley and the other react.

  Duck. Roll.

  One pull of the trigger and a bullet catches the other man right in the left eye. Dark droplets pepper the wall behind him.

  Karen screams from her spot on the couch. Mark leaps to his feet and charges straight at Riley.

  I shout “get back” but it’s too late as they crash together.

  I storm forward.

  I’m ending this. Now.

  Riley’s gun goes off. Karen screams again, and a crimson mist puffs from Marks shoulder. It’s a through-and-through and the bullet tears into the ceiling of the living room. I rip Mark off Riley.

  He’s mine.

  Riley’s beneath me.

  I lash out with my foot, crunching his face beneath my size eleven heel. And again.

  No one fucks with Evelyn.

  He lets go of his gun, his grip goes limp.

  Kneeling down, pinning him with my knee to his chest, I pat him down, taking two more guns off his person.

  Karen’s still screaming and I catch her eyes with a dead-serious stare.

  “Shut up. Go to the door. Tell Evelyn to come in.”

  There’s a second where she stares at me like I’m a space alien and I’m just not having it.

  I shout at her. “Go. Now.”

  Nodding, she skitters out of the room and I hear the door open and close, followed by frantic chatter in the hall.

  Riley moans underneath me and I punch him again.

  “Sorry, brother,” I mutter.

  If it were anyone else, I’d kill them. It’d be the easier and smarter thing to do, but I can’t do that to Riley. It might be wishful thinking, but I’m hopeful that maybe, given time, he can redeem himself and wake up to the fact that there are better things in life than the MacCailin family business.

  Maybe, one day, he can find himself a nice bear and settle down in a well-decorated, stylish house, and have a good life.

  I move over to check on Mark.

  He’s already putting pressure on his wound, but I look him over all the same.

  He glances up at me. “You the boyfriend?”

  I nod. “I am.”

  “You aware that you smell like shit?”

  I nod again. “Yes. It’s been a rough morning.”

  Mark grunts. “Yeah, I hear ya. Look, I’ll be ok. Bathrooms upstairs, first door on your left. Go take a shower, man. You reek. And feel free to borrow some of my clothes.”

  I can’t help but laugh.

  Then I step away as Karen practically shoulders me aside to kneel down over her husband and check out his wound.

  Turning around, I see Evelyn still in the entryway. I see a million and a half questions all over her bewildered beautiful face.

  “Give me a few minutes, lass. Then you and I will have a talk.”

  * * * * *

  No longer smelling like the ass-end of a dirty hobo, I come back downstairs and find the situation a lot calmer. Karen’s already got Mark’s wound dressed and Evelyn looks like she’s recovered even more.

  But she still looks hurt. And angry.

  I have a lot of making up to do.

  Though right now is not the time. It’s going to take a lot of work to get her out of this mess.

  She shoots me a look. “I suppose you think that I owe you a thank you for saving my friends. Even though this is all your fault.”

  I blink. This is not what I was expecting to hear. “Excuse me? You’re the one who tried to publish that story. Did you think no one would find out? Or that there wouldn’t be any repercussions?”

  My Whiskey Gal marches right up to my face and slaps me. God, I love when she’s got fire in her, like that time in the elevator.

  “Don’t even try and put this on me, Connor. You’re a killer. You should be in jail or dead for everything you’ve done.”

  There’s so much fury in her. And she looks so hot when she’s furious. It’s disorienting.

  “Yeah, damn right I’m a killer, lass. I never tried to hide it from you. I trusted you, told you things that no one else knew about me. And then you sneak out and write your little story and turn everything into a fucking mess. This is on you.”

  Her open palm connects with my face again.

  I love this woman. I hate this woman. God damn, she stirs me up.

  “Talk about trust. You hypocrite. What about what you did at the hospital? Those people you killed?”

  Since when does she care about gangsters?

  “You mean the Russians? They were killers, too. They’d tried to kill me earlier that day. What does it even matter?”

  Killing those guys wasn’t my finest moment, I’ll admit, but as far as dirty things I’ve done, they’re not anywhere near the top of the list.

  “I’m not talking about the Russians,” she yells. “I’m talking about that innocent kid you fucking strangled to death. You killed him, and then right after that, you touched me. You were inside me. Just thinking about it makes me sick.”

  Now it hits me. And so does she.

  The slap barely stings, but her words hurt me deeper than I’ve ever felt before.

  I make her sick?

  Whatever fight I had in me just evaporates.

  I don’t ever want her to feel that way. If she hates me, fine. If she never talks to me again, fine. But to think I make her sick? No way. I can’t have that.

  “That wasn’t me,” I say.

  “You just told me you were there. You just told me you killed people at the hospital. And you expect me to believe that the other murder was just a coincidence?”

  “It wasn’t a coincidence. Yeah, I killed those Russians. I was even supposed to kill that college kid. But I couldn’t. I just kept thinking about how you saw me, how you looked at me like I was a good man instead of just some killer, and I couldn’t do it. I want to be that good man. The kind of man you deserve. So I walked away.”

  There’s a pause. Doubt swirls in her eyes and her next words are so quiet I can barely hear them. “Then what happened? Tell me the truth, Connor.”

  I swallow. Just knowing she’s listening — just knowing I have a chance to gain a little ground with her — is thrilling. “I walked away. I left him there. On the way out, I ran into another one of Lochlan’s men: Eoghan. He’s the one that did it.”

  “Eoghan?”

  “Old man. Dangerous. Just pray you never meet him.”

  There’s commotion outside. The sound of sirens drawing closer. A neighborhood stirring to life as onlookers prepare to gawp through windows and from their front yards.

  I’m surprised it took this long.

  “We need to go,” I say.

  “What?” Evelyn and Karen both say in near-unison.

  Mark just nods. He gets it.

  “Evelyn, do you think you’ll be safe if the cops pick you up? They’re connected to this, too. Whatever s
quad car you wind up in will probably take a detour and you’ll wind up in a dark alley, alone. You’ll be lucky if they kill you quick.”

  Understanding dawns on her beautiful features.

  I turn to Mark. “You’re a pretty tough guy, you did good going after Riley. Were you in the service?”

  He nods. “Combat medic.”

  “Riley won’t talk, so you and Karen control the story. Considering you got shot, it shouldn’t be hard for you to spin this as a home-invasion that you managed to stop. Just keep your stories consistent and you will get out of this. But be ready for a lot of questions — once the cops realize they’ve got a MacCailin, the feds will be all up in this. You’ve got to be keep a level head.”

  “Got it,” he says. His voice is even, calm. He’ll be fine.

  I take Evelyn by the hand and she doesn’t pull back or even tense. It feels so good, just feeling her start to relax around me. “You and I need to get the fuck out of here. Now. I’m on your side in all this, lass, and I’m going to fix this if it takes my last fucking breath. Do you trust me?”

  She takes my hand and looks at me with the barest bit of the affection that used to exist between us. It feels good. Damn good.

  “I trust you.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Evelyn

  There are parts of any city that seem like they’ve just given up existing. They’re deserted. They’re ruined. Like even the rats and roaches that live there are looked down on by the rats and roaches that live in other, nicer parts of Boston.

  Connor takes me to one of those places.

  It’s at one of the many shipyards that line Boston’s waterfront. Though this is the kind of place that would be improved if it sunk under the sea.

  We’ve been silent most of the drive.

  I think it’s because he knows that I’m still trying to process everything — it’s hard, seeing what happened to Karen and Mark, and trying to understand my feelings for Connor, which now seem to be surging back to life.

  Is he good? Or is this just another game to him?

  Though I don’t really believe it’s a game. I look in his eyes and I truly trust him. He’s good, he’s changed, and I know it.

  Once we pull up to this wretched warehouse, he starts talking, like he senses the questions that are tumbling around in my head.