by Harlow Stone
I let Marnie’s words filter in my ears as I open my phone.
“I need to get back, this only happened not ten minutes ago and I’m behind on my rounds. I’ll call if anything comes up. Gotta go.”
* * *
“Holy fuck, boss!”
I too, am experiencing the same sentiment as Denny as I look at my phone.
“No! Fuck NO!”
I see the picture before I see the link to the video. I hear the commotion around me, but focus on the photo with phone numbers, one being a Chicago area code. I see Jimmy out of my peripheral vision swiping something on Denny’s phone before the image comes to life on the TV in the shop. I take my eyes off of my own phone as I see the same video still on the television.
“It has the same area code as Elle’s burner. Becker didn’t send this,” Ivan says.
“It’s ours, press play Denny,” says Jimmy.
I’m not at all prepared for what I am about to witness. Nor are my men. Ivan clamps a hand down on my shoulder, and I stand, stunned fucking stupid and ready to shed blood.
“Now take it, 76413. You don’t get a name down here, just a number. So show me how much you want to get out of here. And make it good.”
My beautiful woman whimpers, clearly fucking helpless and distraught with what this bastard wants her to do. I see her blood stained face, and some filthy fuck’s hand on her shoulder holding her down.
“Please, I’ll be good. I just want to get out of here. Don’t hit me anymore, please.”
I listen to my girl’s voice, trying to make sense of an emotion I haven’t heard before when Jimmy cuts off my train of thought.
“That’s not Jay, she’s playing him.”
He cuts himself short to finish watching the awful shit playing in front of us. Elle barely finished speaking before the prick grabs her by the jaw, forcing her mouth open.
“Take it, or I’ll fucking keep you down here.”
I’m two steps away from tearing Jimmy’s smart TV off the wall, before I become the proudest fucking man in the history of mankind. Hoots and hollers surround me as I watch my beautiful, smart fucking woman. I should have known what Jimmy did, those scared eyes and that meek voice is not my cold-hearted woman. She won’t cave, and she would never back down. I feel sick to my stomach for thinking so little of her, assuming that she couldn’t handle herself in a place like that.
Always wanting to protect her.
I don’t hide the surge of pride that I feel as I watch her bite down on the sorry excuse this man calls a cock. I also take sick pleasure listening to the howl coming from the guard’s mouth.
He’ll howl like that again; I’ll make sure of it.
I watch the evil in my woman’s eyes when she doesn’t let go. I want to wash that hate and fury out of those beautiful greens but I know it’s what’s keeping her alive right now. She won’t break yet. She’ll hold onto the hate before she allows herself to feel pain. I see the blood running from her mouth and the sick satisfaction on her face before the phone falls to the floor, the video feed lost.
I noticed the time stamp, letting us know it happened no less than thirty minutes ago. I no sooner blink my eyes before Andrei’s phone begins to ring.
“She’s with the medic now. She’ll be safe there.”
I breathe the first sigh of relief in what feels like months, knowing that someone is helping to look after my Elle. I see the last photo she sent; blood running down her face from the beating she took. And blood running out of her mouth from the damage her teeth caused.
I love you, beautiful, and I’m proud of you. Just hang the fuck on.
Chapter Two
Elle
I think back to the song I sang for Ryder. Not to him directly of course, but to the concrete walls in the prison.
Bite your tongue,
Don’t make a scene dear.
Everybody's been here,
At least once before;
But we've been here more.
I made a scene. I also bit down on something that was most certainly not my tongue. And to sum it all up, I have been here before. The déjà vu set in, and is wound so tight you would have sworn rigor mortis had set in as well. I’m not sure how I get myself into these situations. I’m not even sure if perhaps I deserve it or not.
So I stare at the bland, beige walls in the prison infirmary. I don’t hate the beige; it’s better than cold and bare concrete so I’ll take painted walls with windows any day of the week, whatever fucking color you want to paint them.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been laying here. I want to say I blacked out but that’s not true because I remember everything from the time they peeled me off the floor in B-Block to the time they brought me up here. They assumed I was unconscious but for me it was like playing dead. I stayed mute and unfocused as they hefted me up and put me on a stretcher. Now, I just feel like my mind is here but my body is gone, or perhaps it’s vice versa.
I don’t know.
But this is different because I really don’t feel it. Everything is completely numb. I knew I needed to embrace the woman I was months ago—pre Ryder. I also knew I needed to remember everything Brock and Denny had taught me in order to get out alive. I still don’t fear death like I once did, but I’ll be damned if I go out letting someone take advantage of me.
I’m not sure what it was but something happened to me in B-Block, something that didn’t happen the last time I fought back. I’m not sure why this time is any different but the only thing I can think of is that I’ve been here before.
I’ve been in this bed, with bandages on my face.
I’ve been beat down, slightly broken and used up.
I’ve been in this room, which stinks of latex and antiseptic.
I’ve been here before.
I am by no means in the poor shape I once was. Not on the outside anyway. I haven’t moved my body in hours but I know nothing is broken. I also know that only five stitches were sewn into my purchased face.
The nurse was not mean to me, nor was the doctor. They were straight and to the point. They asked me if I thought anything else was wrong with me besides what was visible, to which I shook my head in the negative.
They asked me if I was sexually assaulted to which I also shook my head in the negative, after the doctor’s eyes motioned to my lower half. After cleaning my face up and giving me a new clean, nondescript cotton shirt, much the same as the one I had on, they stitched up my face. The final question was if I needed any pain medication or wished to talk to a counselor, to which I once again shook my head.
I have not spoken, nor do I intend to.
I’m done with people. Or at least the people in here. I played my part; I was kind, I did not act out in any way, nor did I give anyone the excuse to treat me poorly.
Yet here I am.
Of course it’s not entirely the fault of the people here, I know Becker had to have pulled some of those strings. I also know that Braumer most likely has that sick, god awful smirk on his face. The one I plan to remove at my earliest convenience.
The fat fuck wouldn’t even see it coming—he sure as shit deserves it too.
So here I lie; staring at the wall refusing to close my eyes, and waiting.
For what? I don’t know.
I just know that something is coming.
And it’s going be big.
* * *
Ryder
I’ve paced these floors since last night when the video came in. I haven’t slept, nor do I want to.
I’m waiting.
I haven’t heard much else from Andrei’s contacts. Or I guess I should say we haven’t, but it means little to me. All I know is that she’s still in the infirmary; they assume she’s in shock, but other than that she’s safe.
Andrei made arrangements with his contact to find more good people in the prison to look after Elle. He knew two before, but that’s not enough for when shift change rolls around. I also know that the fucker whose dick she near
bit off—Stratus—was shipped to the men’s wing of the prison to be looked after, and when there wasn’t anything they could do for him there, he was transported to a nearby hospital which was better equipped to sew his sorry cock back together.
I look at the clock. 11:59 a.m.
My men watch as I press a few buttons on my phone to make the call. If there’s any victory made in the last twelve hours, this is it. I knew I couldn’t call him last night; he’d be on a plane. I listen to it ring before his haughty voice comes on the line.
“Callaghan, I’m assuming you’re arranging a time to meet? I must say I’m surprised, I figured you would be greeting me at my office.”
I take a deep breath, reveling in the fact that this should be the last time I ever speak to this fucking prick again.
“The Chicago Tribune gets a lot of online readers. The reason I’m telling you this is because today’s paper gets set to print the night before so it was a little hard to get the story in on time.”
I hear the prick huff on the other end of the line before he says, “Ryder, really? We’re back to this? One phone call and…”
I cut him off. “And nothing! Your time’s up Becker. I’m guessing right about now those lights on your phone are going to start lighting up along with your reputation. Albeit not in a good way, in a go down in fucking flames sort of way.
“I told you I don’t do well when people fuck with me or my woman, and this is where we are. The reason all those lights are flashing is because The Tribune, along with the Daily Post, are running a nooner Becker. And by nooner I don’t just mean the ones you partook in with the overpriced pussy from Tenth Avenue; I mean it’s an online exclusive that was set to release while all of your Armani wearing, gavel rearing, golf club sporting pricks could enjoy it over a single malt while eating lunch at The Regency.”
I hear commotion in the background, his office door opening, and his too-young-to-be-fucked-by-the-old-bastard’s secretary harping in the distance.
“You’re done,” he says in a gruff voice.
“No Becker. You are.”
I hang up the phone and stuff it my pocket.
I know he bought the judge on Elle’s case, but there’s no paper trail yet so I can’t prove it. Either way that judge would be extremely fucking stupid to take on a favor from a ruined Mayor at this point.
Becker’s out of the game.
Now I gotta get my girl.
Chapter Three
Elle—present day
I hear the door opening and closing but I rarely look at who comes in. I know their footsteps now. I’ve been lying in this bed for two days. I’ve gotten up to go to the bathroom because never again in my life do I wish to piss myself. But aside from that venture, that’s it.
They put an IV in my arm because I refused to eat. Not because I don’t need food but because I don’t want anything else in my mouth. I feel like I would be sick if I tried to eat anything so I don’t bother, not yet anyway.
Since I know their footsteps, I know that along with the nurse, who I’ve labeled ‘Susan’ because she looks like a Susan, there is someone else with her. I don’t turn around, nor do I look away from the wall when I see the Armani suit pants and Italian leather shoes come into my line of sight. I also know who it is because I remember his cologne. It’s nice, understated.
A chair is pulled up and he tugs on his pant legs before he takes a seat, putting his face level with mine.
Andrei Patrov studies me. I watch the lines between his eyebrows appear—a sign of his dissatisfaction at what has become of me. I also watch as something that wouldn’t be described as pity but more like appreciation crosses his face.
“I cannot say that I have ever met a woman such as you. What I can say is that not only am I fascinated by what you can do in a dire situation, I am inspired by you.”
I’m mildly surprised by Andrei’s words, and I don’t get a chance to reflect before he continues.
“I will not lie to you and say that I see woman as strong creatures because for the better part of my life I have seen weak ones. In my eyes and in my experience, woman are to be looked after and cared for, never allowing them a moment to break a nail or harm a hair on their head. I am dominant by nature, but that does not mean that I do not respect them.
“That being said, you have given me a whole new perspective. You, for lack of a better term are a fighter, Jayne. And I promise to you I will fight just as hard to look after you. I also promise many other things which cannot be discussed in the room because I cannot guarantee that it is secure.”
He leans close, gaining my eye contact, saying no words. I know what he means so I give him a small gesture with a head movement.
“I will see you out of here. I promise you this.”
His accent is thick and I don’t mistake the gruffness. He’s at his end with patience and I know that justice will be served.
Outside of the law.
* * *
Denny
I watch Bonnie MacIntosh, the woman responsible for putting Elle in jail, leave her apartment for the tenth time in the past few days.
I guess I shouldn’t call her responsible. It was Braumer who paid her, but it was most likely Becker who footed the bill in the first place. Either way, she’s in and out a lot today. It started last night when she left for work at a local coffee shop where she waits tables. She got in around eleven last night and left again this morning at seven to head to a mom and pop breakfast place where she also waits tables.
I’ve been watching her on and off for three days now, alternating shifts with Ivan. It’s not as exciting as some of the other jobs we’ve been on but she’s not hard to look at. She’s a petite woman. From the info Cabe gave me, her medical file, I know she’s five-foot-four and roughly 120 lbs. She’s healthy; no record of drug use although she’s been charged twice for possession.
She’s had six jobs in the past fourteen months and seems to spend every moment she can with her two-year-old son. She has long russet hair and olive skin. Most likely, she has a bit of Italian in her. Those big, sky-blue eyes suggest that one of her parents is not at all Italian but maybe Irish.
She has a small nose and high cheekbones.
She’s beautiful.
I wouldn’t have called her that three days ago because even I know ugly lies beneath a shiny exterior. But something is amiss here. This woman is not a bad person, nor would she harm anyone. I watched her help an elderly woman carry her groceries into the building. I also watched her at work while she smiled and goofed off with a few young children at one of her tables.
I haven’t seen Braumer or any of Becker’s men approach her. I’m also fucking good at what I do so I know I didn’t miss anything. I could miss a phone call but that’s being taken care of on Cabe’s end. If she called or got a call, we would know about it. So far it’s only been from her place of work, and an out of province call, which we figured out was a family member.
I grab my vibrating phone out of the cup holder and answer Ryder’s call.
“Boss?”
He hates when we greet him that way but that’s what he is so we don’t stop. Ryder treats us all like brothers, family. So he has a hard time getting used to it.
“Time to move. Court is less than twenty-four hours. Break her down and get some answers. But do it quietly, Denny.”
“Ten-four, boss.”
I hang up my phone to extract my orders. Bonnie’s roommate works eight to four. It’s only eleven. I have five hours to get my answers from the woman with the sky-blue eyes.
I won’t fail.
Chapter Four
Ryder
“It’s been thirty-six hours Patrov! Thirty-six!”
He leans across Jimmy’s table, the one we sat around almost two nights ago when the video came in. He’s more relaxed than I like to see and that pisses me the fuck off. I haven’t slept, I’ve barely eaten. I’ve paced this shop from top to bottom and back again. It’s not often that I lose
my shit.
Correction, I never lose my shit.
But I’ve never cared for someone as much as I do Elle, and I’m having one fuck of a time trying to keep my shit checked.
“Callaghan, she’s safe. That’s all that matters because at this point, as well as thirty-six hours ago, it is the only thing we can hope for. In three hours, we will see her at the courthouse. I’m here because we need to go over a few things before we get there.”
