Irresistible Attraction (Merciless World Book 2)

by W Winters

  I finally find a drawer that’s mostly empty; it only houses two pairs of jeans I’m able to put in his undershirt drawer, which is filled with white and black cotton undershirts… and now two pairs of jeans.

  All of my things don’t even fill the drawer: two pairs of PJs, a pair of sweats, a pair of jeans and a few tops. It’s everything that was in my clean laundry basket. I have a closet full of clothes, but I wear these garments over and over again. What can I say? I like what I like and I damn well like to be comfortable.

  The toiletries are next, but there’s not a space in the medicine cabinet, nor under the sink. I’m able to clear room in the linen closet and shamelessly rearrange what was under the cabinet, putting most of it in the closet and finding a place for my own things there.

  A tightness starts in my abdomen and works its way up every time I peek at the medicine cabinet. The pills are still at my house; the ones I stole from Jase. That’s the only spot available to put anything in there, but I don’t bother to touch anything else in that cabinet.

  All in all, I waste about an hour. That’s all the time I could fill. Then I’m back to staring at the doorknob, wondering when Jase will be back, wondering if I should leave, if I should go. All the wondering that drives me mad.

  The clouds shift behind me, as does the faint light in the room. A band of white light shines across the room until it lands on my purse. It’s only then that I realize my phone is probably dead since I haven’t charged it.

  As I’m rummaging for it, I take out The Coverless Book. I have no right to feel betrayed by it, but I do. Jase’s charger on his nightstand works for my phone and once it comes to life, I stare at a blank screen. No missed calls and no missed texts.

  I call the Center, keeping the phone plugged in and sitting on the edge of Jase’s side of the bed. I’m given the voicemail before the second ring occurs. They shunted me there intentionally. If they were just going to ignore me, why bother calling yesterday?

  I listen to the voicemail message far too long before hanging up. I have no one right now. No one.

  The only people waiting for me, are the fictional characters in The Coverless Book.

  Jase

  I could hardly focus on the update from Carter this morning. Romano’s planning something judging by how he’s moving storage units and Carter thinks he might take off, so we have to strike now if we want a chance at getting him before he leaves. He said Officer Walsh has members of the FBI in town, something about them being involved with Romano’s indictment. They’re all over him and watching his every move, which makes it impossible for us to do a damn thing.

  I couldn’t focus on anything he was telling me in his office. All I could think about was how Bethany had wrapped her arms around me in the middle of her sleep. She clung to me without knowing, nestling her head against my chest. I could live a thousand lives in that single moment.

  All I could picture was how serene she looked in her sleep. All throughout the conversation with Carter and all throughout the drive to the club.

  If she knew her sister was still alive, she wouldn’t sleep like that. If she finds out I knew and I didn’t tell her, she wouldn’t cling to me like she had last night.

  I only have one lead that could change the course of where this is all going. One chance, one moment, to hold on to Bethany like I want to. One lead, who’s waiting for me just beyond the glowing red lights of the sign ahead of me.

  The Red Room isn’t just a cover. It’s not just for laundering and meetups. Just like the storage shed behind it isn’t exactly what it looks like. It’s inconspicuous, large and organized with wide open spaces. Everything clearly seen on first glance when you walk into the storage shed which measures forty feet on each side. I demand it be kept clean and tidy. So anyone looking for any hint of it being anything other than a place to keep the extra bottles of liquor and tables would know at first glance there’s nothing else here.

  Unless they opened the safe and found the secret door in the back of it. It leads to a winding iron staircase, down to a long hall in the basement with a vault door to a room.

  The skinny hallway that leads to the room reminds me of the old warehouse I’d sneak off to when I was a boy. Back when I needed to be alone and get away. It was quiet, and offered the comfort of both safety and a place to simply be alone.

  The room in that basement exists for one purpose. And one purpose only.

  The men who find themselves here aren’t feeling the security I did when I was younger and hiding in the warehouse.

  No, the men who end up in this room are here to die, although they would say and do anything to believe that they’ll get out of here still breathing.

  The vault door opens with a slow, plaintive cry. It’s heavy and made of thick steel. With Seth behind me, we enter the room comprised of four smooth concrete walls. It’s soundproof and the floors are made of steel grids with a drain in the center of the room.

  There’s no furniture in the room, save an old iron chair bolted to the floor over the drain. I bring everything I need with me each time.

  This time I’ve brought a pair of hedge clippers, the kind most people use for their gardens. They’re in my back pocket, as is my pocket knife.

  The muffled screams that come from behind the balled cloth in Luke Stevens’s mouth fill the room as the two of us walk in.

  His skin’s paler and almost gray in this light than it was in the video we had of him and another man talking about where Marcus wanted Jenny Parks delivered. That’s the word that came out of his mouth. Delivered. As if she were only an object to be shipped off.

  The steel cuffs leave bright red marks around his wrists and ankles, along with a trail of dried blood as he wrestles with his restraints, still screaming. Like it would do him any good to fight.

  My nostrils flare with the stench of piss in the damp underground as I get a few feet from him and then look to my right to ask Seth, “How long?”

  “Twelve hours now.”

  He stands closer to the prisoner than I do. We have a system that works. When something works, you don’t fuck it up. He knows that and he stands where he always does, just behind the subject of our interrogation, where he can’t be seen.

  Crouching in front of Luke, a man who may know where Jenny is, I look into his dark eyes, taking in how dilated they are. Wondering what the hell he’s on.

  “You think twelve hours is enough?” I ask Seth and he shrugs. Luke struggles to look behind him, and his ass comes off the chair just slightly, but the chain wrapped around his waist keeps him down.

  Standing up straighter, I pull the clippers from my back pocket and unlock them to look at the blade. “They’re dull,” I comment as if I didn’t notice before.

  “They’ll still work,” Seth says and this time he places a hand on either side of the back of the chair, close enough to Luke so our victim notices, but still not touching him.

  I can imagine how Luke’s heart races, how the adrenaline takes over. The fight or flight response failing him and every instinct in his body screaming for him to beg. Just like he’s screaming now, behind the old shirt shoved in his mouth. Seth’s silent and that’s how he’ll stay until I ask him if there’s any reason not to kill the man in the chair.

  “Take it out.” On my command, Seth removes the shirt from Luke’s mouth, ripping the duct tape across his skin in a swift motion. The bright pink skin left behind marks where the tape once laid.

  “I didn’t do it,” Luke screams immediately. Even as the pain tears through him and he’s forced to wince, he continues to plead. “Whatever it is, I didn’t do it. I didn’t fuck with you guys.”

  “Jenny Parks,” I say quietly, and it’s all I say. Realization dawns on the man that he did, in fact, do it. He fucked with us. And it shuts him up, although his bottom lip still quivers.

  There’s a knowing look of fear in his eyes. The lack of an exhale, the stale gaze he gives me. “You know her name.”

  His mouth clo
ses before he speaks and he visibly swallows.

  “Every time you hesitate, I take something from you,” I tell him easily, crouched in front of him and waiting for him to acknowledge what I’ve said.

  The second his mouth opens to speak, I grip his hand, choosing his pointer first. The clank of the cuffs and his protests mix in the damp air that still smells like piss. Seth does his part, shoving the shirt in the man’s mouth as I clamp down on the clippers. My left hand keeps the other fingers bent, stopping them from interfering. My right hand closes the blades around his pointer. The flesh cuts easily; blood flows just as easily as he lets out a high-pitched muffled scream, but the bone I have to break away from the ligament first before it’s cleanly gone.

  I take a half step back, watching the blood pour from where his finger was moments ago. It streams out steadily and more blood creeps from under the metal cuffs that keep him held down as he struggles. Seth keeps his hand over the shirt, and watches Luke’s face turn bright red, struggling to breathe, screaming with everything he has in him.

  His chest heaves. But it never lasts long. The screaming is only temporary. Just like the hesitation and the lies.

  “I’ve done this a few times, Mr. Stevens,” I comment as I wipe the blade on his dark blue denim jeans. Although he’s stopped screaming, the shirt stays where it is. Seth knows to only remove it once I’m ready for the man to speak.

  I let out a heavy exhale and then crouch down in front of him again as I say, “I don’t like to waste my time.” My tone is easy, consoling even as I stare into his bloodshot eyes, noting the desperation that flows from his sweaty skin. I tell him, “I just want answers, and then all of this is over.”

  He tries to shriek through the shirt, his neck craning as he more than likely pleads with Seth to remove the gag. The tendons in his neck tense and he keeps it up, which only pisses me off.

  “We don’t have time for your comments or questions. Now answer mine. Do you know Jenny Parks?”

  With the question asked, Seth removes the rag and the man in the chair stumbles over his words.

  “She’s the girl I took to the bridge.” He does well with the first statement, but then he backtracks and barters. My irritation would show, if I weren’t expecting it. After all, I have done this more than a few times. He started off strong, thinking it was a negotiation, but the tilt of my head changed his tone to one of a beggar.

  “If I tell you everything… will you just let me go? Please! I’ll tell you everything!”

  I stare at the clippers and take in a breath. A single breath waiting for more information and then my gaze moves to Luke, my eyebrows raising in warning.

  He looks to his left quickly, as if anything is there. He tries to get up as if the cuffs had disappeared. What he doesn’t do, is give me the information I need.

  The shirt is shoved back into his mouth and his ring finger goes next, leaving the middle finger on his left hand easily available for the next time I need to prove a point.

  Tears leak from the man’s eyes and his cries turn morbid as he mourns his mistake. I feel… I feel nothing but anger for him. Anger I don’t show.

  “Mr. Stevens, I read your file. You killed your mistress and then your wife. Or no,” I feign a correction as I keep eye contact with Seth, not the man I’m determined to kill tonight. “Was it his wife first and then his mistress?”

  “You’ve got it a little wrong, Boss,” Seth tells me casually, the shirt still balled up in Luke’s mouth, even though he’s only crying, no longer screaming. “It was his sister and then his wife.”

  “No mistress then?”

  Seth shakes his head in time with a sputtering of heaving coughs from Luke. “They stole his dope, or something like that.” I stoop in front of the man and ask him, “Is that right?”

  He’s nodding his head even before the shirt’s taken from him. As the damp cloth leaves his mouth, he nearly chokes trying to speak too soon. With a quick intake of air he explains himself. “They were going to take it all.”

  “Oh,” I say and nod in understanding. “I see.” Again I wipe the blades of the clippers on Luke’s jeans. He glances down and then his head falls back as he tries desperately not to cry again.

  “And you took Jenny Parks.”

  “I didn’t take her!” He shakes his head as he denies what I said. And I wait a fraction of a second for him to explain. Which he does this time, the information flowing from his lips. “She wanted to go to Marcus. I was dropping her off! I was just supposed to drop her off at the bridge!”

  “What bridge?”

  “On Fifth and Park. The overpass.” He nearly says more, but stops himself. With a knowing look I lean forward, but he continues. Just barely in time. “It’s where I do all the drops for Marcus.” His pale skin turns nearly white and his voice lowers. “Every three weeks or so, I have a pickup from out of state and a drop-off at the bridge. He gives an address. I go, pick up the unmarked package and drop it off at the bridge. A few weeks ago, he gave a name instead of an address. He told me to go to her, and to tell her Marcus was ready.”

  I can feel my brow pinch and a crease deepen in my forehead as I ask, “Do you know what he wanted with her?”

  “No!” His head shakes violently with the answer. “I just had to pick her up and drop her off. That’s all!”

  “And what about the other drops?” I question him. “You ever take a peek at what’s inside?”

  Instead of answering, he swallows. Poor fucker.

  His cry this time isn’t at all like the last two. Seth covers his mouth as Luke’s head falls back, and his middle finger drops to the grated floor alongside the other two severed extremities.

  “Please, please.” I know that’s what he’s saying behind the gag. Please, stop. I’ve heard it so many times in my life.

  But in this world, there is no stopping.

  I take a moment, wondering how he killed his wife. How he looked her in the eyes and stabbed her to death. Fourteen stab wounds. His sister was a gunshot to the back of the head. That one, that type of kill sounds like someone who stole from him. But fourteen stab wounds… that’s anger. The twin sister of passion.

  When Seth removes the shirt, Luke’s head hangs heavy in front of him. He sucks in air like he’s been going without it for too long. I could change that, but that’s not in my favor.

  “I want answers, Luke.”

  “Drugs. Lots of them. That’s what the packages were.”

  “What kind of drugs?” I ask and for the first time, I grit my teeth, letting him hear the frustration.

  He doesn’t answer immediately and I stand up straighter, quickly gripping the hair at the back of his head and pulling it back so I can bring the clippers to his throat.

  Seth takes a step back and I can feel his eyes on me, knowing this isn’t the way it goes down. I couldn’t give two shits about that right now.

  “Heroin, coke, pot, you name it.” Luke’s answers are strained with his throat stretched out.

  “And sweets?” I ask him.

  The dumb fuck tries to nod and the blade slips across his skin. It’s only a scratch, one he probably can’t even feel with all the other pain rushing through him.

  “Marcus doesn’t need to deal. What’s he doing with it?” I ask as I release him, turning my back to him and taking a few steps away to calm down.

  “I don’t know,” is Luke’s first answer but before I can even fully turn around the words rush out of him. “I think it’s experiments and setups. He needs the drugs for planting them and I think a month or so ago, that deputy who OD’d? I think that was Marcus.”

  He insists he doesn’t know after that, giving examples that he thinks Marcus may be responsible for, but not saying for sure that his guesses are true.

  “You were in it for the money?” I question and to my surprise, the man shakes his head.

  “At first… but then I wanted to be in with him. I wanted a place on his team.”

  The last sentence b
rings a chill to flow over my skin. “His team?”

  Luke nods once. “I wanted to work with him.”

  “Marcus works alone,” I tell him and he actually laughs. It’s a sad, sick kind of laugh that graces his lips for only a fraction of a second, but then he shakes his head, looking me in the eyes. “That’s not what Jenny said. She said he needed her. That she was going to make things right with Marcus.”

  “And what did you think that meant?” I ask him, feeling a frigid bite taking over my limbs. It grows colder and colder.

  “That he was giving her an in to control it all.”

  “Control it all? You think that’s what Marcus does?”

  With hope fleeing Luke’s eyes, he nods. “He has an army.”

  “And you think that’s what Jenny was there for? To be in his army?” I ask him, getting closer to him.

  He nods.

  “Do you know anyone else in his army?”

  He slowly shakes his head. “But she told me that’s what she was doing. She said she was joining his army.”

  An army of men working under Marcus. I share a look with Seth and he shrugs but doesn’t look so sure.

  “I’m not convinced,” I say offhandedly and Luke’s body jolts up as his voice raises. He’s adamant it’s the truth. All the while he continues to spill his thoughts that mean nothing to me, I consider what he’s saying. There’s simply no way Marcus would trust anyone to be involved with his plans.

  “So what’s he doing with Jenny then?” I raise my gaze to the now silent Luke Stevens. “What is he going to do with her?”

  “I don’t know. All I know is that I dropped her off securely. I held up my end of the bargain.”

  “And what did you get in return?” I ask him. He hesitates, but I don’t bother removing anything else from him.

  “Money,” he finally answers. “Four grand.”

  “Is there anything else we should ask him?” I direct my question to Seth, who merely shakes his head before suffocating the man with his shirt.

  Luke fights to breathe, but it’s useless. It takes a few minutes and still Seth keeps the shirt over his face when Luke’s body is motionless for another minute longer.