by W Winters
“Did they break your heart?” I ask her, finally pulling my hand away to look back at her.
“They never had it to break.” She’ll never know what her answer does to me. How much it means but how much it hurts just the same.
I give her a weak smile that I’m not sure she can see in the darkness. “I guess I’ll let them live then.”
She utters the smallest of laughs and says, “Is that why you asked?”
“I don’t know,” I answer her honestly. “I don’t know a lot anymore when I used to know everything.”
“My broken king,” Laura whispers, kissing the dip in my throat.
“My broken queen,” I say in reply, not knowing how true a title that is for her until the words have escaped into the air.
A beep from my phone interrupts the moment. Leaving my scattered thoughts where they are, I kiss her knuckles before removing her hand from where it lays on my chest and reaching over to my phone.
“I have to go, Babygirl.” It’s the notification for the meeting tonight. For what must be done. I plant a kiss on her lips before reminding both myself and her, “Security’s outside.”
“I know,” she answers with a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. The blues of them carry so much depth of emotion as she stares back at me.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“I know.”
I cup her face, feeling her warmth and running my thumb over her kissable lips. “I love you,” I tell her.
“I know. And I love you too.”
I know she does. That’s why I have to do this. Whatever it takes, I’ll do it for her.
It’s almost three a.m. and the bar is just winding down. The music’s off since it’s closing time and the only patrons left are ones who have business outside of liquor consumption.
Anthony is behind the bar. He’s the first one I see, drying glasses with a bright white dishrag as I walk through the front door. The man I want to see has his back to me, seated on a stool just to the right of Anthony. Just like last time. I don’t want this setup to become anything more than what it is. A one-time exchange of information.
With a nod, I give the order for him to move to the other side of the bar. Five men are in the main room right now, with maybe two more in the back. All of them are men who work in this bar, and therefore for the Cross brothers, and then there’s Officer Walsh and myself.
“I was just getting ready to order another,” Walsh comments as I approach. No doubt the sound of my footsteps alerted him. “Do you need a drink too?” he questions, his voice dull. Which is appropriate for the occasion.
He knows exactly what I’m doing. Giving Marcus a firm yes or no. Setting everything into motion, as he likes to say.
The legs of the stool scrape on the ground as I pull it out, taking the one to the left of Walsh. He doesn’t move his pale blue gaze from the back of the bar. The reflection in them shows the rows of colored glasses in front of us.
“I’ll have one with you. Just one, though.”
He nods, swallowing thickly and then motions toward Anthony. His gaze darts between Walsh and me until I nod. He’s a damn good kid, learning quick, but I feel for him. One day, he’ll be in the same place I am. It always comes down to this. Making deals to save the ones you love.
“What are we having?” I ask Walsh even though I see Anthony pull out an amber bottle of what I know is expensive whiskey.
Walsh waves me off and says, “Doesn’t matter. I’m buying.”
The two shots thud on the bar as Anthony sets them down in front of us. Walsh lifts his in salute and I toast mine against his before throwing back the neat whiskey.
“He wasn’t always like this; you know?” Walsh starts, his gaze still focused in front of us. He hasn’t even looked at me yet.
I square my shoulders toward him and that does the trick. His eyes are red, with dark bags underneath. With his dark jeans, a t-shirt with some sort of logo on it, and a black leather jacket, he has the look of a man on the edge. On the edge of losing it all.
“There was a time when we saw eye to eye. When it was only the criminals and men who killed for sport who were on his radar. And then… one case… one case changed everything.”
He holds up two fingers, indicating two shots and I tell him just one. His response is that both are for him.
“It was then that he decided even the smallest of crimes could lead to something horrific that needed to be prevented.”
“What was the case?”
He looks like he’s going to answer me, but instead he puts a shot to his lips, throwing it back and fiddling with the glass.
“It was five years ago. In all fairness, it changed me too.” His gaze turns distant and he tosses back the second shot.
I nearly ask him what Marcus wanted from him at the warehouse. But he slams the shot glass down and then faces me to ask, “Do you have it?”
I can only nod, the temperature of my blood getting hotter and hotter as he holds his hand out, waiting. If I do this, I know there’s no going back. If I don’t, I don’t know that Laura will live and she has to live. She has to make it through this.
“Yeah,” I finally answer him, desperation making me sick to my stomach.
Walsh’s gaze falls slightly, looking something like disappointment when I grab the envelope from my back pocket, folded and creased in half, and hand it to him, although I don’t let go of it.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he questions in a breath just above a whisper, still not looking at me.
“Like he said,” I say as I remember what Marcus told us in that warehouse, “I’m aware of everything I have to lose, and I won’t risk her.” I may hate myself, but if I don’t, I know with everything in me that I’ll lose her. By the hand of the devil named Marcus, or by the hand of God.
So this has to happen.
“You made your choice then?” he asks and attempts to take the thin envelope, so thin it nearly looks empty, but I still can’t let go of it.
“Yeah,” I answer him and finally let go, releasing it and taking the consequences in return.
“Then this is for you,” Walsh says simply, reaching inside of his jacket. I watch the men reach for their guns, but Walsh doesn’t pay attention. He retrieves an envelope, just as thin. “For what it’s worth, I believe him. If he says he can save her, he can and he will.”
I nod at his statement. “I do too,” I confess, my voice turning tight. “It’s the only reason I agreed to this.”
Laura
I’ve never given notice of leave before. I’ve never quit. I hadn’t realized that until just now as I get in my car to go to the Rockford Center and do just that.
It’s all I can think about on the drive there. How much I busted my ass for this job. How it’s my first real job. How much I love it and what I do and my patients.
The roads are icy and even though I’m fully aware of that, I nearly fall on my ass when I open the car door to go in and tell Aiden I have to quit. Shit. My grip on the edge of the door is so tight, I’m able to hoist myself up and grateful the door itself didn’t snap off.
Thump, thump, thump, my heart races along with the wind whipping at my face and destroying the limited effort I put into making my hair look semi-decent.
Just breathe.
In and out, I focus on breathing. The morning air is nippy, but it feels worse than that. Everything just feels wrong. Everything feels off.
“I’m not quitting,” I whisper into the frosty air, the words turning into fog in front of my face.
“This isn’t running and this isn’t giving up.” I finally find my footing and stand up straighter, more relaxed and calm. More sure of myself as I stare at the building I’ve practically lived in for years now.
It’s only a temporary leave, I promise myself.
The damn wind isn’t quite as bad when I finally close the door. The resounding bang of it closing seems too final. It all feels too final as I stand ther
e, so I slip my hands into my pockets and wait. Just for a moment. Nothing in this life is final. I know that, but why does it feel like it is?
Cars drive by the busy road to the right of the center. A few here and a few there, but the parking lot at the Rockford Center is mostly empty.
It’s a Wednesday morning, so no deliveries are scheduled. And with the holidays coming, everyone seems to have already taken a bit of vacation themselves.
It’s slower, colder, and the bitterness of it all is getting to me. Winter isn’t my season. I may have been born in winter, but it doesn’t like me much. And I don’t like it either.
It’s as if everything is smothered, everything depressed in some way during this season. I’m not a fan and neither is my shaky mentality.
Even with my hands in my pockets of my black wool coat, the heaviest coat I have, they’re freezing. So I force myself to move, one step and then another. Tomorrow I’ll find my gloves, wherever I’ve put them.
The thud in my chest doesn’t quit. My boots click on the sidewalk and my heart beats with it. That is until I hear my name, called from my right.
The chill bites down all the way to the bone as I stand there, staring at her vision through the clouded fog of my breath.
“Delilah.” I call out her name but it’s ragged and cut short. I have to clear my throat and this time I walk faster, to the edge of the roundabout at the front of the building where she’s standing.
A mix of emotions overwhelm me but the first is relief that she’s checking in. I will always love my patients. Then quickly the reality comes back, falling like a building that’s collapsed. One floor buckles, then it’s slow for a moment, disbelief kicks in, then the whole damn thing crashes down.
Delilah, Marcus, the threats, the letters. I don’t know what to do but she can’t leave. I can’t let her leave.
“Delilah,” I call out her name louder, her on one side of the street while I’m on the other.
“Miss Roth,” she calls to me and her voice is confident and comes with a recollection of nostalgia. As if we’re old friends.
Her thick red coat falls to her calves, hiding the tops of her leather boots. She always looks like New York. Not just like any New Yorker, but this woman gives off an energy that represents NYC itself. I told her that the first time I met her. That she looked like New York. Even though that night she wasn’t nearly as put together as she is now.
“I was hoping to see you,” she tells me as she gets closer, checking both her right and left side as she crosses the street. One would think she’s a powerful woman, capable and confident. But depression doesn’t know a social status and I can’t tell just from a simple conversation how she’s faring either.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” The words rush out of me as the wind whips by again, blowing strands of my hair into my face. Hers stays where she put it, high in a perfectly arranged bun on the top of her head. All I can think is that she’s seen Marcus. If I could convince her to tell me his full name, or to talk to a sketch artist if she doesn’t know it… if only I could do that, I’m sure it could help. I’ve never been surer of anything.
Her red lips complement her tanned skin and her auburn eyes stare back with the hint of the smile she wears on her feminine face.
“Are you leaving?” I ask her, finding the cold wrap itself around me tighter and tighter as the tip of my nose seems to freeze.
“I was just making an appointment. I didn’t check myself in this time but I thought it’d be wise to come in for a consultation.”
I nod subconsciously, knowing she needs to do that for her prescription as well.
“I—I agree,” I say, forgetting my predicament for a moment. But then I think twice. My place is beside Seth. My place is with him and what he needs. I owe it to him to at least try. “I need your help with something.”
“Can I ask if it’s for professional or personal reasons?” Her question catches me off guard, but only for a moment.
“So you know that personally—”
“That our respective personal worlds are no longer…” she trails off as her smile falters and a flash of a woman I used to know, a woman I used to hold as she cried, flickers in the swirls of amber.
“A dear friend told me how you’re involved now. You know what I know. I don’t have to say it. And I respect him and his wishes. He’s only ever tried to help me. You know that, don’t you? I’m sorry, but I can’t help you if it’s about that.”
“Please, I just need you to tell me who Marcus is or what he looks like. Please, he’s—”
* * *
The smile she gives me doesn’t reach her glossy eyes when she says, “I’ve been told not to speak to you any longer.” Her voice is choked when she cuts me off. “But I am so happy to see you.” She pulls a tissue from her pocket, dabbing at the corner of her eyes and looking to her left and right rather than at me, before telling me she should go.
I’m speechless. I’ve stayed up with her for hours on countless nights by her side while she needed me. I only need this one thing. Just this one and then the man I love won’t keep himself busy, his mind focused on a task this Marcus wants him to do. “Wait,” I call out and grab her wrist, the pain and agony mixing like a potent cocktail with the anguish.
“Marcus. Just tell me who he is. Please, please?” I’m not above begging. “He’s hurting my family.” It’s the truth and she must know it is.
She doesn’t show any reaction, she doesn’t acknowledge what I’ve said, but she does look down slowly at where I’m holding her. As if to warn me that I better let go.
“You know me as a person who wants to see you whole and healthy. Someone who’s kept your secrets.” I let go of her, but her gaze is steady as I continue, the wind turning icy. “But there’s a side of me that comes out when it has to. A side that I hate and a side that I don’t want to come out. I need your help and if I’d had it, so much would have been prevented.”
“Oh, dear girl, none of it would have been prevented. Not a damn bit of it.”
“I killed someone.” I whisper the confession, and I know it’s not lost in the wind because of the sadness that echoes in her eyes. No shock, no fear, only sadness.
“I can’t help you.” That’s all she gives me.
“I can’t let you leave. I need your help,” I say and desperation flutters in my tone.
“You don’t need me…” she says, lowering her voice before she continues knowingly, “a man does.”
“A man I love,” I correct her, raising my voice, and then feel foolish and like a petulant child.
My hand covers my mouth and the fear that I’m going to fail comes over me. She’s really not going to help me. She’s not going to help us.
Before I can explain anything to her, before I can beg her to let me take her out for coffee and could we just talk, she stares into my eyes with a piercing gaze that only comes from a woman who’s been to hell and back.
“Yes, a man you love, a man you’d do anything for and he’d do the same for you… Even things you both know are so very wrong. I know that story. I know it well.” Her eyes are riddled with a mix of emotions as she whispers, “Do you want me to tell you how it ends?”
Her bottom lip trembles and mine does the same as I stare at her, so clearly in agony.
“Please,” I beg her once more.
“He told me not to speak to you,” she says softly, with remorse.
Shaking my head, I turn from her, my head spinning and not knowing what to do. What’s right and wrong. But knowing I have to tell Seth she’s here, I hurt for her the most. It all runs through my mind, every scenario, every fear… until I hear the squeal of tires.
“Laura!” Delilah’s voice is heard so clearly. Everything slows. I don’t realize it’s a car at first. It’s just a blur of red. I didn’t even realize I was in the street.
The roads are icy.
The brakes aren’t working.
Thud. Thud.
My heart s
tops working… the third thud never coming as the car crashes into me and I tumble over it. My thigh hits first, my body’s limp, maybe from shock, I’m not sure. It’s all so cold, so sharply violent.
I know that I tumble over the hood and land on the asphalt, unforgivingly hard. The pain is immediate, but it doesn’t feel real. None of it feels real until I see Delilah standing over me, but looking at something else, someone else, screaming to call an ambulance.
Seth
I used to revel in these moments. The talk of the business, the exchange of money. I wanted to know all the ins and outs of every deal. I craved the power of it all.
But as I sit in this room, Carter’s office in the Cross brothers’ estate, I can’t stand to be here.
My thumb keeps tapping on the hardwood armrest of the walnut chair. My mind keeps racing. I imagine this is what men look like when they have something to hide. Exactly what I look like now. And ever since that warehouse meeting, it’s been getting worse and worse. Every day, I break down more as I come to terms with it. If only I could tell them, but Marcus needs to go through with his promise. I won’t say shit to anyone until she’s healthy and safe.
I’ll do it for her. I’d do anything for her.
“And what about Nikolai? We just let him leave?”
Jase questions Carter about men in the upper west area of our territory. Each section is essentially cut into fourths and the income that comes and goes is analyzed, problems sorted, men, police and drugs alike. I can’t focus on a damn thing.
There isn’t one topic I’ve spoken up about. Not even the bar.
“What happened at the warehouse?” Carter’s deep voice breaks through my racing thoughts. It’s at that moment when my phone rings. I silence it without looking, unable to look away from Carter’s dark gaze as he broods in his chair behind the large desk. Placing it on vibrate, I answer him, “Nothing that concerns you. It was about Laura.”
The sky is white and angry behind him in the large paned windows. It only makes him look that much more foreboding. I don’t fear him; there isn’t anything I fear right now more than losing Laura.
