Reparation of Sin: A Sovereign Sons Novel

by Zavarelli, A.

  "You think I gave them to her intentionally, to kill herself," Mercedes says. "That's why you came here."

  "It isn't out of the realm of possibility," I reply sharply. "I need to know what other schemes you may have left unfinished."

  She casts her eyes to the floor to hide the tears she's fighting back. And after a moment, she regains her composure enough to look up at me again.

  "I didn't have any other schemes, Santi. I gave her the aspirin for pain. That was my only intention. I never meant to hurt your precious wife or child."

  The last of her words are colored with bitterness, and I know it's because she feels like she's losing me. The only family she has left. I knew she would not bear the news gladly, but it bothers me more than it should. I consider offering her my assurances that she will always be my family, but how can I? After what she has done, how can I ever trust her again?

  "For your sake, I hope that isn't another lie," I answer.

  She crosses her arms and casts her eyes to the floor, closing herself off. Clearly, we are both finished with this conversation, and I think it is best to leave any other pleasantries for a time we might actually mean them.

  I turn to go, Judge by my side. But when we reach the hall, Mercedes calls after us.

  "Goddammit. Wait a second. I have something to tell you."

  I turn slowly, weary this might be another confession. Another trap she's set. Another threat to my wife.

  "I'm not telling you for Ivy's sake," she clips out. "I'm telling you because I want to show you that you can trust me."

  "What is it?" I demand.

  She hesitates again, shifting her weight as she glances at Judge as if to seek his approval. He nods at her, and she returns her gaze to mine.

  "It's about Chambers," she says. "That doctor."

  "What about him?"

  She glances briefly at Judge again, and then back to me. "After the poisoning, when you mentioned Abel, and the pieces started falling into place, I was following him. I wanted to see how he was involved. And there were a few times I followed him to a storage unit. I figured there must be something in it. A reason he'd keep going back there. So, I broke into it."

  Judge and I are both glowering at her when he speaks up.

  "What the hell were you thinking?"

  "I had to see for myself," she bites out. "It could have been nothing. But it wasn't."

  "What was in the storage unit?" I ask.

  She dips her head down and shrugs. "A bunch of file boxes. Papers. They all belonged to Chambers."

  Judge and I glance at each other as an idea begins to take shape in my mind.

  "That wasn't it," Mercedes continues on. "There was something else."

  "What?" Judge asks.

  "In the back of the unit, beneath a tarp, there was a rolled-up blanket. It was bloody, and when I picked it up to look at it, a wallet fell out. It belonged to Chambers."

  My blood runs cold as the weight of her words settle over me, casting an accusation that can't be refuted.

  "He's dangerous, Santi." She looks at me. "And I overheard him say something on the phone. Something I can’t stop thinking about.”

  "What was it?" I rasp.

  "He said he would sooner rot than let you impregnate Ivy. And if you did, he would cut the baby out of her himself.”

  35

  Ivy

  I’m still shivering hours after Santiago left. I feel so cold. Did he only marry me to gain physical custody of me? To have me within his home, within his power to do with me as he pleased?

  Why am I asking the question? I know the answer.

  “Your body will be a healthy host for my child.”

  My mind is still reeling. I’m pregnant with his baby.

  His.

  I didn’t miss the fact that not once did he say it was our baby. I am a host. A body. A thing to breed.

  The nurse pokes her head inside and warily searches the room. She smiles and pushes the door all the way open when she sees I’m alone.

  “How are you feeling, love? I’m glad to see you ate all your breakfast.”

  “Am I really pregnant?” I ask her.

  She smiles warmly. “Yes, just a few weeks, but you have a strong baby in there.” Her expression changes, pity creeping into it. “You know we have psychologists on staff. They’re approved by The Society so your husband can rest assured—”

  “I’m in a Society hospital?”

  She looks confused.

  I shake my head. “Never mind.” Of course, I am. I am where Santiago can and will control everything. “Can we take this off?” I gesture to the IV.

  “That’s why I’m here. Now that you’re up and feeling better, you’ll be sure to eat and drink to feed that little baby of yours.”

  I nod, and she gets to work.

  “The doctor will release you as soon as he’s here in a few hours. Mr. De La Rosa is anxious to have you home.” She glances at me momentarily when she says that part and finishes taking the needle out of my arm.

  I look around the room. “Can I call my sister?” I ask her. “I don’t have my cell phone…” I trail off, and it’s not really a lie. I don’t have my cell phone. Or any cell phone.

  “Oh.” She looks around too. “They must have taken the phone out when cleaning. I’ll tell you what,” she says, reaching into her pocket. “Use mine. It’ll be easier than tracking down the one that belongs in here. It’s not one of the fancy ones, but it works just fine.” She hands it to me and cleans up the last of the bandages. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Let me get these things sorted and pick up your lunch.”

  “Thank you,” I say, trying not to sound too anxious as I flip her phone open. It’s one of the ones my dad used to have when I was little.

  As soon as she’s gone, I dial Abel’s cell phone, hoping he’ll pick up even though he won’t recognize the number. When I hear the click as he does, I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “Yes?” he answers short and sharp.

  “Abel. It’s me. Ivy.”

  “Ivy? What number is this?”

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s not mine. I…I’m in the hospital.”

  “What?” There’s an urgency in his tone I don’t expect. “What did he do to you?”

  I don’t want to tell him about the aspirin. I feel too ashamed. And I can’t stand the thought that he’ll call me weak. I am. I know it already.

  “Ivy?”

  “I’m pregnant, Abel.” I hold back a sob when the words spill out, my throat tight. Pregnant. I know if I go back to that house, I will be Santiago’s prisoner forever. And my forever may not be that long. Is that the silver lining?

  I hear something crash on Abel’s end of the phone.

  “Abel? Can you hear me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I really need your help now. Okay?” I can’t help the tears that flow, and I know he hears them, but I go on before he can say anything. “I can’t go back there. I’m a prisoner. I’ll die. I know I will.”

  “I’m assuming you’re at The Society hospital?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know your room number?”

  I shake my head. “No. Let me go see.” I push the blanket aside and swing my legs off the bed. I move slowly, not trusting my limbs, feeling so weak. My legs are bare beneath the gown, and the floor is cold under my feet. I pad across the room to open the door, and the first thing I see is a man leaning against the opposite wall talking to a nurse. The moment he sees me, he straightens, his expression changing, darkening.

  Santiago has a guard watching me.

  I slip back inside and lean my forehead against the door

  “Ivy? What the fuck is going on?”

  I force myself to breathe. Try to calm my heart rate. “I’m on the fifth floor,” I say, having seen the number of the room across from mine. “I don’t know the number, but it’s across from 566. Abel, there’s a guard outside.”

  “Okay. I need to think.”

  I walk back toward the bed and sit down, my toes barely grazing the floor. I feel like a child. Like a scared little girl and I think about how Hazel left. How she managed to stay gone.

  “Please, I can’t go back. I would rather die.” I wipe the back of my hand across my eyes.

  “Just give me a little time. Can I call you back at this number?”

  “I don’t think so. The nurse—”

  “It’s fine. I’ll figure something out.”

  “How?”

  He snorts. “Your husband isn’t the only one with connections. Sit tight, little sister.” With that, he disconnects, and I’m left holding the phone, wondering about the last part. Little sister. It sounded almost affectionate, and I have to remind myself that this is Abel. He hates me.

  But he hates Santiago more.

  * * *

  I’ve almost given up on Abel when, two hours later, there’s a knock on my door, and I sit up to see Evangeline’s face peer inside.

  “Eva!”

  “Knock, knock,” she says, slipping in and coming to me. I hug her so tight I don’t ever want to let her go. It’s been so long. Months.

  “Eva, where’s Abel?” I ask when she pulls the chair Santiago had sat in up to the bed and glances to the door.

  “He sent me. He thought they wouldn’t let him in to see you, but I’m just a kid.” She shrugs her shoulder with a wide grin. She reaches into her small backpack, pulls out a couple of Snickers bars, and sets them on the nightstand. “Hospital food sucks, right? And you got skinny.”

  Her expression falters. I see worry. And I find I can’t speak without crying.

  She glances back at the door. “The guard is at the door, but he’s flirting with some of the nurses. Your car’s outside,” she whispers. “At the back of the lot.”

  “My car?”

  She nods, slips her hand in her pocket, and pulls out a familiar keychain.

  I smile.

  She puts it back in the pocket. “Can I use the bathroom real quick?”

  I nod. “Over there.”

  "BRB,” she says almost cheerily. She goes into the bathroom. I wonder what’s going on when a few minutes later, she returns and when she does, I notice instead of the bulky sweater and jeans she had on when she walked in here, she’s wearing a pair of black leggings and a Henley.

  “I didn’t figure you’d want to leave in a hospital gown,” she says.

  “You thought of everything.”

  “It was Abel mostly. Shocking.”

  “Is he outside?”

  She shakes her head. “He dropped me off down the street just in case. You probably want to get going. Abel left an address to a safe house in the glove compartment. And there’s a cell phone in the car. Maybe you can call me when you get out of here?”

  “A safe house?”

  She nods. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you don’t look good, Ivy.”

  “I’ll be okay,” I tell her. “The guard?”

  “Go get changed. When you’re ready, I’ll cause some commotion. Pull a fire alarm maybe. I’ve always wanted to do that. When you get out, make a left out of the room. The stairs at the end of the hall are unlocked.” She studies me. “Do you think you can get there on your own?”

  “I don’t look that bad, do I?”

  “No, of course not,” she says, her voice a little too high. It’s a lie. I must look like hell. “But we should hurry probably.”

  I get up, and while my sister stands guard, I enter the bathroom and change into the clothes she brought, thinking there’s no way this will work. And even if it does, Santiago will find me. Even if I get out of the hospital or manage to get to the safe house, he won’t just let me walk away. Especially not now. But maybe I have to trust my brother. Maybe he’ll come through, and finally, do the right thing for us. His family.

  I think about Dad. Wonder where he is. How he is.

  “Ivy?” My sister knocks.

  “I’m ready,” I say, slipping my feet into the ballet slippers she brought.

  “You look better already,” she says and hurries to the nightstand. “Don’t forget the Snickers.” I have to laugh when she shoves them into my pockets, then pulls me in for a hug. “Please call me as soon as you’re at the safe house, okay? Please don’t forget.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  “Give me a two-minute head start.”

  “Okay.”

  With that, she hurries out of my room and, on cue, not two minutes later, the fire alarm rings, and I hear the confusion in the hallway. I give it another minute before opening the door, and when I see the guard who was standing outside earlier with his back turned, I step out of my room. It takes all I have to walk, not run toward the exit sign marking the stairwell, and slip through the door and out of sight.

  36

  Ivy

  I don’t breathe a sigh of relief until I’m sitting in the driver’s seat of my car, the door locked, my shaking hands over my pounding heart.

  I’m out. I made it.

  And now I need to move. If they haven’t already noticed that I’m gone, they will soon enough, and Santiago will send an army after me. But before I reach over to open the glove box, I take a moment to look down at my stomach. It’s still flat, and I put my hands over it, not really believing that I’m pregnant just yet. Not quite processing the fact.

  Which makes it so much more important that I hurry now.

  It takes a little wiggling of the handle to open the glove compartment. It always did get stuck. And when I do, and the contents spill out onto the floor of the passenger side, I’m momentarily stunned. Because there along with a sheet of paper upon which I see Abel’s hurried scrawl, the three hundred-dollar bills, and the phone is a small, black pistol.

  I look at it. I’ve never seen one in person before, only on TV. I’ve never touched one.

  Reaching down now, I pick it up and feel the weight of it, the cool steel hard and deadly in my hands. Does he think I would use this? Would I?

  No.

  Even if Santiago found me, I wouldn’t. It makes no sense for Abel to have given it to me.

  I quickly shove it back into the glove box and close it, then bend to pick up the rest of the things. I fold the bills and set them in the cup holder with the phone on top. I then read the address Abel wrote out. I’m surprised because I know the town. It’s about twenty minutes from my apartment at school.

  Strange.

  But I set the piece of paper aside and put the key into the ignition, remembering the hiccup the car always makes before the engine turns over. The familiarity makes me smile. Takes me at least momentarily to a different time, a different place. A different life.

  God. Has it only been months since the night Abel came to bring me back? Only a few months since my life changed so irrevocably?

  I put the car in gear and glance behind me to see people gathering outside as they evacuate the building, and the fire engines with their screeching sirens turn perilously into the parking lot. I try to see if I can find my sister, but there are too many people, and as I glimpse the first of the police cars heading toward the lot, I put my foot on the gas pedal and ease out, trying not to make this appear like a getaway.

  And when I’m on the road, and I watch the police cars turn into the lot, their lights and sirens fading as I get farther away, I breathe a sigh of relief.

  I did it. I got away.

  At least for now.

  The weather changes as I drive the long stretch of highway to Lafayette. I consider driving by my old school, the apartment building, but I find I don’t want to. It’s like that life’s not mine. Was it ever?

  By the time I get to the small, quiet neighborhood, the sky has darkened with storm clouds. I have to drive up and down a few of the streets until I find Raymond Road. The houses are small but quaint in this middle-income neighborhood of Louisiana. They’re each painted a different vibrant color, reminiscent of The Garden District although so obviously not. I find number 13, which is yellow, and as I pull up into the driveway, I wonder at that number. Thirteen. It’s always been unlucky for me.

  But maybe that’s changing.

  My stomach growls as I put the car into park and pull up the emergency brake. It’ll roll down the driveway if I don’t. I then grab the money and the phone along with the car keys and the sheet of paper that contains the address and head up to the yellow house with the dark windows.

  Although it’s quiet, I can hear the road from here. It makes me think of how still Santiago’s house is. How deadly silent.

  It feels so far away now.

  Once I get up to the porch, I see the electronic keypad, which is strange. It’s too high-end to fit here. It would be more appropriate for The Manor. I shake off the thought and punch in the code Abel had written under the address, grateful when I hear the sound of the door unlocking and a green light blinks.

  I push the door open and step into the dark house. I feel for the light switch and turn it on before I close the door behind me. As soon as I do, I hear the lock re-engage.

  Setting the car keys on the table beside the door, I shove the paper with the entry code into my pocket and enter the foreign space. It’s obvious from the stale air and sparse mismatch of furnishings—a couch, a coffee table littered with newspapers and junk, and one chair—no one lives here. No table in the small dining room. The kitchen is the size of my bathroom at Santiago’s house. I open the refrigerator to find a couple of takeout containers of spoiled food. I leave them but grab a bottle of water of which there are plenty stacked, taking up two of the shelves.

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