Rough Hard Fierce, Chicago Underground 1-3 (Rough Hard Fierce)

by Skye Warren

  “Reporting a rape is an important matter, Ms. Winters.”

  I said nothing. He shifted closer to the bed.

  “I can see that you’re upset,” he said. “But false accusations of rape have serious implications.”

  I sucked in a breath. False accusations?

  He pushed aside the flimsy paper that clothed me, exposing my breasts. “I wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about you.”

  No, I’d been wrong. There wasn’t any hope.

  He pulled out a condom, speaking calmly while he put it on. “I wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re a slut.”

  She’d been wrong too, the other cop. I wouldn’t be okay.

  “Look at me,” he said. I refused, but his hand firmly turned my head toward him.

  He pulled my face closer, until I looked him right in the eye. I shut my eyes.

  “Nobody likes a tease,” he said. “But don’t worry. I can get you through this.”

  I wanted to die. I prayed that I would, that second, but no one heard me. No one cared.

  It was my fault. It had to be, or why else would this be happening? It didn’t make sense. Make it stop.

  And I thought, then, in the absence of any fucking clue of what to do, I would do as I was told. I’d said no before, and it hadn’t worked. It had only made him angry. With my eyes tightly shut, I opened my mouth to protest, to scream, but nothing came out.

  “That’s right,” he whispered. “I can help you.”

  I tried to open my eyes, but they were weighted shut. No, they were already open; it was just dark in here. It hadn’t been dark when I’d last been awake. What time was it?

  I rustled in the linens. Bed. I was in bed. And it was night.

  Fuck it all to hell.

  That meant Colin would have come home. What had Shelly told him?

  I had to think of some sort of excuse, something Colin would believe. I sure as hell wasn’t telling him the truth, not about what happened today, and not where it had taken my mind. Wouldn’t believe me anyway…

  Don’t think about it. It was too late.

  Chapter Sixteen

  My mouth felt thick, my head too large, and my limbs sluggish. It was all the pain of a hangover but without the bliss of forgetfulness. No, I remembered every fucking detail from earlier today. Even things that hadn’t registered in that strange moment of disconnect came to me now. The smell of the cop’s aftershave, the rasp of the hair on the back of his hands, the harshness of his breaths. Make it stop.

  I had to even my breathing. If I was going to play this off as a stomach bug or something, then I shouldn’t be in the middle of a panic attack. That was it, rational thoughts. Keep breathing.

  Ever the coward, I wondered how long I could stay here. I heard faint clinking in the kitchen—someone was cooking dinner. That was good. Someone had Bailey. Someone was in control of the situation. How long could I lie here before that someone came to find me? It was a very nice cocoon, Colin’s bedroom.

  Staring into the darkness, I heard soft thumps up the steps. Then whispers outside the door. Without moving I tried to make them out.

  “…still sleeping…”

  “…shouldn’t wake…rest.”

  “…been four hours…”

  The door creaked, and a band of yellow light fell across the bed. I shut my eyes. The floor creaked as someone walked toward the bed. I steadied my breathing. The floor creaked again as someone walked out. Then a soft click as the door shut.

  I opened my eyes again to the dark. I couldn’t sleep. I wouldn’t. It would just invite the nightmare back. That was the one that came to me—not what happened with Andrew. And even then it was a rare thing. Usually only after seeing a cop. Sometimes even seeing a cop car would trigger me.

  There’d been a neat row of cop cars when I’d gone to the police station to withdraw my complaint the next week. I’d worried myself into vomiting, thinking I’d have to see him there. But I hadn’t. It had all been very formal, very bureaucratic. There were forms to fill out, and a statement to sign. It had been a misunderstanding, that night with Andrew. I’d been drunk and hadn’t really said no, and so it wasn’t really rape, after all. The cops there, in uniform instead of in a suit like he had been, looked at me blankly. They did not judge me when I was a rape victim, and they did not judge me when I was a false accuser, recanting her statement. They just didn’t care.

  But it was in those days that I’d formed my crazy ideas. Even then I knew they were crazy. All men couldn’t be bad. My dad wasn’t bad, even if he was gone a lot. Besides that, there had to be plenty of examples of good guys if I’d cared to look. But I hadn’t wanted to look, not at all.

  I’d made the decision then never to have sex with a guy. More than that, I wouldn’t even put myself in a situation where I’d be near a guy.

  Then I’d found out I was pregnant. Holy fuck.

  I’d thought about trying to reach Andrew. His dad was a fucker of the worst sort, but he might have Andrew’s phone number or a way to reach him. In the end I didn’t do anything.

  My dad probably guessed who the father was. Andrew had been my best friend, and then he was gone and I was pregnant. It was an age-old story, right? But he never said anything. He just gave me some cash and told me he’d send what he could.

  After I’d had Bailey, it had taken a few months to heal, physically at least. Only after that had I come up with the idea of date nights. I’d thought it ingenious. Now I knew I’d been an idiot.

  I’d hurt myself on those date nights, over and over again.

  It hadn’t been about those guys, not really. They’d been props, whips used for self-flagellation. I thought maybe Shelly’s deals were flays of her own whip and that was troubling, but we’d agreed not to interfere. After they’d let her into the hospital room with me and I’d dry heaved for an hour, she’d apologized to me in whispered tones for making me do this. She hadn’t protested when I’d gone into the police station to withdraw my statement. She hadn’t guessed what had happened, I thought, not then nor ever, but she saw what it did to me. She didn’t understand why, but she didn’t want me to be hurt.

  The cocoon grew stifling. Suddenly I wanted to see people, these people who cared about me, God knew why. I still didn’t know what excuse I would make, but surely I could think of something. I wanted to leech their comfort, their normalcy.

  I descended the stairs, feeling an odd remoteness. There should be pictures here, I thought, as I trailed my finger along the blank stairway wall. At the bottom I found Shelly and Bailey on the couch in the living room, playing a game of cards. I paused there in the corner, watching.

  I knew from experience how Bailey played. We would deal the cards, in whatever number and setup we wanted, and Bailey would grab for the face cards—the kings, queens and jacks—and collect them. I always figured it was a pretty decent strategy for a toddler.

  She’d probably grow up a card shark and best us all. I could only hope as much. Maybe it wasn’t the doctor or president that other moms hoped for, but it was all about power in the end. The money, the respect, and not having to take shit from no one. That power came in different forms in my world, but no less potent.

  A soft clang from the kitchen caught my attention. Colin. I floated past Shelly and Bailey—not sure if they greeted me or not—and leaned against the kitchen door. Colin looked up from the oven, lines of worry on his face. I felt a pang of guilt at that, like someone watching herself be mourned.

  He straightened and came to me. “How are you feeling?”

  It startled me out of my trance, that he could speak to me. Not dead yet after all.

  I had no fake story prepared, no blithe comeback to deliver. In fact, as I opened my mouth to offer one of those practiced platitudes—It’s okay, I’m fine—I found I couldn’t speak at all.

  “Hey.” He pulled me against him in a tight embrace. “Everything will be okay. You’ll be fine.”

  And damn me, even knowing it wa
s a mirage, I believed him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The doorbell rang like a gong in a cavern.

  I shifted on my feet in front of the wide door. Colin stood like a pillar beside me, holding the cobbler. Bailey waved her hand futilely for the doorbell, trying to press it again. Muffled footsteps approached, and then the large carved door swung open, spraying light onto the front step.

  “Won’t you come in?” It was the same guy as before, wearing the same stuffy suit. I wondered if he got days off. What was the pay like for door answering these days?

  He led us down a hallway, past the closed double doors of the study I’d seen before, and into a very large room. A dark, curved leather sectional took up more square footage than my entire old apartment. Low lighting and groups of candles were—what was the word?—ambient. Soft music played in the background, something on the piano. I did a double take. No, there wasn’t music playing, like from a CD. There was a piano player in the corner. Fuck.

  I could see Rose and Shelly seated at a bar at the other side of the room. I trailed behind Colin as we crossed over an inky black floor. Surely it was tile, though I couldn’t see the cracks.

  “Hi, Allie.” Rose smiled and stood, her slinky black dress sliding into place. “I’m so glad you came. Colin. And who’s this little one?”

  “This is Bailey,” I said, looking at her. She promptly shoved her face into my hair, dampening my freshly straightened hair.

  “Aw, that’s okay,” Rose said. “Why don’t you come sit here? What would you like to drink?”

  “Thanks,” I said, scooting onto the bar chair with a clinging Bailey. “Just water.”

  As Rose accepted the cobbler from Colin, I nudged Shelly with my foot.

  “I like your hair,” Shelly said with a smile. More of a smirk, really. She knew how long it took me to straighten it. She also knew I only did it because I so wanted to make a good impression.

  “Bite me,” I muttered but without heat.

  “Don’t worry,” she said softly. “I softened him up for you.”

  I threw her a look. I had no desire to hear the details of that.

  She put up her hands. “Just trying to help.”

  Yeah, yeah, everyone wanted to help. I might just keel over and die from all the goddamn help. I didn’t really mean it, though. I wasn’t mad at Shelly, just nervous as hell. Before we’d left, Colin had told me again that it would be okay, that whatever his brother thought of me didn’t matter. I knew he meant to be reassuring, but that just freaked me out even more. Thinking about them talking about me, about Philip cataloging all my faults for Colin, made me sweat. It wasn’t like it would be hard for Philip to think of ways to put me down.

  “I’m sorry,” I said to Shelly. “I’m a dumb-ass.”

  Colin came to stand next to me, bringing the glass of water Rose poured for me and his own drink. I almost dropped the heavy crystal cup, surprised by its weight, but dug my fingertips into the carved grooves just in time. Even water was different here.

  Shelly gave me a covert sympathetic look that said she understood my nervousness. I wondered if that meant Shelly and Philip had talked about me too. I didn’t doubt Shelly’s loyalty to me, even if she did have to listen to him talk bad about me or even agree with him. It was just odd to think of my best friend and the person who hated me together that way. Me and Colin, Shelly and Philip. This had to be the weirdest double date ever.

  Except it wasn’t, because Rose was here, and just then Philip and Laramie entered the room. I hadn’t expected Laramie to be here, but I supposed he was a friend. It made sense, since he was exposed to the inner workings of Philip’s business. And it made me feel a little better that Colin had entrusted this man with our situation. He wasn’t just a hired guy, but someone who attended a family dinner. Then again, I was here, and Shelly, Philip’s prostitute, was as well, so maybe it didn’t take much.

  “Ah, Allie.” Laramie spoke to me first. “It’s good to meet you again.” He lowered his voice as he shook my hand in both of his. “And congratulations, young lady.”

  “Thank you,” I said, suddenly feeling shy.

  Laramie released my hand, and I was left face-to-face with Philip. “Ms. Winters,” he said distinctly.

  “Please,” I said. “Call me Allie.”

  “Allie.” He grimaced, though I thought it was meant to be a smile. “You made it.”

  Then he turned away and resumed his conversation with Laramie. Damn, that was cold. I noticed he didn’t say he was glad to see me, or that he was happy I could make it. He’d just stated the obvious—I was here. I shifted my gaze to Shelly, who rolled hers.

  “Ignore him,” she said. “That’s what I do.”

  I didn’t think that was true, not at all, but I was reassured that she seemed so blasé about Philip.

  I’d been worried about her, locked up here in a tower like some damsel in distress. I worried that Philip was hurting her, that he was cruel to her, but she didn’t seem hurt or scared, not in the least. She sparkled. She could have been faking it, but I liked to think I knew her well enough to see through that. She seemed at ease here. Not happy, necessarily—had I ever seen her happy?—but content.

  The idea that I could snoop here, that I could spy here, seemed laughable. This place was huge, and the information well secured. They’d given me a glass of water, not the combination to the vault, but I had to try.

  I wasn’t sure whether I would help that asshole cop. I thought not, actually, but knowledge was power, or so said my third-grade teacher. If I at least had the information, I could bargain if it came to that. And there was no doubt in my mind that if it was between me and Philip, or even Colin and Philip, that I’d sell Philip out. I wanted to ingratiate myself with Philip, just for Colin, but not so much that I’d let him endanger my family.

  “Sorry.” I interrupted Philip. Oops. “Bailey made a mess. Could you point me to the bathroom?”

  “Down there.” Rose pointed back where we’d come from. “Third door on the right.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Shelly, can you come help me a sec?”

  Shelly slipped off the bar chair and grabbed the diaper bag. She wasn’t even surprised, probably expecting some sort of scoop. Well, she’d get it and then some.

  I’d thought we could slip into one of the other rooms to talk, but it turned out my request for her to join us wasn’t as ridiculous as I’d thought. This bathroom didn’t have a bathtub or shower. Instead it had several sinks spread across a long counter, a love seat, and a door opening to a toilet. It was like the bathroom at the swanky mall, before it had gotten ghetto.

  “What’s up?” she asked.

  I sat Bailey on the love seat and handed her the tube of diaper rash cream to occupy her while I told Shelly what the cop had said. I left out the part about the groping, but Shelly was a smart girl. She’d put together his visit with my breakdown yesterday. She still may not know why exactly, but it probably wouldn’t take her long to connect it back to that time in the hospital either.

  Shelly shook her head. “You’re crazy, sweetheart.”

  “I know,” I agreed. “But I have to do something. Colin doesn’t keep anything around the house.” I knew that, not from snooping but just from trying to do a kick-ass job at cleaning. There weren’t any papers in the study. The computer was password protected, and I wasn’t so skilled a spy that I could break into that. Besides, I felt oddly better about poking around in Philip’s home than in Colin’s. Even though Colin might see it as the same thing, it sort of wasn’t. I wouldn’t let my actions harm Colin.

  “Well,” Shelly said. “Philip doesn’t leave stuff around either. He’s kind of paranoid. If there’s anything important, it’ll be in his study. And there wouldn’t be much online either. From what I’ve seen, he’s real old-fashioned. Likes to do things by paper. No chance of backups or hackers or anything.”

  “Paper?” I asked. “Isn’t that less secure? I’d expect a fancy dude like hi
m to have high-tech security and shit.”

  “Oh, he does,” she said. “The whole house is rigged to burn if the security gets tripped. No paper trail, just ashes.”

  Great, we were having dinner in a matchbox. Paranoid was right. “So what do I have to do to make sure we don’t all fry?”

  “You’re sure you want to do this?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “All right.” She reached between her breasts and pulled out a key.

  I accepted the key, still warm from her body, and gave her a wry look. “Really?”

  “I make it work,” she said airily. I didn’t even want to know how she had this key. Even if Philip trusted her, why would she need it? She wouldn’t. I narrowed my eyes. She gave me her best “I’m a dumb blonde” smile. Not that I bought it for a second, but I also knew when I was beat. And running out of time.

  “Okay,” I said. “You go back to the group. I need to freshen up.”

  “Sure thing,” she said, playing along. “I’ll take Bailey. She doesn’t get enough time with Aunt Shelly.”

  She trooped out the bathroom door with the diaper bag and Bailey. I used the bathroom. Well, I had to pee. And I was already nervous enough to piss myself as it was. I washed up and then peeked out the door. No one.

  Feeling very suave and very terrified, I slipped into the hallway and down to the double doors that I recognized from the study.

  What if he was in there? Or someone else could be. I rapped lightly. Nothing.

  The lock was a monster of a dead bolt, but the key slid in and turned easily. I pushed the door open just a crack, waiting for flames. Then I laughed at myself. It would be a fitting way to go for my sins.

  After I slipped inside, I left the door ajar to listen for anyone approaching. The thin band of light from the hall illuminated the deep leather armchairs we’d sat in last time. The desk waited for me in the dark side of the room. I crossed to it and flipped on a small lamp. I sifted through a few papers right on top: documents, maps, schematics.