The Velvet Caress

by C. P. Mandara

  'My father planted poison in Mark's apartment,' I said in one sentence without pause. Thankfully Khalil understood me.

  'I know.' Of course he knew. Mark would have called him, or Mark's lawyer would have told him.

  'You're not listening,' I said, this time remembering that pauses are important. 'He planted poison in Mark's apartment. Not the country estate in Hertfordshire where we've been staying, but his London apartment. Mark hasn't been anywhere near it. He has some ironclad alibis, too. Both the CCTV footage he has wired throughout the house, me, the personal trainer he hired and several other girls who came over for a… spa evening.' That wasn't exactly the truth, but I'm pretty sure Khalil didn't want to hear exactly what we'd been up to. Neither would the courts for that matter. Oh my God. If this went to court my face, Mark's face, all the details of our sex life… they would all be splattered across the front page in one of the juiciest scandals of the twenty-first century. I would never be able to step out in public ever again. To be fair, as long as I was with Mark that might not necessarily be a bad thing. Even if my father splashed around the footage he had of Mark strung up and at his mercy, and it wouldn't be the brightest move he'd ever made, I suspected we'd get through it. News was only news for a month or so, tops. As soon as something more exciting came along we'd be forgotten. I then remembered there was someone else on the other side of the phone and that they hadn't spoke for quite a while.

  'Khalil?'

  There was some scratching and shuffling and suddenly his voice was back on the line.

  'My apologies, Jen. I'm trying to get a message across to Jonathon so he can act accordingly, and I'm also trying to get the Metropolitan Police on the other line. Can I call you back?'

  'Yes, no problem. Call me as soon as you know anything?' There may have been a pleading note in my voice but I didn't care. I needed Mark by my side. He'd get me out of here and back home in no time, which would hopefully stop all the incessant prodding and pulling about that the doctors were performing on a regular basis.

  'Will do.' With that the line went dead and I was left to my own devices again. Oh joy. Sighing heavily, I wondered how Mark was faring in prison. Every time I thought about him behind bars my pulse accelerated, though I knew it was ridiculous. He'd be in a holding cell, bored out of his mind whilst pacing up and down. It wouldn't do him any harm to reflect upon his transgressions for a day or so, and he'd made plenty of them in the past, that was for sure. I couldn't help a smile. That night at Escape had been really something, excluding the being poisoned part and vomiting up copious amounts of stomach acid.

  Interestingly enough, the nipple chain and piercings I'd been wearing when I left Escape had disappeared. I wondered if this was some weird and wonderful hospital policy. Too embarrassed to ask, I'd used some of my cash to try and Google the reason. It didn't take long to find the answer. The skin burns on my chest had already indicated that I'd needed a defibrillator to remain alive, and there could be no metal upon my body when they were placing an electrical current through me. To be honest, I reckoned that would have been reasonably tame considering what I'd been through at Escape, but all the same, I'm glad they took suitable precautions.

  Silly as it may seem, I missed the chain and piercings. Mark had the most amazing way of making me feel 'owned' and giving up all control to him had never been a problem. Whilst the days spent at Fountaine Bleu had been stressful, they'd also been charged with the most amazing sexual chemistry I'd ever known. It was something I'd never experienced with anyone else, ever. There was a chance we could make this relationship work if we just tried to be honest with each other. How hard could that be? All we needed to do was talk. The trouble was, all we seemed to do was fuck, and whilst I didn't have a problem with that exactly, it didn't make a great basis for getting married. Marriage was all about compromise, or that's what I'd been told. I laughed to myself.

  Who would be doing all the compromising? Me of course, if somehow we managed to stay together, but I didn't think I'd mind all that much. He'd said he loved me. I distinctly remember him saying the 'L' word not once, but twice. That had to mean something. It at least meant he wanted to try and make a go of our arrangement, or I thought it did, but nothing was certain with Mark. This was why I needed to talk to him.

  Interrupted from my worries by a lady who was walking towards me with a very determined look on her face, I realized she looked vaguely familiar. This was mainly because I looked exactly like her, but I also had a hazy recollection that she'd been beside my hospital bed a few days ago. Great. This was just the kind of excitement I needed right now.

  She sat down beside me, running a hand through her jet-black hair and smoothing it down towards her shoulders. She then adjusted her black alligator skin Dior handbag, so it rested smartly on her knees. I couldn't help but wonder if she had a gun in there, and whether she was keeping it handy just in case.

  'Hello. Do I know you?' I knew exactly who she was, but it was going to amuse me to see what story she'd come up with.

  She held out her hand and waited to shake mine. I did so, noting that her hands were just as delicate as mine.

  'I'm here to assess you. I just want to ask you a few questions about the poisoning incident, see how you're handling things and whether we can offer any help.' As if to reinforce this message she pulled a notebook out of her bag. I had to give it to the lady, she came well prepared.

  'Hi Mum. You can put the notebook away now.' I gave her a dark stare. By all rights I should tell her to get the hell out, but if what I'd heard before was correct it might be prudent to make sure she wasn't still trying to kill my husband.

  'Sorry?' She looked around me, as if expecting to see someone else and smiled politely. It was a good ploy, but it wasn't going to work. I was not mad.

  'Nice try, Mum, but you're the spitting image of me and I woke up for a couple of seconds when you came to see me a few days ago. Please tell me you haven't killed my husband.' As far as introductory sentences went it was harsh, but she'd abandoned me, so I felt no need to tiptoe around the woman.

  She took a deep breath as if wondering whether to try and continue with her charade, but obviously thought better of it. 'Don't worry about him,' she said. 'I've well and truly taken care of that.'

  I didn't like the sound of that at all. The feeling of dread that had been with me all morning intensified considerably.

  'Please tell me you haven't done anything stupid, Mum. I love my husband. He wasn't the one that tried to kill me. Michael is the one you should be looking for.'

  She looked at me oddly with sparkling, sky-blue eyes that were so similar to mine it was almost uncanny.

  'Well, I'd have thought you would be pleased I'd taken care of this mess for you. I know you didn't enter this marriage willingly. What did Mark do to get you to agree to it?' She frowned at me.

  'Not Mark. Michael. He tortured Mark until he agreed to marry me and filmed the whole thing. Mark didn't have a choice. As for me, well I've never had a choice. The threat of being shipped off to Albrecht again was enough to make sure I did everything I was told.'

  My mother's jaw hung open. It seemed she really had been out of the loop.

  'Are you telling me you've been to Albrecht Stables?' Her jaw still hadn't closed.

  'Yes, that's exactly what I'm telling you and involuntarily, I might add. He got me there under false pretences, and once you go through those closed doors there is no going back.' I gave her another dark look.

  'Wait a minute. Do you mean to tell me he had you trained up as a ponygirl?' The jaw had closed now, and her look had gone from shocked to horrified.

  'That's exactly what I'm telling you. Mark tried to rescue me. He offered Michael virtually as much money as he wanted for me, but dear old daddy didn't want to sell. Oh, and while we're on the subject of Albrecht Stables, this is only some of what happened while I was there.' Turning around so my back faced her I lifted up my pyjama top and showed her the mess Kyle had made of my back. Her e
yes widened, she pursed her lips, and then she began to tap her left foot furiously. Did that mean she was concerned about me? There were some confusing mixed signals going on around here.

  'The utter bastard. What the hell is he playing at? When I get my hands on him…'

  'Mum, can we worry about Michael later? What I want to know is are you still trying to kill my husband, because I'd quite like to keep him alive.' I looked at her pleadingly and hoped I was worrying over nothing. This mafia story had to be nonsense, right? I'd just had too much time to think in this place.

  'Oh fuck.' She pulled her phone out of her handbag with lightning-quick fingers and hit speed dial. My stomach sank like a submarine that had just been torpedoed. Immediately I pictured Mark bleeding out on his cell floor, wheezing and gasping for breath. I could see sightless eyes staring at the wall, his skin turning an unpleasant shade of blue. Was he already dead? Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

  'Hi Mickey. You know that hit we put out? Did your guy get the shank? He did? Ah, yes, there's been a complication. We need the target alive. Can you get in there ASAP?' There was a long pause. 'Let's just say I'm going to be very unhappy if the guy turns up dead, darling. Do I make myself clear?' There was a lot of venom in that last sentence. There was a chance I had the scariest mother in the universe. 'Then why are you still talking? Get moving sunshine.' She threw her phone back in her handbag, looked at me, and smiled.

  'Is he still alive?' I asked nervously.

  'Let's hope so. I'm going to be very put out if he isn't, and I'm generally not a nice person to be around if that happens.'

  I nodded slowly, wondering what the hell that meant.

  'Well, my guy is going to let me know the outcome of that call as soon as he can. What should we do in the meantime?' My mother was the epitome of calm, cool and collected. It was all right for her. The love of her life wasn't currently at the mercy of some god-awful criminal who was trying to execute him. What if he was on the cell floor, slowly dying, and there was no one around to raise the alarm? A thousand what-if scenarios flew through my head, none of which were very pleasant. I was going to go mad as I waited for that call. Absolutely, stir-crazy, dementia-style mad.

  'So, what have you been doing with yourself lately? I've tried to keep tabs on you as best as I was able, but Michael wasn't particularly helpful on that score. Why don't you fill me in on how you did in school, where you've been travelling, what you like to eat, who your friends are - that kind of thing?' She gave me a friendly, encouraging smile, but that simply wasn't going to cut it.

  'I can't talk about any of that now, and quite honestly, if you abandoned me you have no right to know. The only reason I am talking to you is because I know you're trying to kill my husband, otherwise I'd have asked you to leave. Oh, and for the record, it's a bit weird finding out that your mum is in the mafia. What was wrong with the PTA? Was that too dull for you?' We did not look at each other for a moment. I needed to calm down and she seemed to be at a loss for words. What I wouldn't give for a vodka and tonic right now. I couldn't help but wonder if that would interfere with the prescription meds. If it did, I was even more for the idea.

  'You don't choose the mafia.' When my mother finally spoke again she made me jump. It had gone quiet for a few minutes, and I was on tenterhooks as it was waiting for her damn phone to ring. I rubbed my hands down over my eyes and then dragged them down my skin. It wasn't a pretty look, but I didn't much care.

  'Oh, right. A gun suddenly floats down magically into your hand and says, hey lady, you'd look real good with your hands covered in blood.' I gave her one of Mark's ironic looks, sure to put the fear of God into anyone. Except someone in the mafia, of course.

  'Something like that.'

  'So you want me to sit and chat about the last few years of my life which you've chosen to have nothing to do with, as if none of this has actually happened? Hello! You're trying to kill my husband or may actually have killed him. How are we supposed to start up a genial conversation after that?'

  'He'll be fine, and for the record, I thought he'd tried to kill you. I was only trying to protect you.'

  'Normal mothers don't protect their daughters by killing people. They might call the police, or a lawyer, but they generally don't try and murder people.' My voice was a little strained and my blood pressure was rocketing again.

  'The police are utterly useless and you already know that, Missy.' She then gave me a stern look.

  'It's nice to see you've been keeping tabs on me. Pity you couldn't have rescued me from my father.' I made a sour face. I would have given anything for someone to have whisked me out of Michael's house and far, far away. A tiny little cottage somewhere, a flat… all I'd ever wanted was for someone to love me.

  'He's not your father.' She looked at me carefully. I wondered if she thought Michael would have told me that. She'd have been wrong. Some things you just had to find out on your own.

  'I'm well aware of that. I'm an excellent snoop. Even so, I never found any details about your whereabouts anywhere.' And I'd looked. All over. There wasn't a single clue to indicate where my mother had been hiding all these years. 'Anyway, enough of this. How long does it take to rescue a man from jail? A few minutes? A few hours?'

  Please don't let it be any longer than a few minutes, I thought. I was already hysterical with worry.

  We had to wait over thirty minutes before her phone rang. By the end of it I could barely string two words together, and she gave up all pretence of trying to carry on a conversation with me. It was clear I was a mess.

  When my mother answered the call she didn't say a lot. Words like 'I see' and 'okay' were uttered, but nothing more useful than that. By the end of the call I was nearly ready to kill her.

  'Is he alive?' I almost screamed at her.

  My mother quietly put her phone back in her handbag and rested her hands on top of the shiny black handles. That immediately sent me into a panicked frenzy. If he was fine she'd have just said it.

  'Tell me,' I whispered, fearing the worst.

  Smoothing her hair away from her face she then said, 'Do you want the good news or the bad news?'

  'Don't mess around with me. Is he alive or is he dead?' If he was dead I swore she would shortly be following him.

  'Well, the good news is he's not dead.' The smile she gave me didn't reach her eyes. This was not good.

  'I'd rather have started with the bad news.' I glared at her and waited impatiently.

  'Okay.' She drawled that word for a good three seconds, as if afraid of what she was going to say next. I already knew, without a doubt, that I wasn't going to like it. What was happening to my life lately? It was as if I was trying to swim uphill with my arms tied behind my back.

  'Fine.' She took both hands off her handbag, holding them up towards me as stop signs, before saying, 'There's no easy way to say this. He's been stabbed and is now on his way to hospital.'

  My lip wobbled, although I knew something like this had been coming. Closing my eyes I tried to keep things together. I did not want to break down in front of a mother who thought killing people was a fun sport.

  'You need to go,' I got out through gritted teeth. I meant it. My fingers wanted to wrap themselves around her throat and squeeze until there was no life left in her body, but logic informed me that the gun in her bag would be out before I lifted a finger towards her, so I took a deep breath and stared her down. So what if she was a killer. If she'd wanted to kill me she'd have done so a long time ago.

  When she made no move to do as I'd asked I yelled at the top of my lungs, 'Go!'

  'You need someone here,' she said quietly. Trying to grab my hand I whisked it as far out of her way as I could.

  'Go!' I screamed.

  This time she took me at my word. She walked towards the door with her head held high, but risked one last glance towards me. The look I bore was one of hatred, she acknowledged it, and then made her leave.

  When the room returned to silence it took almost m
ore energy than I had not to succumb to tears. I didn't have time for tears. Mark needed me. Dragging myself out of bed, I tore the IV out of my arm and picked off all the electrodes that still decorated my body. It felt good to be rid of the things. Then I shrugged off my pyjamas and struggled into a pair of jeans and a sweater that had been left for me. I could barely bend over my stomach was so sore, but somehow I managed to put a pair of sneakers on and tie the laces up. I was getting out of here today. Wherever they were holding Mark they needed to make space for me, because I was going to create holy hell until they did. Tearing open the bedside drawer I grabbed Mark's phone and prepared to do battle with the doctors and nurses. Standing up tall, I was fully prepared to annihilate the lot of them. Worry was eating me alive and no one was going to stand in my way until I got what I wanted.

  As it turned out I had good reason to be worried. The next time I saw Mark he was bleeding out in hospital with septicaemia.

  Chapter Thirty - Mark

  Later I found out that Mr Big had only managed to stab me once before the guards burst in and restrained him. It had taken four of them to get him under control, so I considered one stab wound to the thigh a small price to pay for being alive. Unfortunately he smashed my back open again, and I can't even begin to describe how painful that was, but there was a bright side to all of that. I was now in my very own hospital bed, which not only had a decent sized mattress but clean sheets as well. Impressive painkillers had been liberally provided, and the staff were really quite pleasant considering they thought I was a murderer. The hospital also had the benefit of not housing any criminals, bar myself of course, though I guessed they had some kind of security on me.