by Brynne Asher
It’s so cold. I was just running out to buy more sandpaper and I’m not dressed to be in these conditions. We’re inside, but this building is so old and dilapidated that I not only hear, but feel the wind whistling through the walls. I’ve got to keep my wits about me, but I’m covered in blood, shaking from the fear and cold combined. I feel both down to my bones. Hearing the door bang again, I look up and see him walk in, this time holding an old rag to his shoulder where I shot him. He’s looking pale, probably from the loss of blood, but still giving me a murderous look through his evil eyes. Not knowing who he is or why he wants me, I try to stay calm, looking for any opportunity for escape.
I barely had my car backed out of the garage when my door was ripped open and he threw my car in park, yanking me out. I started to scream but he clamped his hand over my mouth and dragged me to an old rusted-out four door sedan. He’s only a couple inches taller than me, but much bigger, having no trouble getting me to the car and throwing me in the trunk. We drove and drove and drove. I have no idea where we are.
My only stroke of luck in this whole nightmare is that I had my crossbody purse on when he grabbed me. I used it yesterday while shopping and hadn’t switched back to my larger purse. He was in such a hurry at my house, he threw me in the trunk with it still on me and although my cell was left in my car, I did have my gun. Feeling around in the dark, I was prepared and ready when he opened the trunk, deciding I needed to act fast. I had it aimed at his chest, but he caught sight and at the last second was able to move just enough that I hit him square in the shoulder instead.
Well, that proves it. My uncles taught me you don’t shoot to maim—if you have to shoot, you shoot to kill. So, even though I had a gun, I maimed him and I’m still in a shit load of trouble.
He lunged at me and the next shot I got off went to the side before he wrestled my gun away from me. Then, for the second time in my life I was backhanded. This time with the butt of my own gun, and let me tell you, it hurts a hell of a lot more than a hand. He proceeded to drag me—all while he was bleeding profusely from his shoulder—into this ramshackle building. He bound my wrists and feet with plastic cable ties, threw me against a wall leaving me here covered in his blood.
It doesn’t look like a barn, but there are all kinds of old farm equipment and tools around me, looking like no one has set foot in here for years. There’s no way I’m going to get these cable ties off without something to cut them and they are bound so tight they’re cutting into my skin. While he was gone, I scooted to the right a couple of feet and was able to grab an old flat head screw driver off the ground, holding it to my forearms in a way he hopefully can’t see. I was in the process of trying to find something to cut the ties away when he returned.
Stalking toward me again, I try to scurry on my ass backwards until I hit the wall. He stops about four feet from me and says his first words since he dragged me out of my car. “You don’t know who I am, do you, you fucking bitch?”
Finding it hard to create words as I swallow back my fear, all I do is shake my head.
He pulls the blood-soaked rag away from his shoulder that continues to bleed and tosses it to the ground in front of me. “Well, your daddy knew me.”
At the mention of my dad, I feel the blood drain from my head making me woozy. He must have read the look on my face correctly because he grins a wicked smile and goes on. “Yeah, your daddy put me away for twenty-five fucking years. But that’s okay, because I had him put away, too—in the ground.” At that, I pull in an audible breath and his wicked smile turns into a vicious grin as he delivers his next blow. “Your mama was just a bonus.”
My parents were murdered.
I don’t know who in the hell he is, but all thoughts of self-preservation fly out the window as I try and process the fact that my parents’ death wasn’t an accident and I close my eyes leaning back against the bitter cold wall. I open them immediately as I hear him say, “I was pissed I didn’t have a hand in him gettin’ revenge myself, but at the sight of you, I’m thinkin’ I’m gonna enjoy this retribution a fuckofa lot more than getting back at your daddy with my own hands. You see, I’ve been in prison for twenty-five years. I’ve had my share of men, but it’s been a long fucking time since I’ve had a woman. I might have to keep you around longer than I planned and since you’re a fighter, so this could be fun.” I open my mouth to say something—yell or scream—but nothing comes out. “There’s no one around here for miles so there’s no need to gag you. You scream all you want, I might get off on that.”
I blink but don’t dare take my eyes off him. I have no idea if anyone even knows I’m gone and once they do, how will they ever find me? I’ve got to keep my head together and come up with a plan.
“Who are you?” I ask, as I decide talking is my only option.
“You can call me Pope when you’re screamin' out my name, but that’s all you need to know,” he bites out, holding his shoulder gingerly. Blood is still seeping from the wound and now that I’m trying my best to focus on the situation, I can tell he’s in a lot of pain.
“You should probably have that looked at,” I suggest, not knowing what else to say.
“Shut the fuck up!” he screams and moves to close the four feet in between us. He kneels at my feet and pulls out a switch knife to cut the cable tie. “If you move a muscle, I’ll knock the shit outta you again.”
As he’s focusing on his work at my feet I can tell he is favoring his wounded shoulder, I decide it’s now or never. I wait until my feet are free and as fast and as hard as I can, I lift my hands still bound together, angle the screwdriver jamming it in the gunshot wound in his shoulder. He falls back on his ass immediately, screaming in pain as I jam and twist as best I can with my hands tied. I find my feet clumsily and try and make my way around him, but with his good arm, he reaches out grabbing my foot. I fall forward flat out, my wrists still bound, and I scream as he howls in pain, but he doesn’t let go of my leg. He pulls me back throwing himself on top of me, almost knocking the air out of my lungs and I can’t move with his full weight pressing me into the filthy floor. With no one close, thinking it’s all for not, there is nothing more I can do but scream.
I pull up to the decrepit outbuilding and see the car Gabby’s neighbor described in front of her house today. Tony and I jump out and I draw my duty weapon. “Stay behind me.”
Tony moves and I hear him muttering to himself, “I swear I’m going to start carrying after this.”
I move behind my car to take in my surroundings. I have no backup, although units should be here any moment. There’s no sign of any other cars or life for as far as I can see. I look back at Tony giving my head a jerk, telling him to follow and he nods once. I move slowly to the edge of the outbuilding, but halfway there we hear screams and cries coming from inside.
It’s Gabby.
Without thinking twice, I run to the door and sense Tony close to me. I give myself a tick to peak through. He has her on the ground and there’s blood everywhere. Kicking the door open the rest of the way, I train my gun on them and yell, “FBI! Get your hands where I can see them. Now!”
Gabby cranes her neck to look at me with a panicked expression. Not having time to take that in, I keep my eyes and gun trained on Pope. “I said get your fucking hands where I can see them. Roll to the side and get off her!”
What he does not do is roll off her but grabs her and pulls himself back to his knees, taking Gabby with him. She screams again, pulls and jerks to get away, but he’s got her around the middle and now I see that her hands are tied in front of her. I have my gun zeroed in on his head, but he’s not that much taller than Gabby and she’s in front of him. I don’t have a clear shot.
I repeat, “Let her go and step back.”
“He’s got my gun!” Gabby yells.
Fuck. Now I realize he’s only using one arm and all the blood is coming from a wound to his shoulder. She must have gotten a shot off.
With that, he takes Gabby
and throws her to the side. She lands on her hands and knees, trying to get to her feet, but he pulls her gun out of his pants with his good hand and points it straight at her. “I’ll shoot her. I swear. I’ll shoot her and enjoy doing it.”
This is the easiest decision I’ve ever made, I aim my gun at his chest and he must realize what I’m doing because I hear Tony behind me yell, “No!” He runs to Gabby to push her out of the way as I pull my trigger, but hear two gunshots.
“No! No! No!” Gabby screams, piercing my heart. Pope is down in front of me, but Gabby is on her hands and knees next to Tony who’s on the ground, blood seeping from his dress shirt. “No!” Gabby screams again trying to pull Tony’s head into her lap. “Call someone!”
I already have my phone out, dialing nine-one-one as I kick Gabby’s gun away from Pope. I make the call while cutting the tie at Gabby’s hands. She immediately pulls her sweatshirt over her head and presses it to his stomach while cupping his head with her other hand. Tears are streaming down her face as she looks down at her cousin. “Tony, stay awake. An ambulance is coming, we’re gonna get you help.”
Tony’s eyes come to me slowly, his lids half-closed and his normally olive skin starts to pale. Gabby begs through her sobs, “Tony, look at me. Please look at me.”
Tony slides his eyes back up to Gabby, even slower this time. “Gabba.”
His eyes close and Gabby shrieks, “Oh, dear God, no. Please, no!” She looks at me with her tear streaked face. “We have to do something, please. Let’s take him.”
“Baby, we need to wait, they’ll be here soon. They’re going to need to work on him.”
I put my fingers to his throat and barely feel a pulse. After what seems like a fucking year while listening to Gabby sob and pray for her cousin’s life, I finally hear sirens. I look up at Gabby, putting my hand to her cheek and give her a little nod. Getting up, I leave to flag down the EMS and lead them to Tony.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I’ll Never Have The Words
“Sugar, put this on,” Jude bosses me, soft and sweet. A remote part of my brain wonders how he can be sweet, soft, and bossy at the same time.
They wouldn’t let me ride in the ambulance with Tony. When I say they, I mean the EMS, police, my uncles, and Jude. For one, my Uncle Tony rode in the ambulance and, as Tony’s father, he took precedence. But I think it was more to the fact that I was a little out of control.
Or a lot out of control.
I wouldn’t let the EMS touch me. I couldn’t focus on anything other than watching them work on Tony, seeing his blood seep out of his body and watch them load him up to take him away. I was shaking so badly from the cold since all I was wearing was a thin t-shirt and old yoga pants. Jude told them we would follow the ambulance and have me checked out at the hospital. Even after being wrapped in a blanket given to me by EMS, the heat in Jude’s truck blasting on me, and Jude making me take a hot shower, I still cannot stop shaking. After I was checked out in the ER, I vaguely remember someone saying something about being in shock and then Jude demanding I be able to take a shower since I was covered in blood, both from Tony and Pope.
I go through the motions of taking a shower, doing my best to wash away all the blood with Jude’s help. My body will not stop shaking, even now as Jude pulls hospital scrubs over my head, helping me dress, my fingers barely able to tie the pants that are hanging on my hips. I see Jude throw my blood-soaked clothes into the hazardous materials bin. He comes back to me with another towel to squeeze as much water from my hair as possible.
“Where is he?” I ask.
“He’s in surgery. I’ll take you to your family in a second. Put these socks on, the nurse is bringing you warm blankets and we’ll go straight to the surgical waiting room.”
We exit the elevator and turn the corner. I’m wrapped in another blanket with Jude’s arm around my shoulders moving me forward. I see my whole family, faces wracked with fear and worry. I go straight to my Uncle Tony and bury my face in his chest, feeling his arms come around me. Then Lizzie joins our huddle and my uncle engulfs both of us.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, my sobs coming again.
“Hey,” my uncle says, whispering into my head. “Stop talking like that. You didn’t bring this on. We were so worried about you, Gabby. That was an awful few hours not knowing where you were. I’m just glad they got to you when they did.” He gives us a squeeze as I hear Lizzie’s sob hitch, her face buried in my wet hair.
We stand here for a few minutes before my uncle turns me back into Jude’s arms, where he leads me to a hard sofa, sits and tucks me into his side. We wait for what seems like an eternity before a young doctor in scrubs comes in. “Anthony Carpino, Jr.?”
The entire room stands, coming to attention and my Uncle rushes forward holding Lizzie’s hand. “We’re his parents.”
Nodding once, the young doctor lays it out. “Your son is out of surgery and in recovery. I want him to stay in ICU throughout the night. He lost a lot of blood and is still in serious condition. The bullet nicked and ruptured his spleen. We had to remove but feel certain we were able to repair all internal injuries. We need to watch him closely tonight and he will need to stay a few days. If he progresses as we think he will, he should make a full recovery with time. He’s very lucky the damage wasn’t worse and if that bullet was an inch or two off, he wouldn’t be so lucky. They should be able to move him to ICU shortly and we’ll take you to him.”
With that, I slump against Jude who takes my weight as my tears come again. I don’t hear my aunt or uncle ask more questions or anything else the doctor has to say. Tony’s going to be okay. He threw himself in front of a bullet for me, but he’s going to be fine. Minus one semi-important organ that he should be able to live without.
I feel Jude’s lips at my ear. “Baby, he’s going to be fine. Try and get a handle on it.”
I nod into his chest and try to take in a big breath. He pulls my head back a bit, gently placing his hand to the side of my face where I can feel a large bump forming where Pope backhanded me with my gun. “If I ever see another mark on your beautiful face, I’m going to fucking kill someone.”
Thinking now is not the best time to point out that he already did kill someone, not to mention I don’t want to think about anyone being killed, past or present. I instead plant the good side of my face in his chest again and decide to focus on being thankful Tony’s going to be fine, I’m fine and this awful day is over.
Tony
I open my eyes to light coming through the closed blinds of the second hospital room I’ve come to hate, deciding I hate this one only slightly less than the one I hated in ICU. I turn my head and see Gabby, curled up, asleep in the recliner with Jude sitting in a chair next to her. I scan the room for anyone else and try not to get pissed because it hurts to fucking much, and I don’t mean from my gunshot wound, when I see it’s just the three of us. My eyes return to Jude, his arms are folded across his chest, legs stretched out in front of him, but his eyes are open, alert, and on me.
I lick my lips and my dry mouth grunts, “Hey.”
Jude doesn’t respond but gets up and walks over to the rolling table to nab a plastic cup with a straw, and moves to me to put it close to my mouth. I take a long pull of water while trying to ignore the pain in my gut every time I move any part of my body even a millimeter.
I’m not sure I hid the pain very well because Jude warns, “Brace, man. I heard the nurse say that since you’re out of ICU, they’re gonna get you up to walk here in a bit.”
I swallow, my mouth not feeling quite like sandpaper anymore and mutter, “Fuck.”
Jude puts the cup down, staying where he is, crosses his arms again, and looks down at me. Finally, after many countless beats, he lowers his voice. “I’ll never have the words, Tony.” He looks over to a sleeping Gabby, then back to me and goes on. “Forever. I’ll forever be grateful.”
I barely lift my chin to him, because even that hurts like a mother,
to let him know I get him. I look at Gabby—healthy and alive curled up in the chair. Jude and I give each other a knowing look and then all of a sudden, his lips barely tip. “Oh, another warning. Gabby’s already talking about how she wants you to stay with us until you get back up on your feet. She wants to take care of you.”
Shit. I am not letting Gabby take care of me. I grumble, “What, is she building a commune over there for damaged bodies and troubled souls? Everyone’s moving in with Gabby.”
Jude chuckles. “Something like that. But you also have to know, it’s turning into a competition for who’s going to take care of you between her, your mother and your sisters. Paige is even making plans to move into your house.”
Ignoring the pain this time. “No fucking way is Paige moving into my house. She just wants to get out of her shit apartment.”
“Maybe. But it should be fun to see how it all plays out. I’ll do what I can to have your back.”
“You better. You owe me.” I look over at Gabby, thinking he doesn’t owe me shit. I’d do anything for her.
Jude sobers. “Yeah. I owe you everything.”
“I can’t believe he won’t stay with us,” Gabby complains.
“Sugar, he doesn’t want to be babied by his mother, sisters, and cousin. He will never be able to eat all the food you women made him, not to mention he’s been given the all clear by the doctors to stay by himself. You all made your rotation schedule to be there during the days until he can drive again and he barely gave in to that. Give the man some peace,” I say, trying to get through to her he wants to be on his own. I didn’t go so far to say that if he had a woman he’d be fine with her lovin’ on him, but his mother, sisters, and cousin? No way.
“Although, I’ll never forget the look on his face when you supplied him with a whole bottle of stool softeners. I thought he was going to bust his stitches he was so pissed. That shit was funny.”
