by JL Mac
Except Murphy didn’t sign the receipt.
I drift my fingers over the glossy, expensive solid wood dresser in my bedroom and I can practically picture him selecting this furniture but why? Why am I good enough for him to buy expensive shit for but I’m not good enough to keep, to love? I’m merely a fuzzy little trinket and he is the fat house cat who toys with me in passing. I rub the tips of my fingers against my scalp and go to war with my emotions yet again. The alcohol simmering through my veins doesn’t help matters.
“He loves you,” Lan says in a lifeless tone. I scoff and snap my eyes to her.
“He loves me?” I clip incredulously. “No. He doesn’t love me. He is keeping me quiet, and keeping me indebted to him and out of his way. This shit is a threat disguised as a gift. He toys with me because he can,” I ramble on. “He would never—could never—love me or anyone for that matter. He loves his violence and his power and the kingdom he has carved out. That’s it. This isn’t some fucking kid’s movie with princesses and redeemable villains. So don’t be so naïve!” I yell feeling way too defensive.
Lan curls her lip and lets out a mirthless, dry laugh. “He’d burn all of Boston to the ground for you,” she replies in the even-toned voice that gives me chills every time I here it coming out of the sister who I’ve only ever known to be bubbly to the point of annoyance and so full of life that it overflowed out of her, filling every space she passed through. Not anymore. She’s all poured out and clanks around empty and echoing.
“That. I can’t fucking stand that,” I point at her accusingly. “I hate that thing you do now!” I yell and let the tears collect in my eyes. Lan says nothing but has the grace to look down somewhat shamed. Hot, fat tears grow in my eyes until they crest over my eyelids and stream unbidden down my face. I scream at the gorgeous furniture he has sent—at the world—at him. I hate Carrick. I hate Murph. I hate that I miss them all so much. I hate that I feel lost. I hate that I saved Lan but not truly. I hate that I hate the only man I think I will ever truly love and I hate roses and their sweet fucking scent and all the ugly thorns they grow! I lash out, pounding my balled fist against the top of the dresser beside me until I can’t stand the shock of pain each blow sends up my arm. I stumble to my bed and collapse tiredly.
“Maybe it hurts to hear it or to believe it because he sent you away, but I know he loves you. And… I’m sorry.”
“And how do you know that, Lan?” I whisper, scrubbing my hands over my face.
“A hunch.” She shrugs.
“Well if that’s true, his brand of love feels pretty damn bad,” I croak.
“I know,” she whispers, detachedly then turns and leaves my door.
Mom came by with cake and spent a few hours playing UNO with us. We play along dutifully and laugh at the appropriate times and participate in the appropriate small talk. It’s an act. A tidy veneer over demons all three of us are carrying. I know my demons by name. Lan knows hers. I find myself wondering what Mom’s demons are. In the meantime, we lie with smiles in place and promises to stop by or to text or meet for lunch this week, “maybe a pedicure,” Mom offered. It’s all so hollow and wrong. We roll through the rest of the weekend without talking about anything heavier than Zac Efron’s newest hairstyle and thank Christ for it. Lan seems most comfortable sticking to inconsequential, safe topics and quite frankly so do I. I want very badly for her to open up or at least agree to seeing the therapist I found for her but she’s not ready and I’m way too much of a mess to argue with her about anything. For now we talk about dumb things and both pretend we aren’t a train wreck.
I park my car and savor the privacy of just sitting here with the radio playing low and the engine purring quietly. I pull out my cellphone and stare at it knowing that I’m making a huge mistake calling him. I have to know if he’s following me. Is he watching me all the time? Calling him is trouble and it will likely hurt. Who am I kidding though? Breathing hurts! What the hell does it matter any more? What’s more pain when you are already drowning in a sea of it? I need to know what gives? Why follow me? Why did he boot me to the curb and why does he think it’s his place to buy me an entire apartment worth of furniture. I jab the screen before I lose courage.
“I’m sorry. The number you have dialed has changed, been disconnected or is not accepting calls at this time.” I jerk the phone away from my ear and frown as though it has burned me. I laugh humorlessly and shrink inside. He isn’t accepting calls? All calls or just ones coming from my number? He blocked me? Did he get a new number?
In this moment things shift in me. Not because I’m strong. Not because he makes me weak. No, things shift out of necessity. I can’t keep feeling like I’ll die because he’s gone. I shake my head and resolve to fight, to hold back all thoughts of Carrick. I barricade them in the back of my mind, unwilling to think about them while I’m supposed to be carving out a career for myself. I’m already struggling at the academy and wallowing over Beast isn’t helping matters. I mentally slap myself and demand that I snap out of it.
I make my way through my Monday morning routine, thankful for the activity. The bell above the door at the diner is somehow sadder sounding after a summer spent in Eden amongst High Knoll. I’m surprised to see Jeanie pouring coffee for a middle-aged man sitting with Joe. I make my way over to the booth waving to Jeanie who waves at me, grabbing another coffee cup from the counter.
“Hey Joe,” I say and wait for him to say it back, mimicking Jimmy Hendrix. Joe doesn’t say it back though, he just rocks slightly, tension etched in the lines bracketing his mouth. I study him for a beat as he looks out the window at the late fall morning. I cock my head and hold my hand out to the man across from Joe. “Hi. I’m Ena,” I say shaking his hand.
“Mike,” he says, and I’m immediately reminded of Will and Mikey Nealy.
Stop.
“Where’s Renee?” I ask, frowning.
“The agency had to let Renee go. There was some concern that she was potentially mistreating Joe,” he says leading me away from the table, whispering. My blood boils in my ears and maybe it’s the fact that Joe is a vulnerable man, an easy victim or maybe it’s the raw nerves I’ve been dealing with since Carrick sent me on my way but I know that if I had the chance, I’d find out for myself what Renee did to Joe.
“I see. Well,” I say digging through my bag for a piece of paper and a pen. “Here’s my number. If there’s ever anything I can do… ” I trail off giving him my number. “Jeanie, gonna be a bagel and coffee to-go,” I say raising my voice enough for her to hear me at the far end of the counter.
I slap my money down on the counter, grab my breakfast and pull my cellphone out to call Hack just as soon as I’m out of earshot. The prospect of renewed purpose lifts my spirits and adds a bounce to my step.
“Hack,” I greet when he picks up on the third ring. “Miss me?”
Playing exacting revenge on those who deserve it is awful therapeutic. Setting Rob and Viv’s old place—my personal hell—on fire was proof of that.
Time to find Renee.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Beast
Kate leans against the doorframe tapping her knuckles against the open door. I narrow my eyes on her and wonder why she’s in my office.
“Yes?” I say with cold indifference.
“We have three extra girls tonight.”
“And?”
“I’m not really needed. I was thinkin’ maybe we could hangout? Go back to my place… ” She coos with her collagen injected lips pouted and her fake eyelashes batting stiffly. She’s been standing there for less than one minute and her fruity perfume is already invading my space.
“No.” I clip and return to looking through the surveillance images on my computer screen. My… Ena has been dabbling in the art of stalking and I am curious to know why. This woman Renee is a nobody. Why would Ena tail her? First arson and now this? Is she trying to catch a felony charge? It would piss me off to no end.
This woma
n will be the death of me!
I broke her heart and mine for a reason. I set her free to see that she lived a safe, normal, life towing the line as a BPD cop just like daddy and what does she do? Undermines my effort and suffering by half-assing her way through the police academy, putting herself in danger, and potentially behind bars. She’s a McCrae biologically. She’s tough, clever and stubborn as all get out but she’s not invincible and I can’t allow her to carry on like this. At this point I find myself questioning everything. Would she have been safer with me? If this is what her life looks like away from me what’s actually worse? My world, or her fucked up tendencies to get in trouble. I tilt my head, encouraging my neck to pop.
“Oh, come on baby,” she croons in a too-high voice that makes my skin crawl. She slips past my doorway, inviting herself fully into my office. I glance up at her then return my eyes back to my computer, a small part of me weighing the idea of taking Kate to bed. A bigger part of me is punching that other part of me in the dick. The prospect of nailing her again tumbles through my mind for all of three seconds before I force it away, completely turned off at the idea. “You know I can make you feel good, baby,” she adds.
“No.”
“You look real bad lately,” she says with faux concern dripping from every syllable, her bottom lip rolled outward in the most ridiculous fashion. “If you’re hung up on that slut, Abigail, you shouldn’t be. She’s nothin’. She’s all wrong for you baby. I can make you forget all about her. I can make it my job to make you forget her name.”
“Kate,” I say rubbing the bridge of my nose in exasperation. “… you already have a job. You’re a stripper. You get naked and dance for cash. Why don’t you go do that?” I don’t have to look at her to note the way her mouth twists with anger at my dismissal. I don’t exactly give a fuck. In truth I don’t give a fuck about much at all lately if it doesn’t directly involve Ena. My cellphone buzzes on my desk alerting me. I snag it and hate that distinct twisting feeling I have in my stomach.
Subject: Abigail Tally
Status: Global positioning signal lost.
She took off her bracelet and probably destroyed it if the signal is lost. I should be pleased with that little bit of information. It means she’s making moves away from me and this world. It means she is moving on. She’s slipping away. Even with great effort by my brain I can’t convince my heart to believe that this is a good thing.
I dispatched a lower level associate to look in on Ena for me especially now that she finally parted ways with the tracking bracelet she’s had around her wrist since I hired her months ago. The associate I dispatched watches her from a safe distance to ensure her safety and to report back to me if she does anything stupid or dangerous. I sit across from Or in his office sipping on the whiskey he has poured me. He’s watching me with those clever eyes the same way Ena did. Now that I realize she is his daughter the similarities they share are uncanny. I have been visiting with him more and more lately. Ena is to thank for that but it doesn’t make looking him in the eye any easier. I have information that would change his world completely and the traitor that I am, I have chosen to keep it to myself. I chose Ena’s future over relieving Orin’s pain. I chose to hurt the only real father I have ever known and he doesn’t even know it. Seeing him often is my atonement. I look into that face and let the ache inside squeeze my chest until I can’t breathe. This is my doing.
Today we play chess in companionable silence but I’m not foolish enough to believe that there isn’t plenty of communication going on right now. He is studying me and gauging my world by analyzing my tack through the game. We have done this since he taught me to play chess the very same day he took me in.
Orin moves a chess piece and I make another move not really giving much thought to the match. My phone buzzes and I read the text from the runner who has been in charge of watching Ena today.
Ena’s babysitter: Boss, she shook me.
Me: Address?
I jump up and shove my phone into my pocket then down the remainder of my whiskey. “I have to go,” I say apologetically. “Finish tomorrow?”
“No need. You sacrificed yourself,” Orin says tapping his knight against my queen. “Checkmate, son.” I shake my head and pretend to laugh but chills have burst forward and climbed up my spine.
“Only an important woman has the power to make a man forget his wits in battle,” he warns with his blue eyes dipping to the chessboard in front of him. “I would know. Careful now son,” he orders and I nod obediently.
“See you tomorrow Or.”
His warning seems to be one offered out of love as any father would impart advice upon his son but I’m not blind. He knows I have deceived him. He can feel it. Goddamn McCrae’s and their animal awareness.
It takes me forty-five minutes to get across town to where Ena’s babysitter eventually found her sitting in her parked car and I am in no way surprised to find that she is shadowing the woman we identified as Renee Szymanska. I haven’t worked out why this woman has any meaning whatsoever to Ena, but there is clearly some reason she feels the need to target her. I watch from afar. She slips out of her car and approaches the woman as she is pulling grocery bags from her car. She whirls around to Ena and surprise is written across her face but not alarm. So she knows her as a friend perhaps. I watch my beautiful temptress smile and hug her like old friend then scoop up the rest of the grocery bags and follow Renee toward her front door. Ena stops before entering and turns to scan her surroundings with an empty expression.
“Goddamn you,” I grit, hopping from my car and making quick strides to the home they just entered. I knock on the front door and can hear the slight rumble of footsteps as someone comes to open the door.
“Yes?” Renee asks.
“Hi, I’m with Ena. She left me in the car. May I?” I ask smiling.
“Hey! Aren’t you,” she says pointing.
“That’s the one,” I smile as I push in and find bright green eyes scowling at me.
“Yes, come in. Could I have your autograph?” Renee asks with bugged eyes.
“Sure,” I say smoothly with my eyes never leaving my girl.
“Ena, why didn’t you tell me you know The Beast?” Renee cries.
I scribble the autograph onto whatever random paper she handed me and grab Ena, snaking my arm securely around her waist. “We should get going, yeah?” I try coaxing her out of the front door but it’s useless. She isn’t budging until she does what she came here to do.
“No,” she grits, jerking away from me. Renee has arched brows, making no effort to hide her surprise at the scene playing out in her living room. “You,” Ena points at Renee making her eyes widen in an unnatural way.
“Me?” Renee’s confused gaze ping-pongs from Ena to me then back again. I purse my lips and wait to see where this is going.
“Yep,” Ena nods, approaching Renee who seems frozen with a mix of shock and fear. “I know what you did. I saw photos of Joe. You’re supposed to help those who cannot help themselves and this is what you do?” Ena says producing her cellphone from her back pocket and shoving it in Renee’s face. I sigh and fold my arms over my chest. May as well let her finish. “You’re gonna leave this city and you’ll never work with the disabled, elderly, or children again, do you understand me?”
“Now, just wait a second. Who do you think you—,” Renee begins but Ena slaps her, hard right across the face.
“Joe is my friend. You were trusted with his care. Paid to see that he was safe and taken care of. You had no right to mistreat him,” she grits shoving her cellphone in Renee’s face again.
“That invalid?” Renee squawks in outrage that Ena has slapped her over someone named Joe. Ena draws her arm back, fist balled ready to pummel Renee’s rounded face when I catch her just in time, hauling her back against me.
“To your car,” I growl in her ear.
“Don’t pretend you give a shit about me,” she snarls in return. She claws me off of her
like my touch burns and storms out the door after one lingering glower at Renee.
“You know who I am,” I declare, stepping into Renee’s personal space.
“Yes—yeah you’re Beast. You’re the famous boxer from Southie,” she stammers, her voice shaking as she holds up the paper with my autograph on it. I smile insincerely.
“Nah. I used to be the boxer from Southie. You know exactly who I am today,” I say quietly. “And you know who she is?” I thumb toward the door Ena just went out of.
“She’s no one and she’s about to be in jail for assault!” she snaps with her eyes looking out the door like Ena may barge back in.
“She’s not no one. She’s the woman I love, and she’s very important to me. In fact, she basically controls everything I do. If she needed me to lay down in front of a train barreling down the tracks I would. So… if she asked me to… persuade someone on her behalf…” I lead with my head tilted slightly watching Renee turn a special shade of white. “You’re leaving town. First thing in the morning and you will do exactly as she said. And when I check up on you, if I find that you have repeated your mistakes, you won’t have the opportunity to make any more of them,” I whisper patting her shoulder as I make my way out her front door wondering how many times I am going to have to clean up Ena’s mess before she lands herself in the grave or in jail.
By the time I make it outside, Ena is long gone, taking with her a little more of my resolve to stay away from her.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Ena
Three months later…
“Happy birthday, Ena,” Nick says, handing me an envelope.
“Thanks. You really didn’t have to.”
“Open it,” he smiles and he’s all boy next-door charm. His brown hair is cut neatly, his jaw clean-shaven. He’s about six feet tall and lean. He’s got beautiful tawny eyes and a handsome face. Any other woman would have agreed to a date with him the first time he asked and every time since then too. I smile, shrugging as I tug the envelope open. I open it and catch the things that nearly slide out.
