by W Winters
“I didn’t think you could have lighters in here,” I barely speak, looking over her tattoos again on her inner forearm. I know them, I’ve seen them on psych patients before. They’re gang tats and the ones on her right forearm are credits for kills. I only got a glance but there are at least twenty.
“You can’t have lighters in here,” she answers as she plays with the lighter she has in her hand. Shrugging, she continues. “You can’t ask for a smoke and just get it. You can’t have this either,” she says and pulls a blade from her pocket. It’s a simple pocketknife, with a corkscrew at the end and she taps it against her temple. “The blade is cleaner but takes too long. The corkscrew is more efficient. Bloodier, but more efficient because of the size of the wound.”
Another guard passes and all the while, she has the knife out and a smoke in her hand. She takes a puff and blows the smoke my way.
“Why do they let you?” I ask and try to play up the naivety.
“Because we're all on the same payroll, working for the same higher command. Well, some of them… others, I pay off. I get paid to kill and I pay them to help me.” She shrugs, taking another long inhale. “This shift is full of people who’ll look the other way for the right price. It’s that easy.”
My breathing is shallow, my vision black around the edges. She’s not fucking with me, she’s truly going to kill me and the people in here will let her.
The true fear is back, but so much anger comes with the knowledge.
“I really am sorry.”
She talks to me like it’s a given. As if I’m easy prey.
It’s her. And me.
I nod, my lips still parted in feigned disbelief and then the woman lies back, not even looking at me.
I bring my knees into my chest so I can bury my head in them. I keep my eyes on her though. She can’t see my expression. She can’t see the unbridled hate.
Every footstep beyond the bars steals my attention.
She’s waiting on a note. I need to get that note first.
Seth
Their graves were right next to each other. Side by side. I knew mine would be the third. The plot was empty and I knew I’d be buried there. My grandfather, my father, and then me. My grandfather was a stubborn old man, set in his ways and vocal about them.
I never liked him much. You can’t ever like someone if you fear them the way I feared him. He died when I was young and as I stood there tracing the etching on his stone, I wondered if I’d feel the same way had I gotten to know him when I was older. After all, I feared my father, but I loved him. I hated him sometimes, but I respected and loved him. I understood. Children can’t understand this life and I stood there thinking, that must have been why I didn’t like my grandfather.
“You all right?” A small feminine voice broke through the hiss of the wind. Laura clutched her coat around her and I opened my arms so she could take refuge there.
“Fine.”
“Then why are you here?” she questioned. Her no-nonsense bluntness always made me smile, even that day. With the bite of the cold nipping my nose, I sniffed and then shrugged. “I can’t just come visit my pops?” I asked her, although it was rhetorical.
She peeked up at me through her thick lashes and said, “Please, Seth. Tell me what’s wrong.”
So much was wrong. She couldn’t do anything to change it and she shouldn’t have had to deal with that shit just because she was with me. I’d never make her take on my burdens.
“I was just thinking of my grandfather, that’s all. I promise.” I offered her a small smile, which she reluctantly returned and when she did, I kissed the crown of her head.
She leaned in closer to me, taking her hand from her pocket, wrapping her arm around my waist and she slipped that hand into my coat pocket. I liked the move. Even more, I liked that she’d been making them more readily. She wasn’t holding back anymore. I don’t know what changed, but she wasn’t trying to run anymore. I had her. She really wasn’t going to leave me, at least that’s what I thought.
“You know you can tell me anything, right?” she asked me in a whisper. Her cheek was pressed against my chest and when another sharp gust blew by, she didn’t complain. She stood there by my side, quiet and ready to wait longer if I wanted.
“I know,” I told her although it was a lie. I could never tell her everything. There were some things she would never know if I could help it.
“Can I tell you anything?” she asked, and a hint of insecurity revealed itself in her tone.
Resting my chin on the top of her head I told her easily, “Of course.” Although nervousness crept in, not knowing what she would say.
“I love you, Seth, and I’m afraid you’re going to break my heart.”
I thought I came there to that grave to pray that when I died, I wouldn’t be buried next to them. That I’d be buried somewhere else, somewhere with a different kind of family. Instead I stood there praying that I’d never break her heart. It was the only good thing I’d ever have. I couldn’t break it. I’d never forgive myself.
“If I ever break your heart,” I told her honestly, “I’ll never forgive myself.”
My eyes barely stay open as the memory from almost a decade ago leaves me. My lids are heavy, but I fight it. I know I’m lying down; I can see the ceiling and fan blades whipping around. The light is bright and right above my head.
I’m hot, so fucking hot. But more than that, I can’t keep my eyes open. I fight it, willing my body to obey me.
It takes only a few seconds to see the IV stand, to feel the prick in my arm of a needle, to sense there are people around me.
“Stop drugging me,” I say and pull at the tube in my arm chaotically. Get it out. Get it out. The need to run is strong but I don’t remember why. The needle slips out but not fully, and the hot blood in the crook of my arm spurs me further, ripping pain through my forearm as I hiss, rolling over on the sofa although strong arms keep me down.
My hands wrap around forearms, trying to shove them away. My muscles coil and a new pain shoots up my right side. Before I can kick my feet up, someone yells, “Get him,” and pins my lower half down.
“Fuck,” a man curses under his breath. It’s strained and it takes me a moment to recognize it’s Jase. “You need the fluids,” Jase grits out.
My back presses into the cushions beneath me as the hands holding me down shove harder even though I stopped struggling.
“Stay down,” he orders and I don’t have the strength to answer. My head spins. It’s hot and bright.
“What happened?” I ask and my voice sounds far away. I’m trying to remember. Nothing is coming to me though.
“You were passed out when we got there. Scared the shit out of the old man.”
“The old man?” What’s the last thing I remember? My face is hot. The fight. She threw something at me. Laura… she punched me. Her eyes are filled with pain in my memory. I shake it away. No, no, that didn’t happen.
“What happened?” I question again, sounding delirious even to my own ears.
“You lost a lot of blood from the shot,” Jase says calmly and then he tells me to hold still. A random detail comes to me, the prick reminding me of another.
“They gave me something.”
“Stay still,” he warns again and more of what happened plays in my mind. It comes in flickers. Black and white slides of what happened as the needle pierces my forearm, finding a new vein. My jaw hardens, tightening and I refuse to react as everything comes flooding back.
“Laura,” I finally speak, the room starting to settle. “They’re going to kill her.”
“We know. You told us. This isn’t the first time you’ve woken up like this.”
“They said they’d kill her!” The words rush from me, my breathing coming in ragged as I remember what he said. Make it quick.
Jase doesn’t respond and dread spreads through me. “I don’t need anything,” I speak as I try to sit up but Jase is there to push me back dow
n. The force of his shove knocks my breath from me. My head is still spinning.
“You need fluids.” His voice is harsh and although somewhere deep down I wonder if he’s right, I deny it, shaking my head and telling him to fuck off.
“Two hours,” he tells me like that will keep me down. “Just two hours.” The second time he speaks it’s like he’s asking me.
“She may not have two hours,” I say and my voice breaks. The words splinter with the lack of hope. “They’re going to kill her because of me.” I remember something important suddenly and speak again before Jase can say anything.
“Steven Davis. Find him, kill him.” I remember the name. I remember that dumb fuck. “He’s the one who said it. He’s one of Marcus’s—”
“You told us last night. We already found him, found the lot of them.”
The lot of them? I don’t remember. I struggle to recall the details.
“You said there were four and there were. The van was at the docks, looks like they were waiting on someone. Don’t think they expected us to show up, but we had the trace on Davis still.”
“You got them?” I want them all dead. Every one of them needs to die.
“They took off and he had a gun.” Jase talks to me absently and I look between him and the thin curtains over the windows. I recognize the bay windows, the coffee table, the art on the walls. It’s his girlfriend Bethany’s house. It was probably closer than the bar for him to transport me from wherever I was. More importantly, it’s dark outside. Everything comes back, drip by drip.
Jase keeps talking as I remember the pieces of what happened. “We had to shoot. We got him, he gave us the other three before he bled out and Declan got the plates on their vehicle. We’ve got their names and Declan has possible locations.”
“Let me, let me go.” I struggle to sit up.
“Just two hours,” he says and then I remember how he said last night.
“What time is it?” I ask, my blood pounding in my ears. How much time has passed? All three of them will pay but first, I need her safe. I need Laura back and by my side. “Is she okay?”
“Eight. We didn’t get you until four this morning. And yes, we have eyes on her.”
My hand travels down my side and my fingers brush over stitches. Everything moves slowly as I get colder and colder. Too much time has passed. “Where is she?” I question and again Jase doesn’t answer.
“We need to get to her!” I rip out the IV again and this time I have more strength, more alertness so when Jase’s arm comes down I’m prepared with my forearm already braced and shoving back. Whoever’s at my feet got a good kick to his groin and I’m up and off the sofa, breathing heavily like a wild animal and staring at a pissed off Jase Cross and some poor guy who’s doubled over.
The doc, maybe. I don’t know. I don’t recognize him or his voice.
“Don’t be stupid,” Jase says lowly, taking a step forward but not reaching for me.
“Fuck, shit,” the man I kicked sputters. I got him hard and if I wasn’t so concerned about Laura, maybe I’d care.
“We have guys on the inside.” Jase barely acknowledges the man. His focus stays on me.
“Who?” I say and the word comes out deep, rougher and louder than I intended. The man I don’t know slowly rises, his face both flushed and scrunched like he’s trying to hide his pain. “Sorry,” I bite out when he looks at me with contempt. He doesn’t respond but I can hear him swallow from all the way over here. Judging by where his hands are and the fact they don’t move even as he walks out of the living room and toward the half bath that’s down the hall, I hit him where it hurts.
Remorse courses slowly through me as my vision becomes clearer and the pieces of what’s happened line up, one after the other.
“A few guards are keeping an eye out. Walters, for one. Williams and Shultz. Chris Mowers.”
“Who’s getting her out?” I question, hating how tight my throat is at the thought of her in a cell. She’s not meant to be there.
“She shouldn’t even be in there,” I add before Jase can say anything and both of my hands fly to the back of my head. My breathing is quick, too quick as I pace in front of him.
It’s dark in this living room, but the floors sound the same as they did before. The soft groan of old hardwood. I look Jase in the eyes, pausing my steps and noting how tired he looks, how his five o’clock shadow is far too long. “It should’ve been me,” I say, dragging out the confession from the back of my throat.
A different kind of pain washes through me and I close my eyes, remembering how she shut the window even knowing the cops were coming.
“She took the fall and it should have been me.” Shit, everything would be different if she hadn’t done that. She’d be safe. “She shouldn’t be in there!”
“Listen to me,” Jase says in a hushed tone and he sounds closer. I open my eyes slowly and he is, he’s right next to me, reaching out his hand and gripping my shoulder. “She’s going to be fine.”
“You didn’t hear him,” I start to say, my head shaking chaotically as I remember the voice in the woods, the dead fucker who said, make it quick. I’ll never get it out of my memory. I won’t be able to sleep without hearing Davis again and again the moment my eyes close. Not until I know for certain Laura is safe.
“That prick is dead,” he says and Jase’s tone is firm, but it doesn’t matter.
“The prick works for Marcus,” I stress, hating that I have to justify my concern to him. He should know I can’t sit back. He should fucking know.
“He’s never done anything like this. He’s never come after a woman.” Jase’s voice is calm with his head shaking just slightly. The small, rhythmic movements are at odds with my own. He repeats, “He’s never come after a woman.”
My heart thuds. It’s not good enough. I can’t sit back hoping Marcus doesn’t give the word and that the men on the inside are able to prevent anything bad from happening to her.
She’s mine to protect. She needs me.
“I can’t sit back,” I say and my voice cracks on the last word as I close my eyes, moving my fisted hands to the crown of my head. I’m barely steady, but I’m capable of seeing her there. Watching her pace around a cell she doesn’t belong in. Watching her walk alone when I should be there for putting her through it all. “I have to see her.”
“Visiting hours are over,” Jase speaks as if that’s the end of it. Hate is brutal, coursing its way through me. I’ve never resented the man, but what I feel for him at this moment borders on unforgivable.
When I open my eyes, doing my best to keep from uttering the spew of curses that choke me, I see a jacket draped over the sofa arm, probably Jase’s, and on top of it are his keys.
He’s not my boss anymore. And he sure as fuck isn’t a friend. He’ll have to kill me to keep me away from her.
“My car still at her place?” I ask him casually. My gaze doesn’t move from the glint of silver metal until he says, “We got it. It’s out front. Your wallet and phone were in the van at the docks.”
“Where are my keys?” I question him.
He doesn’t respond verbally. Instead he motions with his arm behind me and lets it fall to his side.
I don’t waste a second putting my wallet in my back pocket, my phone in the front and then snatch my keys from the end table to the right of the sofa.
“You’re just going to leave?” he says, raising his voice as I make my way to the door. With my back to him, I pause.
“Bethany stitched you up, by the way. We had to come here to get everything she needed. She risked her job to get the meds.”
Glancing over my shoulder at him, I tell him, “Thanks. I’ll tell her thanks when I see her again.”
“You just kicked her boss in the nuts. You may want to apologize at some point.” He’s resigned in his tone, but there’s a hint of friendliness. He huffs in humor and bends down to grab his own keys and then his jacket.
“You have to know
I can’t just sit here.”
“I do,” he admits and then he adds, “Don’t do anything stupid, Seth.”
He doesn’t look at me and he doesn’t wait for a response. Instead he pulls out his phone and dials someone. I don’t wait to hear who.
The pain is a dull white noise running through me. The adrenaline outweighs any and everything that could keep me down.
I’m not conscious of what I’m doing when I get in the car. The headlights are the only bit of light in the neighborhood, but the streets have a few cars scattered through them. I’m careful as I drive, recounting everything that happened. Making sure I know all of it.
My memory stutters at the pain in her eyes when I told her the truth about how her father died. Everything else is red. Blood colors and stains every moment.
A section of road on the way to the jail is nearly black from the lack of streetlights on this side of town, and there are hardly any cars out here. It gets dark early this time of year.
The bank is lit up though. It’s a beacon in the night. Every window is brightly lit. I know it’s closed. It closes at six every day and it’s closed all day on Sundays. Everything around here closes at six except for the bars and the church.
I’m not even thinking; my gaze doesn’t stray from the front of the bank. It’s mostly glass. I know I’m conscious of that. Glass is easy to drive through.
My foot feels heavy on the gas and the rev of the engine sends a thrum of anticipation to my veins. I’m hot as I turn the wheel just slightly. Just enough to put the bank in my path.
Visiting hours are over. Jase’s words echo in my head. We can’t get in to the jail without signing in. I’m sure he thinks she’s safe and that she’ll still be there tomorrow, but I can’t risk it. I won’t. He has the distance to be logical, to allow the risks. I don’t have that luxury.
My heart races as I keep my hands steady on the wheel, bracing myself.
If they won’t let me visit her or see her right now, then I’ll join her.
