ENFORCER, page 1
ENFORCER
KELLI CALLAHAN
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Join My Mailing List
Kelli’s Voracious Vixens
About the Author
Also by KELLI CALLAHAN
Chapter One
Diana
What a long day; a long year. Who am I kidding? It’s been a long life. Maybe that sounds a little self-pitying, but after all that I’ve gone through. Well, let’s just say I don’t know that I would be here if it weren’t for Holly.
Walking into the large bathroom, I sigh as I reach forward and turn on the hot water. A bath would be nice. It’s one of the few ways that I have found that help me decompress and relax. I spend so much of my time pretending that everything’s okay and trying to save face. Maybe I shouldn’t though. At this point, it feels like a habit. He would never have allowed me to express how I felt or seek the help that I needed. God forbid, I tarnish the name of the great Mayor himself.
A buzzing sound draws my attention, and I turn to face the flashing iPhone. Holly.
“Hey Holly,” I say, picking up the phone.
“Hey Mom, how are you doing?”
“I’m doing great. What about you? Aren’t you home yet?” I asked, pulling my phone away and glancing down at the time.
“That’s actually what I wanted to call you about. Is it okay if I stay at Sam’s house tonight?”
“It’s a school night, Holly,” I say, closing my eyes and bracing myself for the impending arguments. Holly’s had a rough time since the divorce. I can’t blame her. Divorces are hard on everyone, and I do expect her to lash out to some extent. But at the same time, a mom can always use a break.
“Please, mom. I promise I won’t be late, and you know Sam. She’s an excellent student. There’s no way that she would skip school or do anything remotely reckless,” Holly adds.
I smile as I look up to the mirror. “Well, I suppose Sam is an excellent student and her mom is very nice. You know we’re friends… or acquaintances?”
“Yeah, exactly. Her mom is on the PTA and was on one of the approved lists of people I could hang out with,” Holly said, referencing the narrow list and rigid rules that she and I had to adhere to in order to protect Michael’s ego. He had grand plans for our future as a family. That’s how he would say it. Though, in reality, he was only thinking of himself. “Come on mom, please,” she begs.
I roll my eyes to the ceiling. “Alright, fine.”
“Yay!” she yells into the phone and I jump, pulling it from my ear.
“Just be very well behaved. Don’t go out after midnight―”
“Yeah mom, I know,” she said. “Okay, love you so much. Bye.”
Silence fills the room as I look down and see that she’s hung up the phone. Well, I guess I can’t really blame her. Sleepovers were always exciting for me too. That might be one of the things that I miss most about childhood. The freedom, the innocent worldview, where anything is possible and life is full of joy.
“Dammit.” I look at my phone. 3%. I really need to get into the habit of charging it more often. Michael would have called me careless or stupid; words that still sting years later.
Walking across the plush carpet to the side table next to my empty bed, I plug in my phone. It’s probably better this way, I think, plugging in and disconnecting myself. I know Sam Olson and her parents, Patricia and Carter. Holly will be safe tonight and will likely arrive at school on time tomorrow.
Standing tall and raising my arms high above my head, stretching, I soak in the silence of the home. These walls that once held so much fear and pain are slowly being turned into a place of peace, a sanctuary. It’s something that I’ve been working on with my counselor. God, once upon a time, if Michael knew that I had a counselor, he’d have gone ballistic screaming and throwing things. Oh, and the bruises I would have hidden behind oversized sunglasses and layers of concealer. I would likely have needed to miss out on a couple of public functions like the lady’s luncheon at the club this weekend.
Stripping off my robe and laying it neatly on the bed, I pause and turn back to face it. Michael was a stickler for having things in order. My counselor, Becca, told me that I need to take my life back one piece at a time by doing things that make me happy and not worrying myself with thoughts of Michael or the repercussions for my actions. That I should live wildly because I haven’t had the opportunity to. She’s wrong though. I used to.
Walking back to the bathroom and closing the door behind me, I remember that there was a time, long ago, when I had been wild and reckless. I found myself pregnant at eighteen. I had been a good girl, a good student, and I came from a good family. Like so many others, I made a mistake. My parents, as the old Christians that they were, didn’t believe in birth control, having talks about safe sex, or sex education. What little I knew came from high school with a substitute teacher who couldn’t care less if we knew about the importance of condoms or the likelihood of getting pregnant. I guess I shouldn’t blame my science teacher. Perhaps it should have been common sense, but when you are young and in love with the idea of love, you don’t worry about silly things like surprise babies or how your life will be forever altered by six minutes of semi enjoyable encounters.
Laughing now, I walk to the mirror and slowly dim the lights, creating a soft glow around myself. Reaching arms to my hair, I unclip it and let the soft blonde waves tumble to my collarbone.
Six-minute encounters. I feel like that could become some kind of book series where women confess their disappointment in the act itself. In my experience, sex hasn’t been worth the mess or the emotional toll.
With Brad, Holly’s biological father, I figured I could chalk that up to just a lack of experience. It was the first time for both of us and neither of us really knew what the other was doing. Mostly I laid there and cringed because, well, it didn’t feel amazing. After that, we did it four more times, all equally anti-climatic for me. And then we broke up. Maybe that sounds bad, but I guess it was high school. Then, when I was with men after, Holly was born: Again, not terrible, not great. Then finally, we come to my most recent sexual partner: Michael. The first time we were together, it was nice. I was happy enough. Mostly it was wonderful to have the attention of a man as important and as bold as Michael. He made me feel special in the beginning. It was one of the things that drew me close to him. We were years apart, and he is an average looking man, but it was the way he looked at me. The way he treasured me or, at least, I thought he did. Now, I wonder if it just came down to his ego.
Turning away from the mirror, I walk to the tub and slide into the high water and the bubbles. I couldn’t see it then, but now I know he needed me to adore him; and how do you get a woman to adore you? You treat her like a queen. But then things slowly began to change. It was subtle. The little jabs, the dismissive comments, the way he slowly worked more and more, having less time for me and Holly. Then one night in a fit of rage, he slapped me. I was so stunned by the impact, I fell backwards onto the floor. I can still remember the way I felt as I looked up into those cold eyes and realized that he wasn’t the man that I thought he was.
From then on out, everything changed. That’s not to say that I wasn’t rewarded for good behavior for making him look good in public or for hosting elegant dinner parties. But when I disobeyed him, or simply walked into the room while he was in a bad mood, well, I found myself catching quite a few slaps.
Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply the lavender aroma and try to clear my mind. Though it’s been almost a year, I find myself still stuck. These repetitive intrusive thoughts come out of nowhere, and once I get started, it’s like I can’t stop thinking about him.
“Trauma,” my therapist says. “Trauma response.” It’s something she and I are working on as well as the flashbacks. God, those are the worst. I shudder while sliding deeper, as the bubbles tickle my chin, and my toes peek out under the faucet that’s still running. So many times I came in here looking to escape, to hide. I would imagine myself sinking deep below and drowning under the opalescent foam.
The only thing that kept me from doing so was Holly. The idea of Holly growing up without a mother, because that monster of a man, broke my heart. Though she’s a little wild, she’s the light of my life and the person that’s got me out of bed every morning. Smiling at a thought of her round brown eyes and bob of blonde hair, I close my eyes. I practice my grounding exercises which came from encouragement from my therapist. I need to think of something positive to get rid of these moments where Michael seems to burn brightly in my head.
The air is thick as I jerk forward in the tub coughing. Did I go under in my sleep? Water splashes around me as I claw my way out of the tub. Gasping for air, I fall hard onto the tile floor. I force my eyes open then scan around the room. No, I didn’t go under the water. There’s― What is that? Smoke. Staring up at the thick cloud of gray hanging in the air, my eyes burn.
“What’s happening?” I croak, looking around. I start crawling on all f
“Somebody help me!” I shout beneath the crack. “Hello? Is anyone there? Someone help!” It’s useless. Why would anyone be here? Holly isn’t home tonight, and I live alone now.
My eyes burn as I gag and try not to vomit at the smoke surrounding my body. I have to get out of here. Turning around and crawling on all fours across the marble tile, I reach for the window on the second floor. I press hard but it doesn’t budge. No goddamnit! It can’t happen this way. Not like this. I just found my freedom. I’m just now getting my life back together and making it on my own. I can’t die!
Shoving hard as hot tears flow down my cheeks, I lean my head against the glass. It’s useless. It’s not going to open. Looking around, I grab the closest thing to me, a wooden hairbrush. I don’t know if it’ll be strong enough to break these double-paned windows, but it’s worth a try. Raising my arm high above my head, I smack the brush down into the window. It reverberates through my arm and sends shooting pains through my body. The window doesn’t even shudder.
Looking behind me, I search the room for anything that could be used. There’s nothing. Only glass shampoo bottles that would sooner shatter than the window and fluffy towels. Sweat trickles down my forehead, and I feel my head become light. The room spins around me. I’m going to die here. There’s nothing I can do about it. I will never see my beautiful daughter again.
Raising a shaky arm above my head once more, I slam the brush against the window and collapse to the floor. My vision fades on the edges as I feel the panic slipping in on the way to defeat― a sensation I was all too familiar with for seven years.
Chapter Two
Jake
Turning down the elegant road, I narrow my eyes in the darkness. A low glow brims through the neighborhood as smoke saturates the sky.
What is going on? Is there a fire nearby? I’ve been in the neighborhood already running surveillance on a couple of things. I like to keep tabs on what’s going on but when I see the smoke, I instantly know that I need to investigate it further.
Lowering the volume on the stereo, I roll down the window. Fuck. It’s the mayor’s house... the ex-mayor’s house; I correct myself before parking my car and staring up at the home in flames. Christ is anyone in there?
Opening the door and running into the yard, I look around for signs. The vehicle to my left is the Mercedes that belongs to the lovely Diana. Dammit. That means she’s home.
Jogging forward across the lawn, I test the door handle and cringe at the heat behind it. Pulling out my phone, I dial 911. The phone rings irritatingly four times before the operator picks up sounding bored.
“911. What’s your emergency?” the voice says, and I hear the sound of chips crunching in the background.
“Yes, there is a fire. I need assistance,” I say, rattling off the home address.
“Thank you sir. Is anyone trapped in the building?”
“Yes, I believe there’s a woman here. Her car is here,” I say, looking around and cringing at the golden flames now consuming the curtains behind the living room windows.
“Okay sir, thank you. Stay where you are.”
“Not fucking likely,” I say with a click of the phone. Lifting my T-shirt up over my nose, I gasp in the fresh air as I try the hot handle. It’s locked. I consider the windows for a moment. I change my mind as I remember the house fire that I witnessed all those years ago. Smashing up a front window will only increase the oxygen to the flame. It would explode. The fire would explode out of the house and at me. No, there has to be another way. God, there isn’t any time. She could be in there. Hell, she could be dead by now for all I know.
Reaching for my wallet, I yank out the bank card. I clutch the handle through the fabric of my shirt. It’s hot but bearable, and I sigh in relief at the clicking sound as the handle unlocks. Slowly opening the door, I jump back as the heat rushes toward me.
“Diana!” I shout, opening the door inch by inch. I’m afraid of allowing too much air in and further igniting the flames. “Diana!” I slowly step forward as the flames subside a little. The furniture is burning, as are the once lovely hardwood floors which are now stained black from the blaze.
“How the fuck did this happen?” I mutter, looking around the room. Stepping forward, I groan. I don’t think this was an accident. Fires rarely start on the floor. Holding my arm up to shield my head and tugging my T-shirt tightly over my nose again, I inhale what little bit of fresh air remains and make my way through the foyer. Grabbing the vase that hold golden sunflowers, I toss the flowers to the floor and drench my T-shirt. I don’t know much about fires, but I think that being damp can only help, right? Turning my head, I make my way further down the hall.
“Diana?” I call as my eyes burn. There’s smoke everywhere. I know that neither of us have much time. Flames creep up the walls of the kitchen as I step into the room, ducking down to get cleaner air. “Diana!” I call as the flames roar around me. I whirl around while running through the downstairs. “Diana! Where are you?” Sweat beads down my forehead as I look back up to the stairs. Christ, I hope she’s not up there. The stair rail is charred. I pull my limbs close and dash up the stairs, praying that they are stable enough to support my weight.
“Diana!” I shout, ducking as a flame bursts forward with a bang. “Jesus fucking Christ!” I shout, jumping to the side and wondering what possibly ignited.
A biting pain makes me whirl around as I cry out in pain. My jeans are on fire. Reaching forward and slapping my leg hard, I try to put out the fire. I grit my teeth against the pain and try to ignore the smell of burnt flesh. Squinting up into the dark house, I can only see by the dangerous glow that the flames are giving off. I walk toward what I hope is her bedroom.
Feeling the knob, I jerk my hand back gasping in pain. My lungs feel suffocated by the smoke, I am choking on air that feels more like water or salt or anything but air. I force myself to grab the hot handle and jerk open the door. I duck down and stick to the sidewall, just out of view of the door. Flames leap forwards flicking up over the door frame. The smoke is way too thick for my eyes. I crawl forward, making my way to the low light emanating on the far side of the room.
“Diana?” I choke, feeling myself starting to get dizzy. Rising up, I walk across the hot carpet that is melting and trying to stick to my leather boots. Reaching the doorknob of the bathroom, I start to shout.
“Diana? Are you in there? If you can hear me, say something.”
There is nothing but the crackling of flames threatening to engulf me and the home. I don’t think there’s fire in there. Grabbing the chair that is propped under the doorknob, I yank it away and toss it back into the flames. What the hell was this? Did somebody trap her in there?
Gasping in pain, I grab the knob and twist quickly. I dart into the bathroom, ducking low, and slip on the wet tile, smacking my head with a hard crack. My vision wavers as I slide my hand behind my head, flinching at the pain. Pulling my fingers close to my face, I blink at the trickle of blood trailing down my fingers. Great, just fucking great.
“Diana?” I croak, forcing myself to sit up and squint. There. Under the window, illuminated under the soft glow of moonlight, is Diana lying face down on the tile.
Crawling toward her, I press my hand to her mouth and let out a sigh of instant relief. Thank god, she’s breathing. Bending down and picking up her naked body, I pull her close to me, keeping my eyes on her face as I adjust her weight. I don’t have time to look for clothes if any remain. Turning back around behind me, I squint at the fire that is now creeping up along the ceiling of the once-glamorous bathroom.
