Sin, page 26
The bones of his shoulder hurt, pressing into me as we cross a threshold. We go from dark and fresh air to dank and cold. The place is freezing.
“Be quiet and behave, London. I don’t want you to get hurt in this.” Hayes walks deeper into the room and stops to lower me, his hands gripping my arms to steady me. “It’ll be over soon.”
“Why are you doing this? Do you have any idea how crazy Alton is? What he’s going to do to me?” My breathing gets choppier as my chest gets tight. I have no weapon and my hands are tied. How the hell can I defend myself? “Please, I’m begging you…let me go.”
“Now why would he do that?” An arm wraps around my midsection as the blindfold is taken off. Alton is behind me and Hayes in front. “His eggs are in this basket, Lola. The love of his life was killed by the asshole you’ve given yourself to, and he wants revenge. A man in love without his woman will go insane.” His lips kiss my temple before he licks a path from cheek to chin, nipping my jaw hard before pushing me toward the agent. “Tie her up and gag her.”
I stumble into Hayes but turn my head to glare at the man who was never really my brother. My enemy.
He looks like shit. Dirty. Still wearing a cast, but like the rest of him, it’s filthy.
Nothing like the vain man I knew.
“You’re not getting away with this, Alton.”
“Want to make a wager on that, dearest?” His slimy grin causes my stomach to churn. The disgust must be visible on my face because his eyes narrow. “Something you want to say?”
“I hope he kills you—”
His hand meets my cheek, knocking me over, and I’m caught by his accomplice. Hayes pushes me behind him. “Keep your hands off her. Hurt her, and we’re done.”
“Fine. Just shut her up.” Alton walks away, leaving me with another man that I see as a monster.
I don’t say a word as I’m taken to the very back and my hands are secured to a metal post. Agent Hayes doesn’t use handcuffs and I’m thankful for that, but the thin zip tie in his hand isn’t going to be easy to escape either.
“Stay.” His voice is gruff, and the look he gives warns me not to defy him. He doesn’t go far and grabs a small metal chair by the only doorway in this place. It’s a large room. Empty, and with a few dozen boxes stacked against the opposite wall of where I am. There’s a second floor, but it’s all dark and the windows are too high for me to reach except for one right across from the metal stairs. They look unstable but will have to do.
“Count of three,” I mumble and take a step forward, ready to make a run when Hayes grabs my arm. “Let go.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“Do you really expect me to sit here and wait for him to kill me?”
“He won’t hurt you, London. I won’t allow it.”
At that I laugh, the sound rough and sardonic. “Really? You’re going to stop him?”
“You have my—”
“Your word means jack after helping a criminal kidnap me to use as a pawn. The fact that you’re willing to go this far for what? Revenge for a woman that didn’t love you?”
“Shut the fuck up,” he spits out, grabbing my wrist in a hold sure to leave a bruise. Hayes pulls me toward the pole, a hand on either side, and wraps the tie around them. It’s tight, hurts a bit, but plastic isn’t metal. “If you want to get out of here unscathed, I suggest not pissing off the only person here that cares if you live or die. To them, you’re just the dessert after a gory main attraction. Remember that next time you open that slick mouth of yours, kid.”
He walks away, kicking the chair toward me on his way out of the room. The heavy door clanks against the metal frame as it closes, leaving me alone.
With the toe of my shoes, I kick it closer and take a seat. Think.
The glass above me shows some light, so it can’t be that late. Maybe four or five.
“How do I get out of this mess?” Leaning my head against the metal pole, I close my eyes for a minute or two, trying to remember this video on Facebook I once saw about self-defense and what to do if you’re tied with zip ties.
You have to tighten them, leaving no space between the hands.
Extend your hands out with the palms facing each other.
Then you pull back as hard as you can.
Easy peasy.
“You seem lost in thought, Lola. Want to share with the class?” My eyes open and snap toward the sound of Alton’s voice. When did he come in? Why didn’t I hear him?
He’s standing a few feet away and watching me with that same creep-tastic look in his eyes. The same one that’s always made me wary of him. That he’s not right in the head.
“Why can’t you just let me be?” I ask, trying to buy myself a bit of time. He’s a talker. Get him going, and he might not notice my actions.
“Because you’re mine.” He says it so calmly, so emotionless. Alton takes another step toward me, his hand reaching out, but instead, he drops it and turns around, giving me his back at the last second. His good hand is at his hair and pulling. His breathing is becoming agitated. “You just had to fuck him, didn’t you? Had to give away the one thing that was going to make me enough money to disappear. He took your cherry and everything else that mattered in my life.”
While he talks, I take the end of the zip and pull, tightening the cord. But as his words sink in, I pause and sit straight. “What do you mean, disappear?”
“Dad wanted to sell you to an overseas trafficker. That, or whore you out, while I want to keep you.”
“You two are sick,” I whisper, but it’s not low enough and before I can turn my face, his fist connects, sending me back. The force is enough to break the hold of the plastic, my body landing hard on the cold concrete.
Blood drips from the cut at the corner of my bottom lip, and my head feels woozy. It takes a moment for me to regain complete visual of him, and even then, there’s a ringing in my ear that’s distracting.
He’s angry. Visibly shaking as he lowers himself over me.
Trapping me against the floor so I can’t escape. My legs kick out, but it does nothing to dislodge him. Instead, it makes him laugh, a hot, panting chuckle against my neck. He’s hard, and I’m disgusted. Acid-like-bile rises up my throat as panic sets in.
No one is here. No one to stop him.
I want to yell. Scream, but the words won’t come out.
“Even if you did, no one will hear you. This building is completely soundproof.” His good hand wanders over my rib and higher, skimming over my breast before wrapping around my neck. Squeezing hard. Painfully so as to block my airways. “I’m going to fuck you as Malcolm Asher bleeds out in front of you, London. I’m going to break you, pass you around to anyone willing to pay for your used cunt, and then have you train my next whore while I spend every last dime your mother left you. You’ll pay for your betrayal.”
“You’ll never get away with this,” I manage to wheeze out, clawing at his hands to let go.
Alton laughs, the sound psychotic. “Did you know that Dad killed your father years ago by cutting his break line? That he planned—used your mother to gain access to Julian’s wealth?” Another laugh, his face hovers over mine. Pure evil reflects in his stare. “However, I did something so much worse. I’m the one that killed Amelia, Lola…I pulled the trigger and now I’ll own their little girl.”
“You—” I don’t get to finish as the door is kicked in and multiple guns are cocked.
37
Two and a half hours ago…
THE DOOR TO MY office is thrown open and as I reach for my gun, Javier comes into view. He’s angry. Full of agitation as he clenches and unclenches his hand, one that has blood dripping from the center knuckle.
“What’s going on?” I’m already standing and making my way toward him. The man never reacts—he’s calm and collected at all times—knows better than to barge in here like this unless it’s an emergency. His expression makes me pause as I reach him, my stomach churning as the worst case scenario plays out. “Where’s London?”
“She’s been taken. They’re holding her at a warehouse attached to a power plant on Lake Michigan just outside of Milwaukee,” Javier answers, and I nod. Take a moment to breathe as a rage the likes of which I have never experienced surges through my veins. It’s sudden. Maddening as I grit my teeth and fight to not give in to the emotion.
Emotional reactions lead to mistakes. Bad calls of judgement.
She can get hurt in this process if I don’t play my cards right. They don’t want to hurt her, not when she comes with a price tag, but will to save themselves. Especially Marcus. He’s been shopping her innocence—the one she gave me so sweetly—to the first son of a bitch with the right amount of zeroes at the end.
They know I’m coming but will never guess which route I’ll take. How far I’ll go to save her.
“Alton, Marcus, and Jimmy.” It’s not a question, but a statement.
“No Marcus, but we do have one Shawn Hayes assisting.” This one surprises me, but then again, after what he said to London about Karina, I’ve been waiting for him to strike. Finding out she was his ex was the easy part. A few clicks and the world’s your oyster; the internet has it’s pros and cons, and this is the perfect example.
A man in love with an old social media account from his days in college that he hasn’t closed. That he hides from his job along with a creepy fascination for women who look like Karina. Photos of the couple. Declarations. The last post on his wall is of the day she left him.
It’s a personal purging. Dark and full of bitter rage.
Yet it’s the last line that stood out for me.
I’ll kill him for us. Take his everything and place it at your feet.
“Where were they, and why the blood?”
“At Lake Forest, and I punched a wall.”
My brows furrow as I focus on the first part of his answer. “Why the fuck would she—”
“London wanted to surprise you and they went to pick something up.” What could she possibly want from…that dirty girl. I’ll turn her ass a nice shade of red for this after I kiss her stupid. “They were in his office when shots rang out, killing Liam, injuring a girl named Stacy, among other patrons.”
“And Gina?”
“Run over trying to get London out and into their car. She has a flesh wound and a broken leg but is otherwise fine. I have someone with her and Stacy at the E.R. for precautions.”
“Who?”
“Carmelo.”
Nodding, I scratch my jaw. “Where’s Marcus Foster? One doesn’t go far without the other.”
“We have a tail on him. He’s out by the pier and seems to be waiting on someone.”
“He’s not to leave.” Not a request and at once, Javi pulls out his phone and sends out a few messages. Pings follow as I walk back around my desk and remove a black and white drawing of The Asher building given to me as a gift by a customer. It’s large and heavy in its expensive casing, and the perfect size to hide the access panel behind my desk.
Placing my entire palm over the screen, I wait for the scanner to skim my hand and the section of wall to unlock. It does with a loud click, and I pull it open, entering my private collection of weapons here.
Javier follows me inside and grabs two assault rifles with silencers while I remove my suit jacket and hang it from a hook on the wall. I’m a man that appreciates the nicer things in life, and my holster is leather-made and one of a kind. Tailor made by an old Italian man in a shop where a billfold will run you a few grand easily.
Taking the upper-body holster, I slip it on and secure the strap across my midsection before taking my Desert Eagles from their place inside a drawer. There are a few magazines beside them, six to be exact, with nine bullets each, and I take those too.
I want them to hear each shot.
To see the gleam of polished silver as I empty a round into each body.
Once we’re outside the weaponry room, I close the door and when the click signals it shut, I turn and open my top desk drawer. Atop a stack of papers is my favorite knife and I grab it, too, before walking out.
Mariah is at her desk when we do, and she’s just as angry. Her eyes are cold, and no words are said as I walk up, kiss her forehead, and continue straight back and toward a door that no one uses here.
The private elevator will take me straight to my garage, opening the door mere steps from the car I keep on site. I open the door and enter, turning to look at my cousin who’s already on her way to make my office appear as if nothing has happened.
Our eyes meet and she gives me a nod which I return, then looks at her boyfriend for the same.
Today, their blood will cleanse the streets of Chicago.
“I didn’t know.” Marcelles greets me near the pier’s entrance with a serious look on his face. He’s holding his hands up, taking a step back as I tower over him. Friend or enemy, everyone around me runs the risk of my wrath at the moment.
Blackness—that dark manifestation of my soul is clawing its way out and wanting to play. For every second they have London, I’ll repay the world with my maelstrom of vengeance.
“Where is he?” My voice is cold, hand on the handle of the knife inside my pocket.
“Down below and not alone.” Beads of sweat form at his brow, and he wipes them away. “He’s with that officer you told me to look out for—”
“Bristol?”
“Yes.” His phone rings, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he keeps his gaze on mine. “Marcus seems desperate, Malcolm, while the Lieutenant kept assuring him about some buyer. Those two are deep into some fucked-up shit, and I’ll take them out if you need me to. Just say the word, and it’s done.”
“These two are mine. They all are.” Agent or not, Shawn Hayes ran his luck and lost. There is no coming back from this.
“Understood. My loyalty has always been with you and our family, my career be damned.”
“I know.” And I do. Marcelles has been with us for years and has never betrayed that trust. He’s an honest man, a hard-working agent, but loyal to only those in his family. He’s my mother’s cousin and went to school with my father and Director Monahan.
All sides interconnect and watch out for the other.
He’s not a traitor. Neither is Monahan.
However, Shawn Hayes has proven to be more than a nuisance. He’s a danger to society.
A rogue.
“The press release will go out to all major networks in three hours. There will be a manhunt.”
“I’ll make every second count.” I turn and walk around toward the pathway below, when I pause and look at Javier. “Who’s watching them now if Marcelles is up here?”
“Michael. The kid wants to prove himself and atone for his sins.”
Three men now stand right where Marcelles said they would be, talking in hush tones and with hands thrown up in the air as they argue over something. They don’t see me or the others with me, and I use it to my advantage.
A moment to test one of my own.
Grabbing Michael by the collar of his shirt, I pull him beside me and hand over my gun. “How good of an aim do you have?”
He gives me a thumbs-up, mouthing good while taking my Eagle.
“Three men, and one is young,” I say while waving a hand in front of us. “Shoot the one to the left in the chest, and I’ll forgive you. Get a bullet in his head, and I’ll welcome you back with a forgiven debt. You have one bullet…make it count.”
We step back slowly, and he takes his stance. Michael raises his hands and aims with elbows in a locked position. His hand trembles a bit and he shakes his head to rid himself of the mounting nerves. The finger on the trigger twitches, but on his next breath he pulls, and Bristol falls to the ground.
The men turn our way, and Marcus pales but is smart enough to stay quiet as I walk over to inspect the shot. I’m impressed with Michael’s accuracy and balls to take this risk when he still looks in pain himself. I can respect that. Forgive but never forget.
“Center of forehead and clean exit by the puddle beneath his head. Welcome back, kid.”
Michael makes a humming sound, and I look back to see him place a hand over his heart. He’s a good person that made a mistake. He paid for those crimes with blood and the removal of his tongue, took it like a champ, and I’ll repay him for proving his loyalty when all is said and done.
“Who the fuck are you, and what do you want?” the older man beside a quiet Marcus asks. “This is a private sale. I’ve already paid for that cunt to suck—” He doesn’t get to finish as I pull my knife out, flip it open, and slide it across his throat. The cut is deep enough to kill, and it splatters across myself and Marcus, ruining my white dress shirt.
I’ll never know his name. If he has a family.
None of that matters when his intentions were to hurt the one I love the most in this world.
Blood flows from the open wound and he weakens, dropping to his knees in front of me. Fisting his hair, I yank his head back, stretching the torn skin, prompting more of his life’s force to drip onto the wet ground below.
“Please,” he cries, a gurgling sound as he begins to choke. “Please get me help.”
“She’s mine.” His eyes widen at my words before I slide the blade once more, cutting his aorta. I drop him and let him bleed out while I turn to face Marcus fucking Foster. “Anything you want to say? Explain?”
“You can have her,” he says, holding a hand out as if to keep me from advancing. It didn’t. “All I need is five million dollars and two tickets to Mexico. Give me that, and you’ll never see Alton and me again.”
“Really. Just five?” Wiping the dirty blade on my pants, I bring the gleaming steel between us. “Why not ten? Fifty, even?”
“That would be very generous of you. I’d be forever—” The back of my hand cuts him off, the force of the blow causing him to stagger back and fall.
“I’m going to enjoy every single second of your death, Marcus.” Standing over him, I place the sole of my shoe on his chest. “However, before that can happen, I have a promise to fulfill. I told you you’d have a front seat to Alton’s end, and I’m a man who keeps his words.”
