Chapter Nine

Colleen

 

I cover my ears and close my eyes, curl into a ball, and wish that the bed would collapse on me so that there would be more stuff between me and the bullets. They fire like crazy, all around me, shattering glass; outside, men shout, but it seems very far away. The bullets are the closest thing, thumping into the house and then thumping into my chest. I used to lie like this under my bed after Alma gave me a beating for some ridiculous transgression. If I didn’t wear my hair properly, or if I said something that she deemed immodest, she would hit me, and then I would crawl under the bed and hide as I am now. And as I lie here, it’s almost like the same thing is happening. Alma just hit me, only this time she hit me with bullets, and the bullets are still firing and I—

 

I try to force myself to take a long, deep breath; I need to calm down. But the fact remains that if one of those bullets kills Gabriel, I’m dead. Whoever these men are will march up the stairs and kill me, but they might not kill me first. Father and Alma have done their best to shield me from the worst of the life, but they can’t shield me completely. I know what happens to women when bloody, wild men get their hands on them. They’ll rape me first, and then kill me, and do it in a brutal way to make a point.

 

“Okay,” I whisper, thinking maybe I can just focus on my voice. “Get out from under here and find a weapon. You need to be ready if anybody other than Gabriel comes up here.”

 

But that’s easier said than done. Even when the frantic gunfire stops, I don’t dare crawl out. My body won’t let me. I will it to, struggling with everything I have to force myself to crawl out, but it just won’t; it’s like there’s a physical barrier blocking me. I roll onto my front and will my arms out in front of me, but they stay plastered to my ears as though glued.

 

“This is ridiculous,” I growl at myself. “Move, you stupid woman! Just move!”

 

But it seems that when the bullets start flying, my body does not want to obey me. I lie still, my breathing getting more and more out of control. The floor is clean, but not completely so; I breathe in particles of dust that make my throat scratchy. I might cough … but if I cough, then whoever’s downstairs will hear me. I almost miss the shooting, now that it’s stopped. At least then I knew that Gabriel was alive. But now … they might be down there, searching his body before they come up here to finish their business.

 

Two more gunshots: crack, crack. And then more silence. No, if I listen closely: men talking. I can’t make out the words. I don’t know if one of the voices is Gabriel. And even if one …

 

Footsteps, coming up the stairs. Heavy footsteps. The heavy footsteps of heavy men, who’ll soon crush me with their weight, crush me right into the bed and do whatever they want with me.

 

Gabriel! Tears start to flow, pattering onto the carpet. Gabriel!

 

The door creaks open and a man walks in; I catch a glimpse of his boots, covered in melting snow and blood, all mixed together.

 

He drops to one knee. I scream. I don’t mean to, but it just comes out. A long, shrieking wail that hurts my throat, the tendons on my neck standing taut.

 

“Colleen,” Gabriel says softly. “Just calm down. You’re in shock, all right? Come out here. Come on.” He offers me his hand. “Take it, eh? You’re in shock, that’s all.”

 

I quiet the scream and extend my hand, still unsure if this is real or not. It could be a trick, easily. Couldn’t it? But how? That’s Gabriel. Those are his intense eyes and that’s his sharp-featured face, and even if his pants and his shirt are now flecked with blood, it’s still him. I reach out slowly and touch his hand. He tightens his grip and helps me from under the bed, and then lifts me up and places me down on the bed, going to the door and closing it.

 

Turning back to me, he says, “Sit there for five. Breathe slow. Our bodies are shit at staying calm if we haven’t trained them to. Don’t worry. You’re safe.”

 

With Gabriel standing over me, I’m finally able to calm down. It takes a while for my breathing and my heartbeat and the certainty that I’m not going to be raped or killed to settle down, but eventually it does. About halfway through, he comes to me and places his hands on my shoulders, massaging softly. He does it caringly, in a way I would never have guessed he could. He kneads them and whispers soothing words to me, and then takes a step back.

 

“Okay,” he says. “So this is how it is …”

 

“Why would he do that?” I gasp, when he’s done explaining.

 

“I don’t know,” Gabriel mutters. “Some play, but I’ve got no damn clue why. The plan might’ve been to kill me and ‘rescue’ you.” He curls his lip sourly. “That way he could spin some bullshit story about how I kidnapped you and he saved you, so maybe it’s something like that. Or maybe they were going to kill us both. I’ve got no damn clue.”

 

“So, what now?” I ask, finding the idea of this all being over both appealing and strangely devastating. I might be free of my kidnapper, which is a good thing, but I also might be free of Gabriel, which is definitely not. “Are you going to let me go?”

 

“Do you want me to let you go?” he asks. He falls to one knee and places his hand on my leg, squeezing tightly, and his stare searing into my eyes. “Is that what you want, Colleen?”

 

“Of course,” I mutter without conviction. “I’m a prisoner. What prisoner doesn’t want to be set free?”

 

He watches me closely. I sense that he knows I’m lying. It’s the subtle way he almost smiles, the corners of his lips twitching ever so slightly. “Whatever you say. But no, I’m not letting you go. You’re my hostage now. Not Lorenzo’s, not the Family’s. Mine. I might need to use you for leverage at some point.”

 

“And that’s why you’re keeping me around, is it?” I snap. “For leverage?”

 

“Yes,” he says matter-of-factly, but now it’s I who senses that he’s not telling me the whole truth. I smirk at him the same way he did at me. He sees it, acknowledges it silently, and then the wordless conversation ends when he stands up and turns away.

 

“What are we going to do?” I ask.

 

“I don’t take attempts on my life lightly,” he growls. “Every man who has ever tried to kill me has either ended up in the ground or wishing he was there. That bastard I let go’ll never use his arms properly again, or if he does, it won’t be for a long, long time. But he’s not the man who tried to kill me, not really. It’s the don; the don and his fucking pet.” He rolls his neck and then turns back to me. “I’m going to kill them,” he says. The scariest thing is that he sounds certain. He is not making a threat; he is stating a fact. “I’m going to kill both the bastards, and you’re going to come with me. It’s me and you now, Colleen.” He laughs grimly, and then takes my face in his hands. Looking at me with that penetrating intensity, he growls, “Do you understand?”

 

I lift my hand to his blood-flecked face, tracing the line of his jaw. This might be the most messed-up situation I’ve ever been in, but it’s also the most intimate and, in many ways, the realest. As I touch his face, we could almost be someplace else: our own home, our own bedroom. If it wasn’t for the blood and the scent of gun smoke, we might just be lovers.

 

“I understand,” I whisper, even if I shouldn’t. Even if I should run.