Emory

 

When you give someone your heart, give them one-hundred percent of it…

 

 

 

 

I’m working on a client’s wrist piece. It’s a memorial to her grandmother. It’s a simple design of a heart with her grandmother’s name running through it with a banner and a dove sitting on top. Apparently, doves were her thing, it’s a beautiful commemoration piece and I’m listening to stories she’s sharing with me about their relationship. From what I gather, she was a bit of a pistol, even in death her legend lives on through her family and friends.

I’m so enamored by her stories and working her piece that I don’t initially notice the figure standing in the doorway. I look up and there is a man I don’t recognize standing there. He lifts his arm and I see a gun pointed right at my chest, and the first thought that goes through my mind is, ‘oh hell no’ and ‘not again’! Without even thinking about it, I yell out Carson’s name. “He’s otherwise occupied, along with your sister.” I think he said sister, not sisters which means one of them either hasn’t been discovered yet or isn’t here. I’m hoping it’s the latter and not the former.

“Wh…who are you and what do you want?” I ask, my client is silently crying next to me. I pat her hand reminding her she’s not alone, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe. Not sure that one pat on the hand will let her know all that I’m thinking, but her body stops shaking so hopefully she got the message.

“Your man has been a thorn in my side for years, it’s time for a little payback,” he states, and now I know who he is for sure.

“Branson,” I whisper.

“I see my reputation is intact,” he says, with one of the evilest smiles I’ve ever seen mar someone’s face.

“I know you’re an asshole who can’t take responsibility for his own actions, blaming everyone else for your wickedness.” His smile drops from his face and he marches up to me and slaps me across my face. My head turns with the force, but I won’t let this monster know he’s gotten to me. I turn my head around and smile at him, he won’t get the better of me, even if he kills me.

“Watch your mouth, girlie,” he all but growls out at me. I’m not impressed by him and wonder what he means by my sister and Carson are otherwise occupied.

“Where is my sister!” I yell out, earning myself another hit, but I was anticipating this one and didn’t let my head sway away from him and I maintained eye contact with him. He grunts out at my defiance and grabs me by my hair and yanks me up, my gun falls to the floor and all I can think about is how much it’s going to cost me to replace that when this nightmare is over with.

“You’re going to buy me another one!” I don’t know where this defiant nature is coming from, but I feel strong in this moment when I should be feeling fear and cower from him.

He laughs at my statement and pulls me behind him out of the room. “You too, girl,” he says pointing the gun at my client. I bet she’ll never step foot back in our shop after this. I just lost a client which pisses me off more than the gun he’s been pointing at me and the slaps to my face.

“Do as he says, Myra.” I tell her, not wanting her to defy him so that she doesn’t get any of what I’ve received for mine.

She gets up from the chair and slowly makes her way towards us. My hair is still firmly held in his hand, so I reach up with one of mine trying to alleviate the pressure, but it causes him to pull tighter. Instead, I reach my hand out and Myra grabs it with her own. He pushes me forward causing me to nearly lose my footing, so I shoot a dirty look over my shoulder, causing him to laugh at my distress. He pushes us forward until we are walking into the breakroom, where I see Carson and Rainey sitting next to each other in chairs at the table with a woman standing over them with a gun of her own pointed their way. Great, the fucking maniac has help, how the fuck are we ever going to get out of this one?

“Krista, get the rope out of the bag and tie them to their chairs,” Branson tells her. So, this is the Krista Black that Marcus had suspected, seems my man has good instincts. Now, if I only had a way to let him know that we’re in trouble, so he can come in and save us from these morons. I find myself wishing we had an ESP type of link to communicate with each other. I close my eyes and send out a silent prayer that no more clients walk through the front door and that my man and sister don’t come to the shop and walk into this madhouse. I have a deep seeded fear that I’m the bait to trap Marcus. I hope with everything within me that he doesn’t fall for it and come in to attempt to save the day. But if my man knows I’m in any sort of danger, he’ll put himself last, regardless of the consequences.

“Now,” the fucker says as he crouches down next to me, “let’s see how much your man loves you, let’s see if he takes the bait and comes to rescue you,” he says, tracing the side of my face and pushing a strand of hair behind my ear. It causes me to shiver in disgust and he once again laughs at my expense.

“Fuck you,” I spit out at him.

“You just don’t seem to learn when to keep your mouth shut!” he hollers out while once again slapping my cheek, in the same damn spot, damn that’s going to fucking hurt in the morning.