Red.
Red.
All I see is red.
Blood.
So much bright, red blood.
It’s like déjà vu. I stand alone and watch the man that I love, my world, my everything, be driven away in the backseat of a car. Bleeding out from a gunshot wound, and I am absolutely powerless to stop them. This time though, it’s not the cops, the good guys, that have him. It’s the Irish Mafia. The bad guys, the Mob. The. Mob. How do we fight them and win? How can we not? They have Deacon—there’s no other option.
My breath is coming in short hiccupping puffs as I try to calm myself. I have to think. Deac said to be his fierce girl. It’s up to me to save him. Oh God. It’s up to me to save him. As the enormity of that sinks in, I stumble to the blanket and the picnic basket where Deacon’s phone is. I don’t know why he told them I didn’t bring mine. At the moment I don’t care. As long as I have some way to call for help. Upending the basket, I riffle through our leftovers until I locate the phone. My hands are shaking so badly, it takes me three tries to get to the contacts. Who do I call first? Sonny, Mav, or Reggie? I can feel the panic rising and the pangs in my belly have started again.
I kneel down and rub a hand over my baby. “Please, little Love, please be okay in there. I can’t handle anymore. I can’t stay strong for daddy without you,” I tell him, my voice cracking as I swallow past the tears that haven’t stopped raining down my face since they wrenched me out of Deacon’s arms.
With a deep breath I decide to call Reggie first. He has more connections and would know what to do. I rock back and forth on my knees as I wait for him to answer, my breathing becoming more and more labored with each second that ticks by. When I finally hear the deep rumble of his voice, I completely break.
“Yo, brotha. What’s up, you done playing hide and seek in the forest now?”
“Re-eggie,” I stutter between gasping, soul-shaking sobs.
“Frankie? What’s happened?” When I can’t get anything out beyond my nearly silent breath-stealing crying, “I need you to breathe, girl. Just breathe,” he demands gently.
“They-they t-took h-him. They took Deacon. They sh-shot him and then they m-made him go with them,” I wail.
“Motherfucker. Motherfucker!” he roars. Then there’s a lot of commotion on the other end of the line. The rest of my Loves must be there. I can faintly hear Sonny in the background. “Where are you, Princess? We’re coming for you now,” Reggie tells me in a more gentle voice.
“At th-the lake. They took the k-keys and my phone.”
“Okay, okay. We’re driving now. Get in the truck if you can and lock the doors for me, okay?” His voice is commanding and soft all at once. It helps to calm me. Makes me feel less alone in this moment where I am so very much alone. My world crumbling around me with every tear that falls.
It takes them thirty-five minutes to get to me. Thirty-five minutes that felt like hours upon hours. Thirty-five minutes where I had nothing to think about other than the fact that the Irish Mafia had the father of my unborn child, my soul mate, my best friend, and I have no clue where they have taken him. Deacon was shot trying to protect me. SHOT. I try not to dwell on that and just pray that he’s okay. Pray that these men of deplorable dishonor so desperate to get the evidence that they need that they will keep him alive and unharmed. I know who and what Deacon is, and I know that he can take whatever beating they deliver. I just wish for him to not have to endure any of that pain. Not over me. Certainly not over Andrew. The fact that they shot him troubles me more and more as the minutes tick on.
By the time they arrive, I am a tear-stained, weeping mess. I jump from the Rover and lunge at Sonny, babbling incoherently, just trying to explain to them what happened, but I can’t. I cannot get a single coherent syllable out, and then I hear Deac’s voice in my mind, I need my fierce girl right now. He does need her. He deserves her. My body won’t stop trembling and the fine sheen of sweat brought on by anxiety makes my skin sticky, but I straighten my spine in determination and pull on all of my resolve and strength. Resolutely, I wipe the tears tracking down my face and blow out a breath and explain to them in as steady a voice as I can muster exactly what went down.
When I finish, I look at them one by one expectantly. “What do we do now? Do we call Adams and Flores, the marshals, who?” I implore anxiously.
The fear is written all over each of them in varying degrees, and I just want to shut my eyes and ignore it because it terrifies me even more that they’re scared.
“First, let’s get the fuck out of here. Once we’re back at the house we can figure out how to move forward,” Reggie insists.
Mav touches my temple gently. “You have a bruise here. Did they hurt you? Should we take you to the hospital?” The concern in his voice is evident. I haven’t felt any more pain in my abdomen and that’s my only concern for myself at the moment.
“No, I’m fine. Deacon didn’t give them the chance to hurt me too badly.”
He nods and wraps an arm around my shoulder, ushering me to the truck and helping me in. I watch as Trent cleans up our picnic and stows everything in the back of Deac’s Rover. Reg tosses him the key. “You drive D’s truck, we’ll meet you at the house.”
Once Reggie and the Loves are all in the vehicles, we take off in a silence crackling with tension. Nobody speaks because we’re all lost in our own debilitating thoughts. Reg breaks the silence. “Frankie, you sure they were Irish?” he asks, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror.
I nod solemnly. “Positive. I could tell by their names and accents, but they also used the word ‘gaff’ instead of house, so I’m pretty certain.” His mouth set in a grim line, I can almost see his thoughts as they flicker across his face. “Tell me right now that we can get him back, Reggie. Tell me that we will,” I plead.
Blasting me with his ebony gaze, he utters with utmost certainty, “We will get him back, Frankie. No matter what we have to do. What laws we have to break. You understand me?” he asks sternly.
Sonny turns in his seat toward me and Mav tucks me more firmly into his side and squeezes my shoulder. “My little brother will come home safe and in one piece, Princess. There’s nothing that will keep him from coming back to you. Not even the Mob,” Sonny assures me. “We just have to do all that we can on this end to make it happen,” he states before turning around in his seat again.
Once back at the house, they bombard me with more questions. “Where was he shot? How bad was he bleeding? Why did they take him and what in the hell do they think you have that can put them away?” I answer each one in a detached, monotone voice. The longer he’s gone, the more distraught I become.
“They said twenty-four hours is when they’ll call. They have my phone; couldn’t we just call them?” I ask. All I want is to hear his voice, have him tell me that he’s okay.
Reggie’s head pops up. “They have your cell, Princess?”
“Yes, for some reason Deac lied to them and had them take my phone instead of his. I’m not sure why,” I say, confused.
“That brilliant motherfucker. Looks like our time in the sandbox stuck with him. OORAH, brother!” We all stare at him, baffled by his outburst. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he starts explaining. “While you were in the hospital that time, he downloaded one of those phone finder app things. As long as it’s not shut off, we will at least be able to track the phone from my phone and his,” Reg says, smiling for the first time since they came to my rescue.
Sonny chimes in, “So we’ll know where he is? Then what?”
“We won’t necessarily know where he is, but we’ll have a location on the phone, so we can at least go to it and force whoever has it to bring us to Deac. It’s definitely not our first course of action, but it’s a solid Plan B.”
“Okay, what about Plan A, bro?” Mav asks him, pacing the room.
“I think that we should have Frankie call the marshals and ask, again, why these guys think that she has anything. They gave her their card, let’s use it. Feel them out a bit and go from there. One of those guys is still alive, right?” He takes a deep breath and his eyes dart to mine. “Not to be dramatic or anything, but we call the cops, they’re not gonna want to negotiate shit and the Irish will feel betrayed and . . .” His voice trails off.
“They’ll kill him,” I finish for him. “Won’t they? They’ll kill him because . . . just because.” My voice is tinged with a low-lying panic, bordering on hysteria, hovering right at the precipice and dying to bubble over. None of them answer me. They don’t need to. “I’ll go find my purse and the card,” I tell them absently as I head for the hall table where I left it.
Making my way back to them, I doubt our ability to bring him home and I immediately feel guilty. They love him as much as I do and they won’t give up on Deacon. I can’t either. Reggie hands me Deac’s phone. “Just tell him that the letters are coming more frequently and becoming more aggressive, Frankie.” I look up at him startled—I had no clue. “Don’t give them more than you have to just yet.” I nod and take the phone from him, dialing in Deputy Riley’s number and listening to it ring over and over before I get his voice mail.
Hanging up, I try the other number on the card for his partner, Deputy Baird, and get the same thing. Frustrated, I thumb the end button. “Nothing. Neither of them are answering.”
Sonny is pacing along with Mav now, stabbing his fingers over and over through his short dark hair, his usually clean-shaven face sporting a five o’clock shadow. “Why don’t we go to the house and look around. Frankie might be able to find something that they couldn’t or at least maybe something that would point us in the right direction.”
Reggie stands. “That’s actually a good idea. You still have your keys, right?”
“Yeah, I have them. I don’t know if I’ll find anything that they couldn’t, but I need to do something.”
We all move as one toward the door when Mav stops abruptly. “We need to call Pop. He’s on his way here to talk about the fight and the new promo. He needs to know. Oh fuck. How are we gonna tell him, Sonny?” Just then the door opens and Joe and my dad both walk through it, smiling when they see us and then just as quickly their smiles slip when they notice our solemn expressions.
“Che cosa, bella?” my dad asks worriedly. We all look from one to the other. I can feel the tears starting to prick at the backs of my eyes. The thought of having to tell them, having to relive it all again, is almost unbearable. My father must be able to see the pain written across my face because he starts speaking to me in Italian, not giving me a second to answer him. Immediately he thinks it must be something with the baby.
“No, Dad. The baby is fine,” I tell him in English so that the Loves know what we’re talking about. When my dad gets overly emotional, whether it be mad, sad, excited, whatever, he reverts to Italian.
Joe looks to Sonny, his eldest son. “What’s going on, Jameson? Where’s Deacon?” he asks warily. A tiny sob escapes me, causing them all to turn in my direction.
“Pop, Guy, let’s go sit down for a second and talk,” Sonny says. Then turning to us, “You guys go ahead, Trent and I will catch up.”
“Are you sure, Sonny? We can wait,” Mav assures him.
“No, you go.” They’re using words to speak, but they’re communicating more through looks and some silent understanding that I can’t figure out.
“All right, brother.”
That said, they lead me out the door and to the house I haven’t been back to in all this time.
When we pull up into the driveway, Reggie turns in his seat as much as his large frame will allow. “Now, I don’t know how much they’ve cleaned up since that night. When Trent and I were here, it was a mess and I doubt it’ll be much better now. I just want you to be prepared. Okay?” I look out the window and stare at the house I called home and shiver as I remember the last time I was inside. Reaching for the door handle, I nod in agreement and step out of the truck. The three of us meet at the front of the vehicle and slowly make our way to the front door. Me fumbling with the keys and them close behind me, looking over their shoulders for what, I don’t know, while I unlock the door. I stop and face them. “Are we even allowed in here?” The thought never even occurred to me until now.
“Do you care?” Reggie deadpans. An answer isn’t necessary. I don’t give a single fuck if we are allowed or not. If it means getting Deac back, I will break every goddamn rule known to man.
Stepping in the front door, I’m taken back to that night. I was happy here for a very short time, but the memories of my attack wipe every happy moment I ever had in this place. I flip the switch for the hall light not expecting anything. I’m surprised when it actually goes on. “So where do you want to start?” I begin and then stop abruptly when we turn the corner and I see the dining table and two of the chairs overturned, russet stains smeared on the material and the oak floors.
Mav places himself between me and the mess in front of me. “Princess, I know this is hard being back here. I know it is. But, Frankie, we have to try to find whatever it is that they’re looking for if we want to save Deac, okay? If there was any other way, we wouldn’t be here.” I swallow past the lump of fear, aggravation, and just plain damn hurt and head for Andrew’s office. “I’ll look in here first then.”
“There’s our girl,” Mav says encouragingly.
Slowly, I push open the door that leads into the office and gasp at the mess I find. Drawers are dumped and tossed aside, picture frames smashed and broken, leather chair and love seat slashed, stuffing spewing from the cushions. It’s like every damn cop movie I’ve ever seen. Careful not to touch anything I don’t have to, I make my way to the desk and see that even the locked drawer has been somehow opened. I pick my way through the chaos and over to the floor to ceiling bookshelves, none of which hold any books since they’ve all been torn from the shelves, and reach behind it to pull the lock. I then slide the entire shelf to the side revealing Andrew’s safe. He was so excited when they installed these cases and the carpenter gave him the idea to have them lock and roll together or apart.
Face to face with the safe, I try to remember what book he had the combination written in. He never told me, but I had seen him in and out of it enough. It was a poetry book, collections by Christopher Poindexter. The only reason I remember is because he’s one of my favorites too and I recognized it. I survey the mess I’m standing in. How will I ever find the book I need amongst all of them scattered around the room? Crying out in frustration, I whip a book at the wall safe, dropping to my knees, and let the feelings of desperation and desolation overcome me.
Great big wracking sobs drown out the muffled sounds coming from the other rooms, leaving me alone yet again with my pain. I place my forehead to the carpet, my arms wrapped around my belly, my baby. Trying to hold on to the one thing of Deacon’s that I can. The one thing that I know will keep me fighting when all I want to do is lie here and give up. The tears fall, faster and faster, but I do my best to regulate my breathing so that I’m able to think.
My mind racing, I let my thoughts take me to Deac. I've spent my life being protected by him, loved by him in every capacity. But he also taught me to always fight for myself. Now, I have to fight for both of us. It’s my past that’s threatening to destroy all that I am, all that we are. I have to prove I'm fierce enough. I'd die for him. He went to war for me. Now it's my turn. He’s my man and I love him. I’m ready to fight. He’s mine and they can’t have him. None of them can. He. Is. Mine.
My resolve firmly in place, I pick myself up off the floor both figuratively and literally and walk over to the safe again. I pick my way through the debris, keeping watch for the book that will give me the code. Toeing books aside and flipping them over. Frustrated when I’ve been through nearly all of them and still haven’t found it. My fingers thrust in my hair, I spin in a circle, not knowing what to do, when I catch sight of a familiar book underneath the desk. Rushing over, I crawl under as quickly as I can and snatch the book up, crying out in relief when I see that it’s indeed the one I am looking for. Carefully backing out and standing, I start flipping through the book slowly until I find the page I’m looking for. I shuffle forward and stop in front of the safe saying a little Hail Mary that it holds the answers.
My hands are shaking as I key in the code. When the lock tumbles and the safe beeps, I close my eyes as I swing open the heavy door. Almost afraid of what I might find. After a second, I open my eyes and am instantly deflated. There’s nothing inside other than two stacks of money that I couldn’t give a shit about. I slam the door closed. “Fuck. Where the hell is it, you asshole?” I ask the room, not caring about speaking ill of the dead. If anything happens to Deac . . .
Going into the bathroom connected to his office, I go under the sink and pull out the yellow gloves that Andrew’s maid always used to clean and put them on. I want to be able to comb through this whole damn house and not have to worry about what the hell I touch. I stalk back into the room and start flipping through every book I see, putting them in a pile when I’m finished. When I still find nothing, I turn with determination to the paperwork scattered all over. There must be something here that they missed.
Sitting on the floor with utter destruction surrounding me, I blow out a frustrated breath. My back aches from being hunched over, reading over every scrap of paper I come across. Legs asleep from the awkward way I’ve been sitting, I stretch them in front of me to try to relieve the numbness. Reggie fills the doorway, making me jump. “You scared the shit out of me, Reg,” I breathe, holding a hand to my chest, trying to calm my racing heart.
“Sorry, Frankie. You find anything?”
“No, nothing,” I answer in a deflated voice. “You?”
“Nope. We’ve been through the whole fucking house. There’s nothing here,” Reggie tells me, his disappointment obvious. He kicks shit out of his way and holds out a hand to me. “Come on, we should get out of here.”
My gaze shoots to him. “We can’t give up. I won’t give up,” I insist, batting his hand away.
“I don’t expect you to, Frankie. We just have to regroup. We don’t have time to waste time here.” His eyes bore into me and I know he’s right. Reggie would never quit Deac—none of us would.
“Okay,” I reply quietly, taking the hand he’s once again offered. “Did Sonny and Trent ever make it back here?”
“Yeah. A couple hours ago,” he answers.
I gasp in shock. “We’ve been here that long?” He nods that we have.
I feel the panic welling up when Mav says from the door, “You okay, Princess?” Shaking my head no, he reaches for me and envelopes me in a hug.
A noise from the living room has us all turning. Before I have a chance to say anything, Mav is pushing me behind him, back through the doorway. Reggie has a gun in his hand heading toward the sound, motioning for us to stay put. My heart is lodged in my throat at the thought of any more violence, which is ironic considering what the man I love does for a living and where I grew up.
“Mav, Frankie? Where are you?” Sonny calls out, allowing me to let go of the breath I’d been holding.
“Motherfucker,” Reggie grumbles. “You about got your ass shot up, Jameson!” he bellows down the hall. Trent and Sonny follow the sound of our voices and fill the doorway.
“Sorry, brother. You guys find anything?” Sonny asks, taking in the mess before him.
Mav takes my hand and starts to lead me through the room, forcing everyone into the hall. He doesn’t stop until we’re out of the house. “No. Let’s go back to Deac’s. I’m done being here.” Nodding in agreement, I climb into the back of the truck and sit quietly, allowing them to recount the last hour.
“Pop and Guy are getting in touch with the EWF right now. Let’s get the Princess home,” Sonny says softly, closing the door as Mav and Reggie agree with him.
It feels good to let them take charge for the moment so that I can think. I know that Deacon doesn’t want me to put anyone in danger, least of all myself, but he has to know that I’m prepared to do anything to get him back. Now I just have to decide how to do that.
After a sleepless night, I walk downstairs feeling like a zombie. I’m completely numb. We have nothing and they have everything. They have everything. The ache in the pit of my stomach is nothing compared to the hurt in my heart. I don’t know what to do. I only know that I have to get him back. That’s the only option. Wandering into the empty kitchen, I walk over to the Keurig and pop in a decaf coffee. What I wouldn’t do for a regular right now. As the machine sputters and hisses, I walk over to the glass bowl on the counter that holds all of our keys, change, and extra little bits. Deacon’s dry cleaning slip is sitting there with a note reminding him to pick it up as well as “flowers for the pregnant one.” A sob from somewhere deep within bubbles to the surface. Letting out a cry, I throw the bowl against the wall and watch in fascinated horror as it shatters all over the floor, the glass glittering in the light like hundreds of little stars scattered about. I watch them, mesmerized. By their ability to be so pretty though so broken.
“Princess?” Sonny says from somewhere behind me. The concern in his voice makes me sad that I wasn’t able to keep it together.
“I’m okay, I’m sorry.” My voice is flat with remorse.
“Nothing to be sorry about. This is hard on all of us. You’re entitled to be upset.” He walks up behind me and lays a hand to the middle of my back. “Your coffee is ready. We’ll get this cleaned up later.” His tone is soothing, steady. So Sonny. That’s all it takes. I lean into him, clutching his shirt as I start to cry silently.
Sonny rocks with me in his arms, talking softly to calm me. Finally my tears subside, leaving me a hiccupping, tear-stained mess. “I am so sorry. Again.” I do my best to give him a smile, but I just can’t manage it. He takes my arm and leads me over to the island, helping me onto a stool.
“Cream and sugar, right?”
I nod.
When he’s finished doctoring my shitty excuse for coffee, he sets it in front of me.
“Everyone okay in here?” Reggie asks as he enters the kitchen. It’s obvious that he witnessed my little breakdown by the sympathetic look on his face.
Sonny answers him so I don’t have to. “We’re fine now, Reg.”
Reggie walks by us, patting my shoulder as he does. Crunching through the remnants of the bowl, he goes to the closet and pulls out the broom and dustpan. “Please don’t. I’ll get all that in just a minute.”
“I got it. You’re too pregnant to be cleaning,” he teases, pulling a slight smile from me.
Reggie pauses in his sweeping, bending to pick something up. “These your keys, Frankie?” He holds up my keys, the heart locket popped open, the picture askew.
“Yes.”
“What’s up, Reggie?” Sonny asks, walking over to him.
Leaning the broom against the counter, Reggie taps the heart against the counter and something falls out. I can’t see what from where I’m sitting. “Who gave you this locket?”
“Drew did for my birthday,” I answer puzzled. “Why?”
Between a thumb and forefinger, he holds up a tiny little chip. “Did you put this SM card behind the picture?”
“No. He must ha—Oh my God. Is that what they’re looking for?” I ask, hopping down and going to where they stand.
“I think that it might just be,” Reggie tells us.
With trembling fingers, I pluck the tiny chip from him. My throat is raw from crying, my voice barely a whisper. “It was in my locket? It’s been there the whole time?” I cry, covering my hands with my face. “Why didn’t he just tell me?”
“Probably because he was worried that your house, your cars, the phone lines were all bugged. If he’d told you and they were, they would have come looking for you harder than they have.” He grunts out, “Don’t get me wrong, he’s no fucking hero because he should have never planted shit on you in the first place, but I believe that’s why he didn’t tell you.”
That bastard.