Roxy left later that night. Soon after, I figured out the rules and regulations of the new game I currently find myself in these days. And I haven’t seen much of Roxy Bell since. Actually, I haven’t seen her once in the last six months since I’ve been shoved in this godforsaken hellhole. But I have heard her voice upstairs. Twice. And Ben threatens that he’ll sic her on me if I don’t eat and take my vitamins. Or shower. Or speak.
I’ve pretty much revolted against him and stopped performing any and all requests he’s made of me. Not just ’cause of this new damn nausea, either. And even if his requests seem for my own good. I wasn’t doing it. No way in Hell. Especially since he won’t let me use the phone. Or let me fucking go!
But, most importantly, because he freaking kidnapped me. And I hate him. That and he killed my sister.
I don’t know if you know this or not, but there’s only so long a girl like me can be effectively locked in a basement before I learn my way out. And there’s only so much I can take before I’ll figure my way out after I get caught the first time. And with every time after that? As far as I’m concerned, if he’s not killed me, then my odds are only getting better. I’m a Taurus; we don’t give up. Because we can’t—it’s not in our goddamn nature. And, at some point, I’ve got to catch him slipping. I don’t have any other choice, because quitting isn’t an option for me. And I won’t live the rest of my life in this room, trying to escape Ben damn Cain. I don’t give a shit what I have to do. I won’t be living my life like this.
“Bennyyyy!” I call out, slamming the plastic cup he serves me with every meal tray against the door at the top of the wooden stairs of the basement.
And believe me: These stairs have seen some better days. From the stunts I’ve pulled—okay, the nails I’ve pulled from the wood—and my pacing up and down the damn things? It’s a wonder they’re still standing. I’m just saying.
“Benny, I’m not eating this shit. I’m all for the finger-food trend we’ve got going here for my nausea, but chicken nuggets four days in a row is a bit much. Even for my poor, white-trash ass. Is it too much to ask for a burger? Can we shake it up and get some Chinese takeout? Or are you too much of a pussy to chance me alerting our little delivery boy? Again?! You fucking pussy!” I stopped blushing at the words I use to taunt him months ago. “Where are you? Huh? Answer the damn door already!” I try to up the ante by further insulting him.
Then I hear it. And I know now that I heard it in the first place. When I was making my way up the stairs before I’d started taunting my captor, I thought I heard someone on the other side of the locked door between me and the rest of the world. I stop. Slowing my breathing, I listen as hard as I can over my heart loudly thundering against my chest.
There is a noise.
No. There’s someone knocking on the front fucking door!
Without thought of repercussion and without having a single fuck to give if Ben or Roxy hears me, just as long as the person knocking on the other side of the door does too, I take the tray and chunk the nuggets and the fries to the floor. Then I bang on the wooden door with all of my might with the tray in one hand and my plastic cup in the other.
“HELP!” I scream as loud as I can. I scream. Oh my God, do I scream! Then I pound against the old door.
I scream and pound so hard that tears flood my eyes.
“PLEASE! HELP!” I slam the tray and the cup until one falls from my grasp and the other enables my other pounding fist to connect with the door as effectively as the one now without it. Then, using both of my empty hands, I pound my fists on that fucking door. Then I shoulder it between breaths, and when I gather my composure after I’ve almost spent all of my energy...I pray. Around the tears and the sobs breaking their way from my chapped lips, I pray as my heart thuds against the crucifix hanging around my neck.
Now, I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. May angels stay with me through the night. And wake me with the morning light. But, if I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.
Again, for reasons unknown, I find an unusual amount of strength in the prayer. And I use it. As much as I can.
Through pursed lips, though it takes me a moment, I finally catch my breath. And then, despite the ribbons I’ve already made of my throat from screaming only seconds before, I begin screaming again. Even louder. This time with a new purpose. One bigger than saving my own ass. And one bigger than any of us.
What, exactly? I don’t know. I just fucking know that everything depends on it. On screaming. As loud as I fucking can. So I do. I scream.
I’m screaming around pounding and kicking; I’m screaming with everything I have.
Past the pain I feel. Past the pain of my fists pounding against the door. And I can’t tell you how much time has passed. I just know I’ve been pounding and screaming. And I can’t feel my fucking hands anymore.
I don’t have a voice by the time a pair of arms I don’t recognize surrounds me.
I can’t even see past the tears. I barely realize I’m hiccupping before I look up into a very unfamiliar familiar face.
“Vagabond? You Eve O'Malley, yeah? Da one Jacques Cain calls 'Vagabond,' yeah?” he asks me.
But I can’t see him. All I’m able to hear is the deep timbre of his smooth voice as my eyes follow it, searching for the owner. And all I can manage to do is blink through my tears.
He’s dark. Darker than my mother. That’s for sure. Definitely Cajun. Definitely.
“Are you Eve Of’May O’Malley? Is this the residence of Ben Cain? Or any of his affiliates?”
A cell phone rings, cutting off the older gentleman’s concerned words.
I silently watch and finally blink my tears away. I watch as the man in front of me answers his phone.
“This is King. We’re in.” His dark, almost black eyes scan me from head to toe. “I can’t tell. Cher bebe may be eighty pounds wet and wearing boots. Hell, she kinda looks like the picture. Any tattoos a père could look for? I said could, yeah? Not that I will,” he barks to the person on the other end of the line while assessing me like I’m either a possible threat or a finally found hidden treasure.
“I’m Eve,” I end up mouthing, and then I tap my chest with my finger before whispering around not having a voice, “Eve. I’m Eve.” I nod and bring my hands up to my face before wiping the tears from my cheeks.
When the man smiles and moves to stand, bringing me with him, I almost lose it and start crying all over again. Almost. But, thankfully, his Cajun words distract me.
“Eve. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I believe it’s been a long time coming, too. My name is Renee. Renee O’Malley. But you can call me Pops. Or père.” His smile falters, but he still blushes. “I’ve always dreamed, but never hoped…” He quickly laughs, cutting his words off. Then he looks around and continues speaking into the phone. “Dreads, we got our girl. Safe and sound. Scratch what I said. I know my own kid when I meet her. She may have her mother’s fire, but she’s got my eyes. Or at least the shape of them. Tell Clutch I’m bringing her back to the MC.”
After I glance down the stairs and then around King—or my father—I move to stand up. I haven’t figured out names or what I’m going to call him yet. I’m trying to find my voice. Or my common sense. Not decide on Pops or père.
But, before I can stop again, gather my thoughts, or figure out what in the freaking hell, I am dragged outside into what feels like blinding sun.
Which is absurd, because it’s freaking raining. I know it is ’cause I feel it splatter on my skin before it rolls over my shoulders and down my arms. Then, suddenly, it sounds like someone is speaking directly beside my ear but through a megaphone. When I notice that it’s a voice laced with the same French-Cajun lilt, I blink towards the other man with a dark complexion, trying to clear my vision and see him better.
“No sign of Ben Cain, boss. Not one. Two are staying behind to run surveillance. The rest have already pulled out. Did so on your command. This her?”
I can’t see who is discussing me around the rain falling in my eyes. And it’s starting to piss me off. What with the tears and the anger and the seeing red, the rain isn’t making this any damn better.
“Stop fucking talking—” When my words are whispers barely heard over any peep, I slam my mouth shut and glare between both men. “Talk. To. Me. Not at. Not around. To me. Understood?” I keep my words chopped as I punctuate each one.
I’m ninety-nine percent certain they understood me. Especially after the two men look between each other and then back at me. Guilty. The both of them. It’s all over their faces.
“We’re gonna take you back to SOS.”
I feel the other, younger guy step forward at the same time my father steps forward and quickly embraces me. And, I think it’s at this point I realize my father is no longer on the phone.
“Okay.” I nod.
That’s fine. That’s not exactly where I want to go. But I can’t think of a safer spot to be right this moment. Maybe with Ty. Or L. But, other than that, no one. And, in all honesty, Ty and Lauryn couldn’t keep me as safe as any of these people.
“Good,” I whisper around my busted voice box.
My gaze shoots back up to my father’s when I feel the needle slide into my vein. And I can’t help it. I can’t speak. Even if I weren’t in shock, even if the pain of his betrayal weren’t violently surging through me, I still wouldn’t be able to speak.
“Sorry, Pipsqueak. He said two vials. He doesn’t want anything happening to you. And neither do I. Don’t hate me. Just wait...allow me to explain, yeah? When you wake up. Before hating me straight out the gate. I promise, once you know everything. Because I don’t, cher bebe. I don’t.”
His voice, when he started speaking, was clear. Clear as a bell. But the longer he goes on, the more his words echo. And, now, I can’t even not hear him, but I can’t hear my own thoughts.
So, instead, I just watch his mouth move as the sound of his voice drowns out of my subconscious thoughts. Then I blink over and over ’cause I feel like I’m falling.
And not long after that, everything goes dark. Still and dark.
When I come to, I can only assume two things. One, that I’m in a hospital. From the sterile smell of the room and the crispness of the sheets beneath me. And two, that Jacques Cain is in the room.
I know the last part because I hear him speaking.
“Okay, so aside from dehydration, what’s keeping me from being able to question her? I’m confused? She has the answers. The ones I need. So wake her the fuck up. And let me get them. Please,” he growls.
Growls. Before someone clears their throat.
“Yes, dehydration. Mr. Cain, do you remember your circumstances? Not what? Four months ago? You look to be doing much better. And I’m for one glad to see it.”
The room is quiet for a second. I try so hard to orient myself and my thoughts that I slowly count my even breaths. Count and find an even beat. Breathe.
In. Then out. In. Then out. While trying to calmly listen to my surroundings before reacting. There’s no need for another knee-jerk reaction on my part. Not at this point in the story.
I lie there as still as possible, doing nothing but breathing as evenly as I’m able to while the male voices continue speaking around me.
“Yes, sir. Much better. Thanks to my old lady. Roxy’s been there every step of the way. By my side. Even through the thick. And the thin. Ain’t that right, baby?”
I hear Jacques. I hear his voice saying the ridiculous shit, and I gotta tell ya: I lose count of my breaths.
What. Wait. What the fuck did he just say?
I try to peek my eyes open, but all I’m met with is resistance. Almost like my lids are taped together.
“But we’re not here to talk about me and my rehab. I need info on this one.”
My arch nemesis, Roxy, speaks up for the first time. “I’m gonna step outside. Jacques, you need anything?”
And I can’t really tell you what’s said after that or in response to that. I can’t make shit out of the rest of their conversation, aside from the escalating beeping of the heart monitors next to my head.
“Shh. We may need to also step out,” an older, unfamiliar voice—the doctor, I assume—suggests to the others in the room.
And, after that, I don’t hear much. I mean, I hear what sounds like boots stepping closer to me. And that explains the light behind my eyelids dimming. If Jacques were to step closer to me, it could block the sunlight out. But, when the hair beside my face stirs in the wake of his sweet breath before he speaks against my ear, I can’t help it. Involuntarily, I shudder. Utterly and completely against my very own will, I shudder. Then attempt once again to go as still as I can.
“Vagabond... Hey, baby. I need you to wake up.” His words, his tone—they dig at parts of me that shouldn’t still be alive. Not after all of this time and all of this hurt. “Tell the nice doctor he can say whatever he needs to say in front of me. Tell him you want me to stay.”
I start cursing myself. Hating myself. But cursing and hating Jacques Cain even more with every word that falls from his beautiful mouth. When I finally am able to peek through my lashes, I catch the last few words as the only man I’ve ever loved whispers them to me. When his gaze flicks up to mine, they narrow. And I know, he knows I’m conscious. Then he smirks.
“It’s time to wake your ass up!” he suddenly shouts directly into my ear. “Set this shit straight. And right fucking now! Am I understood!? NOW, GET UP!” His booming voice is so loud it causes my ears to violently ring.
Once I’ve blinked eighteen hundred thousand times and get past the tears, I cut my gaze up to his face, which is looming over mine as I lie helpless in the hospital bed. “The fuck do you want?” I growl around the pain in my throat and my heart. Why is he so angry at me? “Get out of my face. I’ve nothing to say to you. I’ll talk to my father. I’ll talk to my mother. Other than that—”
I’m not sure what happens. I’m in the midst of my bravest speech even as my dead, macabre mess of a heart decides to twitch back to life with Jacques standing over me, glaring...boring his eyes into my mine one second. And, in the very next, furniture is moving around the room and the hospital bedside table is flying through the air.
The entire room feels like it’s shaking. I blink a few times, wondering what city or state I’m in and if it’s a possible earthquake. Then, suddenly, Dreads enters the room and physically removes Jacques from it. A split second later, he storms back in, a little more than winded.
“Hey. Sorry, Pipsqueak. He, ah... He’s had an accident. That and his patience is running thin as fuck these days, too.” Jacques’s right-hand man, Dreads, smirks at me before tangling his fingers through his dreadlocks. “And he doesn’t recall shit, which sucks. Obviously. Nor will he heed any of my warnings about who I think he should keep at arm’s length. But we’re making progress. Slowly but surely. At least I hope we are. Otherwise, he’s got me just as hoodwinked... Which is riddles and club shit I know I shouldn’t be talking to you about. How are you? I mean, aside from being kidnapped.” He shrugs coyishly.
“Again?” I whisper around my malfunctioning voice box. Then I shrug and smile the first genuine smile I’ve smiled in six months. “And drugged. Not good. But not bad, either, I guess. Could’ve probably been much worse. Dreads?” I nod towards the door that just slammed. “What’s up with him?”
He glances over his shoulder before slowly settling into a chair.
Finally. It seems I’m finally going to get some answers.
When the door abruptly reopens, my father walks in with a lawyer-looking Cajun guy—who happens to be the same dude when I was rescued from Ben’s. Though their sudden entrance is cutting my conversation with Dreads short, I hold my tongue as my mother and two police officers also enter. Then I sit up more in bed, almost completely forgetting Dreads’s words. Nervously, I look back and forth between them and Dreads, when it dawns on me, I’m waiting for more answers than I can even count.
And they come. Oh, finally...they do come. In an a-fucking-bundance, too.
“I’m Philip.” The attractive lawyer-looking fella steps forward.
And only then do I even acknowledge just how damn attractive he is. At least until he smiles and speaks, introducing himself. Then all bets are off. Even if the boy is beautiful.
“Your cousin, King’s nephew.” He smiles, glancing down as he speaks shutting off my train of thought.
Oh, well, that’ll kill it if nothing else will.
“I found some letters a few months back,” he says. “Some that should have been brought up before now, but unfortunately, I didn’t know what to do with the information. So, instead of doing anything, I sat on it. And, for that, I’m afraid I may have played a part in all this. And I’m sorry. Please, know that I am terribly sorry. If it comes to light my actions are the reason behind any of this…” He sadly smiles before stepping back.
I keep glancing back and forth between the men in uniform in the room—my sexy lawyer-looking cousin and my father himself. Then I allow my gaze to settle on my mother’s. And, for reasons well known, I strike. Hard. And fast.
“And what the hell do you have to say for yourself? I thought, once I was through waiting for my last memorable birthday—my twenty-first birthday— to come and go and you missed that one too, I was finished waiting for you to fuck something else up. I thought you were done wreaking havoc on what’s left of my life. However, I see you’re not. And, now, Eden’s paid the ultimate sacrifice. How’s that feel, Mother? Knowing that? It doesn’t feel good knowing had I listened to Jacques—or, hell, even my grandmother. Even Grams—in the first damned place, none of this would have probably happened. It hurts, knowing I could’ve stopped it. So I can only assume it’s a pretty fucking crippling feeling to know you’re the main reason she ended up like she did! Knowing you’re the only reason any of us ended up like this! What the fuck do you have to say for yourself?! Huh?!”
I’m past shouting. I’m past screaming. Even though I have no voice. And even if the words are coming out as whispers with the spittle that flies from my lips with my accusations. I’m pissed, and the tiny grasp I have on my arsenal of emotions slips from my control for a small passing of a second.
But, once the thoughts, which are just as loud as the accusing look she has the audacity to wear looking back at me as my words, fall between us and settle, I slowly raise my eyebrows. I know I’m right. I don’t give a damn what I missed while I was missing.
I’ve lived through hell. Through utter fucking agony. I’ve been forced to eat slop. I was boycotting Ben and his offers of simple kindness while my sister was being buried. I’ve been stubborn, but I’ve been vigilant. And I won’t lose sight of what’s important. Not now.
And not until I figure out what the hell it is.
“This conversation is for later. On your personal time. We have some pertinent questions we need answered if you want the person or persons responsible for your sister’s death, your kidnapping, and your mother’s assault caught and put behind bars.” The male officer at my mother’s left speaks up and as he steps forward, I catch Dreads waving beside the door from the corner of my eye.
“I’ll come back.” He smiles after mouthing the words to me.
I nod, wondering why he’s suddenly so friendly.
“The doctors are saying the Sons of Silencers are stating you were taken from their property six months ago. Is this correct?” When the female police officer steps forward, her voice is a little subtler than her male partner’s. “And the president of their operation, Jacques Archer Bishop Cain, is the person responsible? For you?” The petite brunette cop, the woman one, steps closer and smiles. “Is that right?” She then glances over her shoulder at the male cop. “Sorry for interrupting.” She looks back towards me. “I’m Detective Natalie Burns, Eve. It’s nice to meet you.”
I nod, glancing between the two cops, and then look back to where Dreads is currently trying to escape the small hospital room unnoticed. “Nice to meet you, too,” I mutter, catching Dreads in my peripheral as he comes back in.
Even though the room continues to get more crowded, Natalie, the brunette cop, mustn't notice the commotion at my hospital door, ’cause she steps even closer and smiles reassuringly at me. “Eve, is that correct? Is Jacques Cain your responsible party? Do you know him? The other officers and I are trying to get the puzzle pieces of your sister’s death and the circumstances surrounding it to start coming together. We need to know if what happened to you and what happened to your mother... We need to know if it’s all connected. And we need answers for that—”
Dreads, who finally seems to have found a good time to exit the small room, tries to leave again when another physician I haven’t met before steps in, halting his steps. He glances over at me and his shoulders shoot up as if he’s ducking. Like he’s trying to duck out of not only the room, but also hearing the information the newest doctor stepped in to announce.
“No. No more questions.” The little, blond, female physician comes in barking new orders louder than anyone else speaking in the room. “If anyone gets to ask questions, it’s her. And me. Her health should be the number-one priority at this point. She’s still under the care of Mt. Sinai. My care, specifically.” Her gaze locks with mine after she’s finished addressing the other people in the room. “I’m Dr. Lily. Eve, you’ll get to talk with these lovely people in a little while. Or not at all. It’s really up to you and what you decide at this point.” Once she’s expertly moved her way around the brunette police officer and turns, spinning her little, white, tailored coat, she directs her attention back on me.
”My wheel puts your dates at or near twenty-nine weeks gestation. Have you had any morning sickness?” Her cold hands flip my gown up and starts touching my abdomen. “Have you felt the fetus move yet? Although, with you being a primigravida, it isn’t abnormal for you to not be aware of what it is you’re feeling—especially if you don’t know. You poor thing. You probably haven’t even noticed.”
A what? “A prima-freaking-what? Twenty-nine weeks to what? What are you talking about, lady?” I sit up, trying to shove myself off the bed.
Politeness and manners are completely lost, and in front of my mother, even as she rushes towards me and lovingly—motherly—pats my shoulders.
“Stop. Get your fucking hands off me!” I growl at my mother, barely noticing as Dreads finally ducks, slipping out of the room. After I zero my gaze back on the female doctor’s, I look to the other doctor in the room, the one I have been talking to about my health care, then back towards her. The woman with OBGYN under her Dr. Lily name tag.
No. No. No. No. No. I shake my head, looking between the two doctors. “What? Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” I beg the male doctor with my eyes. “What’s she saying? She’s got the wrong patient or something, right? ’Cause I’m not twenty-nine weeks into anything. Right?”
Please. I can’t be. I just can’t.
“She fucking twenty-nine weeks WHAT?!”
Jacques Cain’s voice thunders down the hall at the same time I notice Dreads finally escaped the hospital room. Then everyone in the room, aside from myself, has all the answers to what is going on.
But not me. I don’t. ’Cause the information of being fucking pregnant. Twenty-nine weeks and then some? That information doesn’t compute for me. Not nearly enough. Not for me. That doesn’t answer shit. ’Cause I’m not. I’m not! I fucking can’t be.