Chapter 1
Zachariah
The near-empty bottle of whiskey dangled from my hand, swaying back and forth. I watched in a drunken haze as the liquid sloshed around the edges of the glass bottle. It was mesmerizing. Or maybe I was just finally drunk enough to be entertained by just about anything at the moment.
Drinking dulled the feeling that was now residing inside my chest. I felt numb. Nothing could replace my dead soul. Nothing could fix what had been done. There was absolutely nothing left inside or out to fix the wrongs.
I was slowly drinking myself to death. I fucking begged for death to take me. My reason for living was gone. I knew I couldn’t live past this heartache. There was nothing here to keep me going. My heart was broken into a million little pieces, scattered like broken glass from a horrific car wreck.
I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. How could one even fathom doing so? The love of my life was gone. Fucking gone!
Before I was able to realize what I doing, I threw the whiskey bottle across the room. The sound of breaking glass did nothing to help my pent-up frustration. It only caused my blood to boil hotter.
I saw red.
Shoving everything off my desk angrily, the crash of the little things wasn’t enough either. I needed more. Destroying the entire house wouldn’t cure the fury that ran through my veins.
My heart rushed in frantic beats. My breaths labored. My thoughts consumed me. Everything was out of my control and there was nothing, anything or anyone would be able to do to make me stop.
My fists pounded into the wall. Hard. Fast. Unrelenting. Punch after punch, I hit whatever I could. My knuckles cried out in protest. But, I didn’t stop. I couldn’t as my haze grew.
Why? Why did she leave me? Didn’t she know I’d do anything for her? Didn’t Avidya know she was my world?
I knew I had to pull my shit together. I had to so I could go fucking find her. But pure agony filled the hole in my heart. There was nothing that could pull me away from my misery.
I had come home exactly one week ago, finding Avidya gone. She had packed a bag, leaving a tear stained note for me to find on the bed, right on the top of my pillow.
Her wedding ring sat on top as if us no longer mattered.
She was gone.
Some stupid fucker had called the brothel into the Feds, and within minutes, everything I had worked for was taken away from me. All the girls were taken into custody, some were taken to the hospital. Every man that worked there was taken into jail, and would most likely not be out anytime soon. It was their own fault that they were booked into jail. I paid them well enough that they had more than enough money to pay for a great lawyer.
I was more pissed off about the fact my wife left me without any warning, no excuses. There were no hints about her leaving, either.
I was held in custody for a little over four hours before my lawyer came and had me released. The brothel wasn’t under my name, so nothing could be tied to me through any damn thing. The police had no reason to hold me any longer. I played dumb to any of the ongoings, and it worked well enough.
I had wisely switched all the legal papers over to Shemoli’s name after he found his fate in death. It was a precaution if something were to happen, just like it had. I knew Shemoli would never be found, which was just what I wanted. Being the man that I am, I had to have backup plans for everything.
I knew that sooner or later, the brothel would be discovered, or someone would run their mouth to the wrong person. That, in turn, would lead to it being taken apart from the inside out. I was fucking pissed that my main source of income was ratted out, then turned upside down in so little time. Years of hard work wasted and thrown away like it meant nothing.
But what set me on my current downward spiral was my missing wife. She left me.
I knew my father was behind it. He gave me nothing, absolutely nothing, when I asked. He completely ignored me for a couple of days. I knew he was the one behind taking my wife. I just didn’t know why. It wasn’t like him, so why was my wife so fucking important that he took her from me? Did she ask for his help? Had he planned to take her from the first day he found about her?
Fuck!
I wouldn’t think my father would do that. I didn’t think he’d take her away. So why? I had to find her, but where the fuck did she go? Where would I even start looking?
What the fuck had I done to make her leave me without a clear reason why? It just didn’t make sense.
Dropping to the floor, I let out a gut-wrenching sob, letting my sorrow consume me. I ignored the pain as my knees hit the hardwood floor.
~oOo~
“Come on, son,” my father grumbled, pulling me by my arm. He was easily able to pull my dead weight up. I wasn’t helping him any; I didn’t want to. What was the point?
“You can’t drink yourself to death,” he muttered as I flopped my body into the chair. My tingling feet felt like pins and needles with the few shuffled steps I was forced to take.
Huh. I was still in my office. How long had I been attached to the floor?
“Sure, I can,” I slurred. I really fucking liked that idea. My eyes wouldn’t stay focused, so I let them stay slightly open in a half slit.
“Not if I can help it,” Dad said. His voice sounded like it was underwater.
As I forced my eyes open, everything was a blur. Halos appeared around the bright lamp on my desk.
I was beyond drunk.
Shit!
I couldn’t recall the last time I was this drunk. I didn’t think I ever had been. But hey! I couldn’t feel a fucking thing, which was my motive. About time, too.
“Drink,” Dad commanded, pressing something cold into my hands.
Hoping for something strong to keep my emotions at bay, I downed the liquid letting it soothe my parched throat.
“Water?” I asked in disgust. I hadn’t wanted water.
“Yes. Water,” Dad said as though I was a child. “Nothing else. You’ve drunk all the alcohol already. At least it saves me from having to dump it all.”
“Why would you do that?” I asked, my voice weak from lack of use. Or maybe from being overused with all the yelling I’d done too many days in a row. I attempted to stand, but my body fell back into the seat. I wanted to save all my drinks from his hands. I had to have something around here still, somewhere.
Why would he dare throw away my precious alcohol?
“You know why,” Dad deadpanned.
Had I asked my question out loud?
“You took my girl,” I seethed, trying to glare at my father as he moved about in front of me. Well, I think he was moving. There were too many of him to follow whatever he was doing in my office.
“We’ll talk when you are sober, Zach,” he sighed out as though he was tired of my attitude. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“I ain’t going anywhere,” I slurred, letting my head fall against the chair. I refused to go to that room that my wife and I had slept in. I would rather sleep outside than that room ever again.
“Fine,” Dad spoke, not fighting me. Wise choice on his end.
I let my eyes slide closed, too tired to try to fight it. All the whiskey and whatever other alcohol I consumed finally taking full effect.