Ben
Water hits my face, a familiar sensation, only this time it’s enough to make my eyelids flutter.
It’s a peculiar phenomenon, losing a chunk of your life to something other than sleep, something forceful. Blowing air from my cheeks and excess water from my lips, I shiver, finally opening my eyes.
“Where…?” I blink and clench my jaw against the pain in the back of my skull that radiates down my neck. “What…?”
“Look who decided to wake up,” someone says.
I blink rapidly, desperate to clear the blur that coats my eyes, but I can’t put a face to the voice, no matter how hard I try.
What’s the last thing I remember? Swimming…
Sera…
Her blood chilling scream…
Deena.
Then nothing.
I close my eyes as blackness closes in around the edges, threatening to pull me back under.
“Oh, no you don’t. I’ve wasted an entire day waiting for you to wake up.”
Another rush of water washes over my face and I gasp, lifting my head despite the pain in my neck. The water is freezing. I’m alert enough now to feel it down to my bones. I shake my head repeatedly, unable to free my arms from behind my back. I blink again and again, before finally, the lines of the world sharpen. Rope burns my wrists and my shoulders ache from being strapped to the chair like this.
“He’s awake.”
I turn my head with a wince toward the voice, toward Roman who leans against a dodgy pipe, smoking a damn cigarette.
Where am I? I take in the hot water tanks and the semi-extensive piping system. I must be in a basement. Marco’s basement. It has to be.
“Where is she?”
I drag my attention to the man himself who sits in front of me, perched on a stool brandishing gold plated brass knuckles. Fuck. Marco’s face is placid, betraying no emotion, no panic. I take in his khaki slacks and black polo, a handgun jutting out of his waistband.
I’m going to die here.
“I…I don’t know.”
He shoots off his stool and hits me in the face, sparing me the brass by using his left hand. His knuckles collide with my jaw, throwing it out of alignment and tossing my head to the side. I groan as the pain spreads over my entire face and down my spine.
“What’d you do with her?” he snaps, and I pull my head back.
“What did I do with her?” Is he serious? “I didn’t do a damn thing.”
“No?” He whirls on his heel and opens a gray plastic bag. Inside it, he pulls out Sera’s soaking yellow dress, and my jacket to match. “These were found in the pool. Together,” he points out. “Care to explain?”
Oh, shit. I look him dead in the eyes. “It’s not what you think.”
He raises an eyebrow and it’s disbelieving. “It’s not?”
“No. After running your errands, I came home to find Sera in the pool—her dress cast to the side.” It’s not a complete lie, it’s just an altered storyline. An alternative fact. “I thought something was wrong, so I dove in after her. That’s all.”
Marco tosses the clothes to the floor with a stomp of his foot. “And Luca, one of my loyalist men, who claimed to see you fucking my daughter, is a liar?”
“Luca?” I spit. I checked the entire house before Sera went missing. No one was home. “Bullshit. I didn’t touch her.”
My stomach sinks into my shoes…I don’t have access to every room in the house. Luca could’ve been there. Or he could have shown up while I was distracted by Sera. How was I to know?
“And the shopping you did at Walgreens? That has nothing to do with my Sera?”
It had everything to do with her. I pull against my ropes, spitting water onto the concrete at my feet. Wait. How does he know I went to Walgreens?
“Have you been following me?”
“I don’t know who the fuck you are. Of course, I’ve been following you.” He rubs his left hand, the one he hit me with, massaging each knuckle. “You think I’m just gonna let some man I found on the street into my daughter’s life without observing him first?”
He goes on for a while and I expect him to bring up the first night I spent at his house. The night Sera snuck into my place. How can I deny that night?
Thankfully, as he finishes up his speech about killing a man named Leo in this very spot for betraying him and his daughter, I realize he isn’t going to bring the first night up. He has no idea what we got up to while he slept soundly in his bed.
“Whatever Luca claims happened between Sera and I isn’t true,” I tell him, praying to a damn God I don’t believe in that there’s no physical evidence. “Deena has her, Marco, and she’s in a lot of trouble. Let me help.”
He whips the gun from his waistband and presses the barrel to my forehead. “Swear to me.”
Little bubbles of sweat form on my head and above my lip, but he can’t tell. “Swear to you about—”
“—about fucking my daughter. If you didn’t, swear to me.”
I’m going to hell anyway. What’s one more mark against my name?
“I swear to you…I have never laid a finger on your daughter.”
Marco clenches his jaw on and off repeatedly. “If I find out you’re lying to me—”
“—I’ll stay away,” I interrupt. “If you don’t trust me, fine, I’ll quit and I’ll stay away, just let me help you with this.”
He thinks about it. He thinks about it long enough for his phone to ring. Without lowering the gun, without taking his eyes off me, he reaches into his pocket with his brass dusted hand and takes the call.
“Deena…” Marco greets him and my blood drains to my shoes. “Rumor has it you have something that belongs to me.”
I stare back at Marco and watch his coal eyes darken even further, if that’s possible. His usual tan complexion slowly turns red before he explodes.
“I’m going to cut your fucking head off!” he screams into the phone. Veins pop up on his forehead as spit flies in all directions. “How dare you betray me, you cunt! I will end you! I will fucking end you!”
I sit still, my body tightly coiled, as Marco tears away from me and slams his phone against a concrete wall, smashing it into pieces.
“Marco—”
He swings at me with his right hand and I grunt as the metal strapped to his knuckles rips through my skin, splitting my cheek and my lip. “You lied to me, you piece of shit!”
I groan, hanging limply against the rope. Breathing through my nose, I spit blood against the wet floor. When I’m certain I can take another hit if I have to, I lift my head. I betrayed him. The least I can do is look him in the eye. “Yeah, I did.”
Clenching his teeth, he pulls his fist back and lets it fly, hitting me again. I growl in pain as the pointed metal knuckles tear my skin apart. I close my eyes, trying my hardest to ignore the way my brain spins in my skull. He’s going to kill me.
I’m going to die here.
Marco whistles and Roman crosses the room to stand behind me. Grabbing a fistful of my hair, he holds me upright, to face the consequences of my actions. I open my eyes. “I met her…I met her before I started the job. She was the reason I didn’t want it in the first place.”
He hits me again and I survive it, somehow.
“Marco, fuck! What else do you want me to say?”
My face is swollen, my lips refusing to move the way my brain tells them to. Roman releases me, and my head sags. I watch blood as it drips onto my lap and seeps into the fabric of my pants.
“Do whatever you want to me, but don’t judge her. She’s a good girl.” I spit and fail, it dribbles off my lips and down my chin. “She just wants to enjoy her life.”
Marco snatches a fistful of my hair and yanks my head back. I hiss as he comes face to face with me.
“We’re going to get her back. After that, I don’t want to see your face around Vegas again, understood?”
I swallow hard, and all I taste is blood and metal. I do my best to nod, but he’s not happy with it.
“I asked you a damn question.”
“I…I…” Blood coagulates in my throat, making it harder to speak. “Understand.”
“Good.” He drops my head and Roman cuts the ropes that constrict my arms. Groaning, I fall forward, crashing to the concrete…
…then I die.
***
I float back into consciousness by the motion of the vehicle as it speeds down a sandy track. I groan as I straighten my back. Fortunately, I’m not dead. Unfortunately, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. What a fucking night.
I haven’t felt this beat up since I was kidnapped and tortured by the Taliban in oh-nine. They beat me within an inch of my life, among other shit I don’t want to recall at the moment.
Marco sits in the passenger seat, grumbling orders at the guy driving, a guy I’ve never seen before. To be honest, I’m in no fucking state for this shit. My nerves wage war. Sickness churns in my stomach over and over, causing a clammy sweat to bloom across the surface of my skin.
I have to do this.
I should have been watching, instead, I was lulled into the false sense of security her house provided—that her body provided. I pissed Deena off. A fucking mob member. Of course, he’s gonna want revenge. How fucking stupid can I be?
I push off of the door and tug my seatbelt, loosening it.
“You’re an idiot, you know,” Roman utters beside me and I turn my head with a wince.
“Yeah, I know.”
He slaps a handgun in the palm of my hand as the car rolls to a stop and the men climb out. I do my best to unclip my seatbelt and then open the door. Everything I do makes my body scream, but I push on regardless, swinging my legs over the edge of the seat and out of the car.
I drop onto the sand beneath my feet with a grunt and step forward as more cars pull up behind us.
“Deena!” Marco shouts and I lift my head to see the mansion before me. “Where are you, you fucking coward?”
Loud pings surround us as bullets rain down, hitting the cars, causing sparks to skitter. Adrenaline hits me, it rushes through my blood and picks me up better than any methamphetamine I’ve never tried. I rush round the rear of our SUV, my chest heaving as I press my back harder against the metal. This has got to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done for a girl.
Roman joins me, cradling his handgun to his chest.
“Fucking madness!” he shouts. “Christ!
I turn to him.
“I need a rifle!” I yell over the ruckus.
He flicks his head to the car we hide behind. “In the bag on the floor.”
Stuffing my handgun into my pocket, I pull open the rear door and reach for the bag on the floor. Crash! The window opposite me is blown out and I keep my head down as the glass rains down on me. I just manage to get the bag open and the rifle out when I hear the words: “Grenade launcher!”
“Shit!”
I turn and run like I’ve never run before. I run like I’m healthy, like I’m not at death’s door. The dune of sand in front of me becomes steep, so I scurry on my hands and feet to get over the top. A whistle pierces the silent night and I use the last of my strength to dive over the top.
“Unh!” I land on my back, air forced from my lungs, followed by an explosion big enough to alert every authority figure in the state.
I can’t believe this all started because I couldn’t keep my hands off a peculiar girl I met in a club.
I roll onto my stomach and cover my head as debris pelts down like hail.
I knew she’d be the worst kind of trouble. I fucking knew it.
When it stops, I grab my rifle and peer over the top of the dune. I see the mansion clearly and the men that stand at the front. Closing one eye, I prop my rifle on the dune, placing the butt against my shoulder, and I look down the Nightforce scope to get a better look.
I see the guy with the launcher. I watch as he dumps the portable M72 one-shot and is handed another one. Where the fuck did these people get these kinds of weapons?
Regardless, I have to stop him. I line him up in my scope and hold my breath, hoping to slow my heart. I wasn’t a sniper in the army. Sure, I had minor training, but it wasn’t my specialty. Lucky for me, I’m not shooting from a crazy distance.
I squeeze the trigger and his head is splattered across the gate behind him. He crashes to the floor and the rest of his buddies drop like flies.
Unscathed, I see Marco’s men rush the gates, Marco in tow. I force myself to my feet and rush through the sand, dodging chunks of metal and angry flames.
When I catch up, Marco eyes me sideways. “Nice shot.”
I flick my shoulder. “Thanks.”
“I still fucking hate you.”
“Good to know.”
Jogging beside him, one of Marco’s men takes Marco’s handgun and replaces it with a machine gun. “Open up the fucking gates, before I blast them off their hinges.”
We wait in the silence, but nothing happens. To the left, Roman takes a phone call and begins swearing his ass off in Italian before tossing the phone to Marco.
“What?” he answers, pointing his machine gun to the sky. “I don’t care, Ivan. I’m going to decapitate your brother and send you his Goddamn head! Oh, you’re threatening me with war? I’m already at the battlefront, you dead-eyed, motherfucking, ugly son of a—” Roaring, he tosses the phone against the cobblestone at his feet, breaking it. “Deeeeenaaaa!”
Slinging my rifle over my shoulder, I move toward the headless body with the rocket launcher and scoop it up. “Get back!”
I rush back a few feet before letting the bad bitch loose. The metal warms in my hand as she ignites and blows the gates to smithereens, slamming metal into a handful of Deena’s Lamborghinis parked along the drive. If I could smile with these nerve dead lips, I’m sure I would.
Grabbing my rifle, I rake my fingers through my hair and push forward. It doesn’t take us long to enter the huge establishment through the front door.
Inside is immaculate, oddly royal, and extremely quiet. Too quiet.
Then, they come out of the woodwork like the maggots they are. We scatter, diving behind marble columns and whatever fortified furnitures we can find. I take out as many as I can before my gun jams, rendering itself useless. I toss it to the side and grab the handgun from my damp waistband.
“Daddy?” a feminine voice pierces through the madness and my ears prick at the sound.
“She’s upstairs!” I shout at Marco, who shoots from behind the thick column beside mine. “If you go right, I’ll go left.”
He nods at me before rushing to the next column. I go the opposite way, moving toward the staircase that curls around from each side, but meets in the middle.
I shout, demanding Marco’s men lay down some suppressive fire, but none of them know what the hell it even means, so I risk my own ass. I rush the stairs with only my handgun and two bullets remaining, using them both to kill the last two of Deena’s men. I throw my handgun to the floor and snatch a rifle from the dead body of the man at my feet.
Marco joins up with me a minute later, out of breath.
“Get the door,” he says to Roman and we stand out of the way.
Roman shrugs out of his jacket and inches up to the door, clenching a double barrel shotgun in his hand. I hold my breath as he slowly turns the handle and yanks the door open.
Marco rushes inside and his men follow without instruction. I wait, patiently, and the sounds of Marco losing his damn mind again is all the information I need to know.
Deena is in the room.
And the girly sobs that manage to seep through the mess and penetrate my soul tells me that so is Sera.