Katie
“I don't see any reason why not,” the large man, Frederick, says.
“You're kidding,” Aidan says. “There are so many variables in a public place. How can you control the crowd? There are just a million different things that could go wrong if you put her in a public place.”
“We've done our homework already, Mr. Anderson. Specifically, in regard to Ms. Weathers. Davis anticipated that she might want to work, so he had us do our due diligence,” Frederick, who seems to speak for the rest of the group, says.
“Leave it to Davis to cover every eventuality,” Aidan says wryly.
“I think I like this man,” I say. “I can't wait to meet him.”
“Anyway,” Frederick goes on, “we've checked out the schedule of professional sports games – which seem to be the single largest driver of customer traffic at the facility where she works – for the next week, and there aren't any games that would seem likely to draw a large crowd. In fact, I'd be surprised if the place was half-full most nights.”
Aidan's friend sent six of the largest, strongest-looking men I've ever seen in my life. Two white men, one Hispanic man, an Asian man, and two black men – all of them bald, and half of them sporting goatees. Makes me wonder if it's part of the suggested uniform. Not a single one of them is under six-foot-two, and they're all built like they played in the NFL.
They're enormous and although they're all dressed in “rustic attire,” – jeans and flannel – which I assume is their attempt to blend into a small, rural town like Ashton Mill, there is no way they won’t stand out. Not only does everybody know everybody here, there isn't a single person in town, aside from Aidan, who look like giants carved from stone. I dare say, this six-pack of men even makes Aidan look a little soft – which is tough to do.
Although, maybe having them stand out isn't necessarily a bad thing. Maybe, if Victor catches a glance at the men who have my back, he'll think twice about trying to grab me. Maybe, it'll be enough to send him back to Atlanta with his tail between his legs, and I'll never see him again.
But then, knowing Victor, it probably won’t. I've never credited him with much in the way of intelligence. Knowing him the way I do, I'd bet he thinks he could take on all six of these walking mountains at once, and win. He reminds me a lot of Leon that way. Morons.
“And what if you're wrong?” Aidan asks. “What if a thousand people suddenly get a wild hair, and want to have a beer while watching the Baltimore and San Diego game?”
“We work in teams of two to guarantee round-the-clock protection,” Frederick explains. “However, if the initial assessment of crowd traffic is incorrect, we'll call in one of the other teams as backup. Ms. Weathers will be perfectly safe in our care. I assure you.”
“See?” I say to Aidan. “Perfectly safe.”
“There is nothing perfectly safe about this. Not with –”
I hold up my finger to him and grin. “You made a deal. And you can't change it just because you don't like the outcome,” I say. “Now, go cut the crusts off my sandwich.”
He smirks and shakes his head. “For the record, I still don't like this.”
“Noted,” I say. “But look at these guys. Nobody is going to mess with me with them watching over me. Not unless they come armed with a tank.”
Frederick smiles, but the others remain silent and expressionless. Clearly, a vibrant, bubbly personality isn't required for the job. As long as they can keep me safe though, that's all I care about.
“So, I'll give you boys a little time to get settled in,” I say. “And I'll get ready for work. Meet back down here in say, half an hour?”
Frederick nods. “Half an hour,” he says. “Roger that.”
I hear Aidan sigh as I walk away. Then I hear him start whispering urgently to the crew, no doubt trying to get them to re-think their initial threat assessment. I know he's worried – and I appreciate it – but I can't do anything about that. I can't stop living my life, and I refuse to retreat behind these walls forever.
If Victor wants to take another shot at me, I'd rather he do it when I have some modicum of control over the situation. Given that he's never going to do it here – not with Aidan's security systems or the Godzilla-sized bodyguards running around – he's going to have to do it at work. Which limits his options, and makes him more likely to do something stupid that's going to lead to him being taken down.
And if I'm ever going to be able to start a life with Aidan and Dalton – seriously, what kind of name is Tiberius? – I need Victor out of my life once and for all.
One chapter closes, another one begins. It's that simple.
* * *
“So, what can I get you guys to drink? Beer? Something else?” I ask.
“Water, please,” Frederick says and then explains, “We're on duty.”
“I'd like a Coke, please,” says Antonio.
“Comin' right up,” I say more cheerily than I feel.
Frederick and his partner, Antonio, are seated at a table near the rear corner of the bar – giving them an unobstructed view of the place. Of me. Of the two, Frederick is the more gregarious. Though, that's not saying much. Neither speaks that often, and both are surprisingly soft spoken when they do.
Both definitely put out an intimidating vibe. It's something every single person in the bar noticed the minute we walked through the door. All conversations ceased, and all eyes immediately turned to them. And by extension, me. The tension in the bar ratcheted up to the maximum level, and people looked genuinely uneasy.
It's the most uncomfortable feeling to have everybody watching me the way they are. When I come to their tables, nobody will look me in the eye, and they're all short and clipped when speaking to me. Even the regulars I've gotten to know. There's an air of fear and tension in the place that's almost stifling, and I wonder if maybe I made a mistake by being stubborn and returning to work.
I hope to god this thing with Victor is over soon, so things can get back to normal.
I drop off their drinks and hustle around the room, taking orders and trying to act like the situation is perfectly fine. That everything is normal. I'm doing my best to pretend there aren't two walking, talking hitmen sitting in the corner, watching me. Trust me, it isn’t easy.
It's nearing ten, and the place is a little more than half full. It’s a little busier than I expected, which is good. I’m busy, but not too busy – just the perfect amount to distract me. Hail Mary is actually just about how full the bodyguards predicted it would be. Kudos to them. They are clearly good at what they do.
The buzz of conversation has picked up, and the tension that saturated the air has mostly lifted, as my two bodyguards have more or less faded into the background. Or at least, everyone is doing a way better job of pretending they're not there.
I'm actually starting to feel a little better about things. And then Leon and Danny show up. Great. With a sigh, I walk over to their table, wanting to get this over with.
“What can I get for you guys?”
Leon smirks at me. “Where's your boyfriend?” he asks. “Didn't you just squeeze out a brat? Where's the kid?”
“Drink orders,” I say. “What do you want?”
“What I want, is you on the end of my dick,” Leon says.
I let out a long breath, doing my best to control my temper. “Either give me your drink order or get out,” I say. “I'm not in the mood for your shit tonight, Leon.”
He snickers and nudges Danny in the shoulder. Danny just smirks and nods his head. He's a simple-minded fool.
“You know, you oughta learn to be a little more polite to your patrons. Show a little more gratitude,” Leon says. “After all, you rely on our tips, don't ya? How ya gonna feed the little ankle-biter if you ain't makin' money, honey?”
“If you actually tipped worth a shit, I'd worry about it,” I say and roll my eyes.
“Now, c'mon, Katie,” he says. “I'm always good to you. I'm nice. Why can't you be nice to me?”
“Fine,” I say. “If you're not going to order, suit yourselves.”
I turn to leave, and Leon grabs my ass. I whirl around and smack him across the face. The crack of my hand meeting his cheek cuts through the noise of the bar, and all eyes turn to us once more. Leon holds his hand to his cheek, a dangerous glint in his eye, a predatory smile on his face. It's Danny though, that draws my attention. He's looking behind Leon with eyes wider than dinner plates.
I glance up and see Frederick standing behind Leon, a look of absolute disgust on his face. I don't know how Frederick covered that much distance that quickly – and without me noticing. I would have thought I would have noticed a mountain moving through the bar. But, here he is.
Leon, finally notices that all eyes are on something behind him, and slowly turns around. I actually hear his breath catch in his throat as he takes Frederick in, his eyes moving from head to toe. He clears his throat, as he quickly tries to recover his bluster, and what's left of his dignity.
“There a problem here?” Frederick says, his voice deep and booming.
“W – what's it to you?” Leon spits.
“I think you should go now,” Frederick says, his eyes riveted on Leon's.
“Mister, I don't know who you are, but you can go fuck yourself,” Leon replies, though his voice is lacking its usual fire and conviction.
Leon puffs himself up and tries to look tough. I can see the truth in his eyes, though – he's about to piss his pants. He knows this would be a losing proposition for him. He's either going to be humiliated in the bar – again. Or, he's going to suffer a worse beatdown than the one he got from Aidan. Either way, he's going to look like a chump. And he knows it.
But, he also has a reputation to protect – that of the town bully. Leon picks on smaller, weaker people to make himself look good. Look tough. Macho. He still dines out on it. People make way for him, and he struts around like he's the shit. When, in actuality, he's just a piece of shit.
Frederick casually draws his coat back, revealing the butt of what looks like a very large gun in a shoulder holster. Leon's eyes grow wide, and he swallows hard.
“T – that supposed to intimidate me or somethin'?”
A smirk tugs at one corner of Frederick's mouth. “No,” he says. “I just figured you'd want to see what you'll be begging for if I have to put my hands on you. I'll beat you so bad, you'll be begging me to shoot you dead, boy.”
“Fuck you,” Leon spits, trying to remain defiant.
“Yeah, you said that already,” Frederick replies, his voice cold and hard. “Now, you can leave this bar on your own two feet, or you can leave in the back of an ambulance. Your choice. But, you have ten seconds to make it.”
All movement in the bar has stopped. I have to admit, if I was in here, having a drink, this would be pretty compelling stuff to watch. All the patrons, however terrified, probably just want to see Leon get beat. Again.
“Five seconds,” Frederick says.
Leon tries to puff himself up, but fails. He looks around the bar, at all the eyes staring back at him, and seems to realize he's not going to find a single ally in the crowd. No one is coming to save him. He looks over at Danny, who sits there, staring at Frederick as if in a trance.
“Yeah, well, fuck this place,” Leon says, trying to regain some measure of his pride. “It's a shithole anyway. And fuck all y’all. C'mon, Danny. Let's find somewhere else to spend our money.”
Leon and Danny slink out of the bar, slamming the door behind them. I turn my eyes to Frederick and give him a thankful smile. My first instinct is, of course, to be pissed – just like I'd blown up at Aidan for getting involved. But, as I've come to learn, sometimes I can’t do everything on my own. Sometimes, I need a little help. I don’t need to be ashamed about it.
It's not easy. Not after a lifetime of having to go it alone. But, I'm learning. Or at least, I'm trying to.
I follow Frederick back to his table, and surprisingly enough, the buzz of conversation around the bar picks right back up, as if nothing happened. The air of tension and the expectation of violence dissipated when Leon walked out, and the atmosphere is lively and light. Maybe I'm crazy, but it even feels a little lighter than it did before.
“Thank you,” I say to Frederick.
“Just doing my job,” he says.
I notice the two pieces of the straw sitting on the table – one longer than the other – and laugh.
“You drew the short straw,” I say. “Literally.”
For the first time, Antonio grins. “Having both of us over there seemed like a little bit of overkill,” he says, his accent faintly coloring his voice. “That guy's a toad.”
“My nephew could have put that turd in his place,” Frederick says. “And he's only twelve.”
I laugh and shake my head. Cold and stoic on the outside, I see a warmth and a sense of humor in both men. Seeing them as actual people, rather than emotionless killing machines, helps me feel a little more at ease around them.
“Listen,” I say. “I know it's been a long night for you guys and I don't know when you ate last. You've got to be hungry. Let me grab you a little something before the kitchen closes. We don't have gourmet food, but it'll fill the void, at least.”
They both give me grateful smiles. “We appreciate that,” Frederick says. “But, we –”
“Don't give me the on-duty shit,” I say. “Food's non-alcoholic. It's not gonna dull your reflexes or whatever. If anything, it'll help you protect me better since you're more likely to see the bad guys coming if you're not preoccupied with your stomach growling.”
“She's got a point,” Antonio says.
Frederick smiles. “That would be great,” he says. “Thank you, Ms. Weathers.”
“Katie,” I say. “If you're putting your lives on the line for me, I insist you call me by my first name. It's kind of a rule of mine.”
They both laugh and nod. Though scary and intimidating, both men, when you get down under all of the bravado and bluster, actually seem very nice.
“Burgers and fries okay?” I ask. “Onion rings maybe? Or how about I just bring out a basket of each?”
“We'll take whatever's easiest,” Frederick says.
“Okay, coming right up,” I reply.
I turn and am walking toward the kitchen when Joe, an older man with a mop of white hair and wrinkles etched deep into his face, stops me.
“Hey, Katie,” he says. “I need another beer and I ain't seen Jake in a while. Can you tell that boy to get out of the shitter already, and get us some drinks?”
His laughter breaks down into a cackle and then a wheeze – too many years of smoking taking its toll on him.
“I'm on it, Joe,” I say.
I turn and look at the bar, and don't see Jake back there. It's odd. He's always back there. Truthfully, with everything going on with Leon, I didn't even notice that he wasn't behind the bar. Normally, when tensions flare up like that, or on the rare occasion, an actual fight, Jake tries to smooth everybody's feathers by offering up a round on the house. It's a practice Marv discourages, for obvious reasons, but Jake continues to do it anyway.
“Huh,” I mutter to myself. “Weird.”
He might already be in the kitchen. Though the nighttime crowd doesn't order food all that often – people will usually come in for a burger and a beer during the lunch hour – it's not unprecedented. I don't smell anything cooking though, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Or, maybe he really is in the bathroom. Who knows?
Humming a song to myself, I push my way through the swinging door and step into the kitchen. I stop just inside the door, my eyes wide, my body starting to tremble violently. My stomach churns and rolls and I feel like I'm about to throw up.
The back door is standing wide open and laying on the ground in front of it is Jake – unconscious, or worse, with a pool of blood spreading out beneath his head.
For some reason, as I try to comprehend what I'm seeing, two thoughts, totally unrelated, fire straight through my brain, and I have no idea why. The first thought is that Leon did this. It had to be. The second is that I really don't want to die in this place. I really don't want The Hail Mary to be the last thing I see before shuffling off this mortal coil.
“I didn't want to do it,” comes the cold voice from behind me. “But he was trying to keep me from you. And I can't have that.”
I turn slowly and find myself facing Victor. There's a small, cruel smile on his lips, and a hard, angry look in his eyes that shakes me to my very core. He has a gun pointed straight at my chest and I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he's here to kill me.
Facing my death, I'm shocked to find that I'm not afraid. I'm pissed off, more than anything. After enduring years of abuse at his hands, and finally finding the strength to break free – after finding something I want – or rather, somebody I want – he shows up and takes it all away from me? How is that fair? How is that right?
“Fuck you, Victor,” I hiss.
A greasy smirk touches his lips. “I told you, we'll get to that.”
“You should pull that fucking trigger then,” I say. “Kill me right now, because I'd rather die than let you touch me ever again.”
“Look, I know things are over between us. I get it,” he says. “I know now there's no going back to what we had before. I understand.”
“Halle-fucking-lujah, you finally get it,” I say.
“But,” he says, wiggling the gun at me. “That doesn't mean I’m going to kill you.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I told you. I'm going to fuck you,” he says. “Then, I'm going to let the rest of the Cobras have you. And after that, you're going to be sold and earn money for the club. A sweet piece of ass like you is guaranteed to bring in a lot of money. And if there's one thing the Cobras need right now, it's money.”
Knowing he means what he's saying, I have to keep myself from throwing up on his shoes. I have really limited options – I can fight and force him to shoot me. Or, I can give in and let him take me. As I stand there though, and remember that the back door is open, a third option floats through my mind. I have to be quick, and the timing has to be precise, but it's viable. At worst, it will force him to kill me, and I won't have to endure the degradation or violation he has planned for me.
Victor steps forward, reaching out for me. In one swift motion, I pull a pen out of my apron and with a savage cry, drive it into his arm. He howls in pain as I turn and make a break for the door.
I'm two steps from it when I feel a sharp stinging pain in the back of my head. My vision wavers, and my entire world goes black.
* * *
The first thing I become aware of is the throbbing in my head. It feels like something is inside my skull, battering it without mercy. The second is the pain radiating throughout my body – like I just went ten rounds with Mike Tyson. And the third is the fact that I can't move. Not that I'm paralyzed or terribly injured; I realize quickly that I'm seated in an uncomfortable wooden chair, my hands and legs bound to it with thick rope.
“Where are we?” I ask, my voice sounding as thick as my head feels.
“Shut the fuck up,” Victor snarls.
He rips off the hood he has over my head and shoves his bloody arm under my face. I see the hole my pen made and watch the blood oozing out of it.
“Gee, I sure hope you don't get ink poisoning and die,” I say. “That would be a real shame.”
That earns me a slap across the face. My head is rocked to the side, and my mouth is filled with the coppery taste of blood.
“Bitch,” he growls. “I can't get this fucking thing to stop bleeding.”
“You're lucky,” I say. “I was aiming for your neck.”
My head rolls the other way as he backhands me again. I feel a thin line of blood rolling out of my mouth and down my chin. Although the slaps are painful, they are doing one positive thing for me – making me more awake and aware. The hazy fog is rapidly lifting.
My next thought is that I need to tread carefully. I'm not in this alone anymore. If I do something stupid, he's going to kill me, leaving Aidan and Dalton all alone. And I know for Aidan, it would mean reliving his own personal hell. This would destroy him.
As I stare at Victor as he tries to wash out his wound, I start to wonder how long I've been out. I wonder what Frederick and Antonio are doing. More than anything though, I wonder what Aidan is doing. I guess it depends on how long I've been unconscious.
I look at my surroundings and fail to recognize them. It looks like we’re in an abandoned house. One that's falling down around us. The beams are exposed, there are holes in all the walls, and all the windows have been busted out and boarded over. Kids have sprayed graffiti all over the place, and the floor is littered with old food wrappers, soda cans, beer bottles, and condoms.
It's obviously the hangout/drug den/sex parlor for the youth of Ashton Mill. Assuming we're still in Ashton Mill, of course. And judging by the bedroll and small personal touches, it's also been Victor's personal hidey-hole while he's stalked me.
“What time is it?” I ask.
“After midnight,” he replies. “What's it to you?”
“Just wondering how much longer you have to live,” I hiss. “Aidan and his crew will be looking for me, you piece of shit.”
“Yeah well, they aren’t gonna find us.”
“Don't bet on that.”
Victor flashes me a vicious, unsettling smile. “Nobody saw us leaving. Not even your big, bad bodyguards inside that shithole bar.” he sneers. “It was a clean fuckin' getaway. So, you may as well not even worry about them finding us, because it isn’t gonna happen.”
I feel a quiver in my belly and a tightness around my heart. He knew about the bodyguards. Knew how to get in and out of the bar without being seen. Could he be right about Aidan and his men not being able to find us?
The nausea comes back even stronger, and I feel like I'm going to throw up.
“Please, Victor,” I plead. “Don't do this. I have a son –”
“Had a son,” he sneers. “You had a son. Little bastard shit will never see you again.”
“Please, Victor. Just let me go,” I beg. “You don't need to do this.”
“You're right, I don't have to,” he says, his voice colder than ice. “I want to.”
As my eyes flit around the place, cold tendrils of panic wrap themselves around me and squeeze tight. Victor stares at me, that evil smile on his face, looking for all the world as if he's intuiting my thoughts.
“That's right, bitch,” he says. “You're mine. All fuckin' mine.”