It’s been too long.
The door closes with a soft click, and the chief takes a seat, leaving the other two pricks standing. “Mr. Falco,” he begins. “May I call you Antonio?”
I fucking hate that name. My jaw tics. “It’s Twitch.”
The chief smiles politely. “Twitch, then.” He pauses a moment. “You want to tell me why you’re here?”
I can’t help myself. I grin and mutter, “You want to suck my dick, old man?” His face turns severe, and I chuckle. “Then maybe you should stop with the niceties and get Quaid back in here.” I glance up at the two fuckers standing guard behind the old man. They glare down at me, and I blow a kiss to one then wink at the other. “Never did well with authority, chief.”
The chief sits taller. “That’s not necessary. Quaid is—”
I cut him off. “Yeah, he fucked up. I know. I get why you don’t want him in here. There’s only one problem with that, pops.” I lean back in my chair, slouching a little. “I’m not saying a single fucking word without my boy Quaid.” I’m getting bored. Lifting my hands, I shake my wrists, the handcuffs jingling musically. “And get these goddamn cuffs off me, yo. Where the fuck am I going to run to in here?”
I made my play. Now we wait.
My stare heavies on the chief.
I’m not afraid of you.
The chief eyes me curiously. “Mr. Falco,” he starts. “Twitch.” He pauses a moment, before asking a calm yet firm, “Why are you here?”
I hope curiosity will get the better of him. “I’m just a man wanting his life back.”
He blinks at me. “I’m sorry. I don’t quite understand.”
My response is to simply lift my arms to chest height and gently shake my chains.
I’m not talking, bitch.
The chief sighs. “You’re asking a lot of me. And you’ve yet to give me anything that makes me think our connection will be of mutual benefit.”
But I glance up at the sergeant, looking over his body suggestively. “I bet you like being bent over and spanked, huh, big boy?” The sergeant’s face turns purple and my eyes smile. “Make your wife cuff you then play with your asshole? That how you get off? Does she know you crave cock? Trust me, most women don’t mind. They love to watch.”
“Twitch, what are you doing?” The chief’s getting nervous now. He should be.
The sergeant impresses me. Although his jaw tenses and his face turns an unusual shade of red, he breathes deeply and centers himself. He looks as though he wants to lay into me, but he just watches me. Fair enough.
He’s not going to help me prove my point.
I turn to the other guy—Detective Deep-throat—and eye his crotch. “What about you, sunshine? I bet you were a wrestler in high school. Convinced yourself that all the hard-ons you got while rubbing against another man’s ass was a result of the fight. But they weren’t, were they?”
“Mr. Falco,” the chief barks in warning.
The detective is close to cracking. I need to up my game. My gaze lingers on his mouth. “It was the struggle you enjoyed. Two big men fighting for dominance, waiting for one to fall to his knees…” The dude shifts on his feet, and I breathe out an amused, “You getting turned on by this, faggot?”
He lunges at me and time slows to a crawl. My eyes shut in the unique pleasure of the fight, and I smile as he all but jumps over the rickety table to get to me. My chair is thrown backward, and it takes what seems like hours for my back to hit the floor. Anticipation has my heart racing and, fuck, I wish I could participate in this dance. Pain explodes at the apple of my left cheek, and although it throbs for a moment, soon, my face numbs.
All it takes is a few well-timed seconds.
The sergeant and chief pull him off me, and the detective is escorted from the room, glowering at me and uttering, “I’ll kill you, cock sucker.”
With my hands behind my back, the chief grips my upper arms, pulling me up and sitting me back down in the feeble chair as I tell the detective, “I’m already dead, pretty boy. Do your worst.”
My chest heaves and my heart races from adrenaline. I work at steadying my breathing, when the chief asks a baffled, “Why?” He doesn’t know what to make of me. I’m about to lay it down.
“I’m a dangerous man.”
The chief snorts, clearly unamused, before he paces then hisses, “You’re a goddamn smartass with an attitude problem.”
He’s pissed. I don’t blame him. “I need you to understand.”
Frustrated, at his wit’s end, he pauses his pacing and turns to glare at me. “What? Understand what?”
“That I…” I raise my right hand, the detective’s pistol resting lightly in my palm, handcuff dangling from my wrist. “…am a dangerous man.”
His face turns white as a sheet, and he opens his mouth to speak, to shout, who knows, but I shush him. Slowly raising my empty left hand, I hold the pistol out in the other and place it in the center of the table, sitting back, before explaining to the older man, “You think you got me locked down. I need you to understand that you can’t cage an animal like me. There’s always a way out, and it might take time, but if it’s there, I’ll find it. You need to know I’m here because I’m letting you keep me here, but I can walk out at any time.” I jerk my chin toward the gun on the table. “Eight caps in that baby, and only five of you here at present.” My eyes hood in boredom. “You think I’m playing? I want something from you, and you best believe you’ll be getting something in return. After all of this is over, you’ll see it was you who got the higher end of the bargain.”
The chief doesn’t give himself away. He remains solemn, reaching out slowly, taking the detective’s gun from the table before moving to sit across from me. “What do you want, son?”
Son.
Get a load of this bitch. Nothing makes my blood boil faster than that term.
Standing so fast that the dinky chair flies back, I bring my arm up then slam it down, beating my fist on the goddamn offensive table so hard the boom echoes throughout the little room, and roar, “I want my fucking life back.”
My chest heaves with unsteady breaths. This has to work. I need to make this work. I don’t have a plan B. Both of my hands rest on the table, and my shoulders slump as I dip my head and mutter, “I want my life back.”
The door bursts open and three men storm in. I’m ready for them. My posture defensive, I will break these motherfuckers if they come at me. The detective looks ready to take me down again, the sergeant looking to the chief, but it’s Quaid who notices the cuff hanging from my wrist right away. The chief waves the men off before turning to Casper and saying, “Officer Quaid, it seems we require your assistance.”
Before the detective leaves, the chief hands him his gun and utters quietly, “You best be keeping an eye on your things when Mr. Falco is around. The boy’s got sticky fingers.”
The detective’s pale and stunned face has the door closed on it, and I laugh on the inside.
Quaid sits next to me, leans forward and asks, “You good?”
The chief takes a seat, and I respond loud enough for him to hear me, “Yeah. I’m thinking the chief and I are on the same page now.”
The old man looks tired. “Not quite, but I’m definitely intrigued.” He runs a hand down his face. “Okay, you want your life back. What are you going to give me?”
I take the piece of paper out of my pocket and hand it to him. He opens it and reads silently as I tell him, “These men on a silver platter.”
He glances at the list and frowns. “How? I know these men.” His cautious eyes meet mine. “They’re untouchable.”
“With what I know”—I slouch back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest, and I grin savagely at the boss man—“we can make even gods bleed.”
It’s still dark. The cold has me grinding my molars together, my jaw locking tight, to stop my teeth from chattering. I don’t know how long has passed since Julius rolled over, taking the warmth of the cove
rs with him.
The cuffs hold me securely against the headboard, and I can’t turn over or wriggle closer to the comfort of the quilt. Julius ordered me to sleep, but my defiant eyes only close for fleeting moments before I’m rudely awoken by the hurt.
The hurt… oh, Jesus.
Goddamn it, I hurt.
I don’t know how much longer I can keep quiet, but every time I move to open my mouth, fear grips me, and I am once again immobilized.
My arms have been numb for hours, I’m sure, and every now and again, sparks ignite in the tips of my fingers like electric currents of pure agony. My hands are so cold they burn, and I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from crying out in pain as the pins and needles poke and prod at me from the inside out.
My body is stiff from the crisp air of the cool night, and my muscles ache as I shiver. If I call out to Julius, he’ll wake, but I can’t help but think that my doing so would result in punishment for me, so I decide to ride it out till morning.
Dino liked to play mind games with me. His brother Gio would take great pleasure in taking me by force, by torturing me. After it was all said and done and Gio had punished me, turning my mind pliable to Dino’s every whim, my husband would take me and bathe me, care for me and hold me close, providing the comfort my broken soul craved. He would kiss me with a gentle mouth and court me with even gentler words, and the broken part of me would hold onto him, craving to be repaired, and I would sleep, feeling a false sense of safety in the arms of a man who was crazy in love with a woman who did not feel the same.
Our marriage was one giant clusterfuck.
I made excuses at first.
He was hurt by my rejection. He couldn’t control his anger. Work had made him a cold man, desensitized, and he didn’t realize what he was doing. That Dino loved me and he wouldn’t always be that way.
Every time, I swore it would be the last time.
I did this for years.
He dealt out hits as though they were kisses. His extreme corrections of my behavior were unfounded and often. He made feeble excuses to lay his hands on me. The truth became clearer to me with each beating, each bruise, and every injury.
I had married a psychopath, and there was no escaping him.
What was worse was that I had not one, but two crazy men to watch myself around. If I so much as gave Gio a hard look, he would go to Dino and fill his head with false rumors of my flirtations, and that night, Gio would grin in victory while I wept helplessly underneath him, crying hopelessly and begging for mercy, as he entered me harshly.
My husband was a closet voyeur. He got off on watching his wife being hit, restrained and fucked. More often than not, he would masturbate to my cries, head thrown back. At an especially pained yelp, his entire body would strain, he would grip himself tight, and I would watch as the man who claimed to love me came, spurting white stickiness all over his white-knuckled hand as I continued to be raped.
Dino Gambino was a sick fuck, and I’m glad he’s dead.
At my back, I feel Julius shift in the darkness and, as though he’s trying to be careful not to wake me, he moves soundlessly across the room to the door next to the closet, closing it behind him. A bright white light shines from the crack at the bottom of the door. A minute passes, and I hear the toilet flush followed by running water. He steps out, and I try to still my quaking body as the bathroom light shines directly on me like a savage spotlight, giving me away.
I quiver in the heavy silence of the room. My eyes snap shut, and I pray he hasn’t seen me. But I know he has.
The bathroom light dims suddenly, and footsteps cross the room, then it illuminates. Julius steps away from the light switch and moves closer to me, his head tilted in confusion. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with me.
Hours.
I’ve been like this for hours, and he can’t figure out what the hell is happening to me. My chest squeezes and the bridge of my nose begins to tingle. I shut my eyes once more, praying the stinging behind my closed lids will subside.
I have stayed strong all damn night, but when he reaches my side of the bed and kneels down by my face to get a better look at me, I humiliate myself by gasping for breath before bursting into tears. One falls then the next follows, and suddenly, a downpour of unrestrained emotion streaks my cold face. My vision blurs as wet warmth trail my cheeks. Body wracking sobs escape me, my mouth open in a silent wail as my chest heaves with every shaking breath.
I hurt.
I hurt so damn much that right now, in this moment, arms wide in affection, I welcome death as a lover.
Julius tuts, his sleepy blue eyes soften, and he utters, “Oh, baby.” His large hand reaches out to stroke my tearstained cheek. “You’re freezing.”
My mind clears for a millisecond, a single moment where some part of me grasps at a fragment of hope as I realize these are not the words of a cruel man, a killer of women.
My heart can only take so much. This has been a shitty week for me. For a second, I forget where I am and who I’m with, treating Julius as a man who might give a fuck about me. I sob and let out a pathetically shaky, “I couldn’t reach.”
Stroking my jawline with warm fingers, he mutters thoughtfully, “I know.”
“I’m cold.” My voice breaks as I confess quietly, as though the statement is a dreadful secret, and as if to make a point, my teeth chatter uncontrollably.
He stands, looking down at me, and for a moment, his expression hardens. I can’t help but wonder if the mild anger displayed on his handsome face is there due to what is happening to me, or him, for letting this happen. He blinks, watching me with his mouth drawn tight, then sighs audibly and walks over to the tallboy by the door. He opens a drawer and returns with a small set of keys and a switchblade.
The sight of the small knife has my stomach dipping severely and my heart racing and, immediately, my crying stops, the agony replaced with panic and dread. Even if I wanted to get away, my useless body can hardly move. I watch him turn the key and smoothly free my hands. I shift to sit, but he presses me down with a firm hand. “Don’t move yet. When the circulation comes back, you’re going to be in a world of pain, girl.”
He works quietly, using the knife to cut away the electrical tape that joins my palms, peeling it off carefully. A certain warmth spreads through my torso at the tenderness of his actions and, for one insane moment, I want to thank him for his kindness, but before I’m able to, he sits on the bed against the headboard and lifts me, dragging me into the space between his legs with my back to his bare chest.
Instinct has me struggling, body rigid, and muttering a rattled, “No, no, no,” when the circulation in my arms begins to return, and my entire body feels as though I’m singeing, burning up, from the inside out. As liquid lightning strikes me all over, tearing me apart from the middle and forcing my body to tremble angrily, a hoarse scream is torn from my throat. But Julius doesn’t punish me for my outburst like I assume he will.
Instinct has taught me that the majority of men can’t be trusted and will betray you given the chance. His reaction would puzzle me had I not been in gut-wrenching misery. Rather than smack me around for the noise, he shushes me as if he would a child, rubbing my arms determinedly with his warm hands, holding my shaking body still.
The pain is too much, has gone on for too long, and my head spins. The fight leaves me, and bright white light dances in front of my eyes. My stomach coils then lurches as my body weakens, my head lolling back onto a hard shoulder. I feel Julius go rigid behind me, but he says nothing.
It’s all I can do to keep breathing.
Hours pass, or at least it feels like they do, and I stare blankly at the wall on the opposite side of the room, blinking slowly as the pain lessens, working its way out of me. Julius continues to rub my arms in complete silence, gentler now, as I gather my bearings.
My face wet with tears, I continue to stare into nothingness, my breathing hitching every now and again at the memory of the pain of th
e last few years of my life.
Just above a whisper, I breathe out, “Please, Mr. Carter.” His large hands still at my elbows, cupping them lightly in silent acknowledgment. Perhaps I should feel a small amount of shame at our current position. I don’t, but maybe I should. If someone walked in on us at this moment, they might think we were lovers. “Please,” I repeat, and fresh tears stain my cheeks. “Free me or kill me.” My body begins to shake as I close my eyes and cry out years of pent-up sadness. With my head still resting back on his shoulder, my voice cracks once again, as I utter quietly, “I’m sorry. So sorry. It’s my fault. I didn’t know this would happen. I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t speak for a long while, but when he does, it isn’t at all what I want to hear. “You fucked up.” To lessen the blow of his next words, he resumes rubbing my arms, slowly, speaking gently. “Now you live with the consequences.”
Something tells me Julius is about as real as a man comes. I risk asking something very stupid.
Turning from the V of his legs, I sit sideways in the gap between them, my legs resting on one strong thigh. I must look a mess, but Julius looks me in the eye, unconcerned about my emotional state. My bottom lip trembling, I can’t seem to stop the tears from falling as I reach out to touch his forearm, and ask, “What would you do if you were me?”
I expect him to say he would comply with his captors, that he would do whatever they wanted and that he would accept his fate. But I have quickly come to realize Julius Carter is an enigma and does only what he wants, not what a person expects.
His eyes glance over my face as he leans back, resting lightly against the headboard. He brings his arms up, and my fingers slip away from his skin, breaking contact, as he folds his arms behind his head, looking the picture of ease. “I’d fight. Run. Scream, threaten, tear shit apart.” His shoulders jump lightly. “Do whatever it took to get out.”