Desolation
Page 57
“You owe me, Maximus. I’m making use of that favor. She won’t be here long.”
“I want no fuckin’ shit with the Joker’s Wrath boys, and that’s exactly what you’re doing—bringing shit.”
He stares at the lean man so hard he flinches. “They will never know she was here. We’re just holding her here until we can secure another location and—”
“Do you fuckin’ know that club?” Max roars.
“Yes, but . . .”
“Then you fuckin’ know they are dangerous.”
“I’ll get her out before any problems arise.”
“Too fuckin’ right you will. I might owe you a favor, Harold, but you do not fuckin’ come in here and take what you want.”
So that’s his name. Harold.
“Yeah, I get you. I’m just holding her until I can take her to Ingro.”
Ingro? Who the hell is Ingro?
Max’s eyes flash. “You’re taking this girl to the biggest fuckin’ drug lord on this side of the border?”
Harold smirks. “He has a problem with the Joker’s Wrath Club. They caused big problems on their latest visit—killed his brother.”
So Ingro’s brother was the leader of this organization. At least, that’s what I got from what Maddox told Santana, combined with what I’m hearing now.
“No shit?” Max says, then his eyes flick to me. “What are you to that club?”
“Nothing,” I whisper.
He studies my face. I look away, and from this angle, I catch sight of a tattoo on his upper bicep. I narrow my eyes and gasp when I read the word Anabelle. Suddenly it hits me hard, and I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out before. She told me her husband’s name is Max. She told me he’s a fighter, or runs a fighting club at least. This man, this terrifying man, is the man who broke her heart.
“You’re Belle’s husband,” I breathe, and then flinch when I realize it said it out loud.
Max’s eyes shoot to my face, and something passes over his expression that has me shrinking into myself. “What did you say?” he asks.
“Nothing, I was just . . .”
“You said I’m Belle’s husband. How the fuck do you know that?”
Oh God. I know Belle doesn’t want him to know she’s here, and I know he doesn’t know about Immy. Now I see this man, I can see where that little girl gets all her looks from. I need to say something to get him off the scent.
“I asked how the fuck you know that?” he bellows, and I flinch.
“I knew her when she used to live here.”
He stares at my face, as if he can read my lie. “Funny. I’ve never heard of you.”
“I didn’t know her well.”
His eyes flash. “You know her now?”
“N . . . n . . . n . . . no.”
His jaw tics and he turns back to Harold. I nearly breathe a sigh of relief.
“You have twenty-four hours to sort this shit out, Harold. You don’t, I will. I don’t need any problems around here. Take her to Ingro—just get her out of here.”
No.
No.
“Please,” I cry out. “Don’t take me away.”
Max stares down at me, his expression hard.
Then, as if he didn’t hear me, he disappears. Harold steps in the space and smirks down at me. “You’re going to love my boss. I know he’ll just love you.”
Then he slams the door again.
And I finally let the tears fall.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
NOW – Pippa
The sounds of roaring voices and loud cheering jerk me from my sleep. My eyes flutter open and I quickly gather myself enough to figure out I’m pressed against the towels still. The ground rumbles, as if someone is stomping his or her feet. I push myself up into a sitting position and turn towards the booming sound. There must be a fight going on—that’s the only thing that could explain such ruckus.
Using my bound hands, I shuffle forward and press my ear to the door. Cheering and roaring, and the sound of violence fill the space. Definitely a fight. My hopes rise slightly. If there’s a fight that means there’s people around. If I scream and bang my fists on the door, maybe someone will hear and open it. My chest swells and I reach over, banging my fists on the door.
I yell out loudly, over and over.
Nothing happens. I assume there’s probably someone watching this door—surely they wouldn’t be so stupid as to leave it unattended. Whoever is there is obviously ignoring me, not wanting to draw attention. There’s a good chance no one will hear me. I keep trying anyway, pounding until my bound fists hurt, screaming until my throat is raw. No one comes.
I slump backwards into my towels, fighting back a sob. I don’t want to get taken from this place—if I do, there’s a chance I’ll never see my family again. I think about Tyke and Rainer, and my heart clenches tightly. What if Maddox didn’t find them? I’m the only person who knows they’re there. God, what if Tyke is stuck, unable to walk, down in that ditch?
Tears burn my eyes and I blink them away.
Then, as if someone answered my prayers, the door to the closet swings open. I’m faced with two girls, both who look like whores. Their skirts are so tiny I don’t even know why they bothered to wear them, and as for their shirts . . . they are no more than strips of material covering their nipples and parts of their breasts. Still, they’re people, and they’re not Harold and his guys.
“I want no fuckin’ shit with the Joker’s Wrath boys, and that’s exactly what you’re doing—bringing shit.”
He stares at the lean man so hard he flinches. “They will never know she was here. We’re just holding her here until we can secure another location and—”
“Do you fuckin’ know that club?” Max roars.
“Yes, but . . .”
“Then you fuckin’ know they are dangerous.”
“I’ll get her out before any problems arise.”
“Too fuckin’ right you will. I might owe you a favor, Harold, but you do not fuckin’ come in here and take what you want.”
So that’s his name. Harold.
“Yeah, I get you. I’m just holding her until I can take her to Ingro.”
Ingro? Who the hell is Ingro?
Max’s eyes flash. “You’re taking this girl to the biggest fuckin’ drug lord on this side of the border?”
Harold smirks. “He has a problem with the Joker’s Wrath Club. They caused big problems on their latest visit—killed his brother.”
So Ingro’s brother was the leader of this organization. At least, that’s what I got from what Maddox told Santana, combined with what I’m hearing now.
“No shit?” Max says, then his eyes flick to me. “What are you to that club?”
“Nothing,” I whisper.
He studies my face. I look away, and from this angle, I catch sight of a tattoo on his upper bicep. I narrow my eyes and gasp when I read the word Anabelle. Suddenly it hits me hard, and I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out before. She told me her husband’s name is Max. She told me he’s a fighter, or runs a fighting club at least. This man, this terrifying man, is the man who broke her heart.
“You’re Belle’s husband,” I breathe, and then flinch when I realize it said it out loud.
Max’s eyes shoot to my face, and something passes over his expression that has me shrinking into myself. “What did you say?” he asks.
“Nothing, I was just . . .”
“You said I’m Belle’s husband. How the fuck do you know that?”
Oh God. I know Belle doesn’t want him to know she’s here, and I know he doesn’t know about Immy. Now I see this man, I can see where that little girl gets all her looks from. I need to say something to get him off the scent.
“I asked how the fuck you know that?” he bellows, and I flinch.
“I knew her when she used to live here.”
He stares at my face, as if he can read my lie. “Funny. I’ve never heard of you.”
“I didn’t know her well.”
His eyes flash. “You know her now?”
“N . . . n . . . n . . . no.”
His jaw tics and he turns back to Harold. I nearly breathe a sigh of relief.
“You have twenty-four hours to sort this shit out, Harold. You don’t, I will. I don’t need any problems around here. Take her to Ingro—just get her out of here.”
No.
No.
“Please,” I cry out. “Don’t take me away.”
Max stares down at me, his expression hard.
Then, as if he didn’t hear me, he disappears. Harold steps in the space and smirks down at me. “You’re going to love my boss. I know he’ll just love you.”
Then he slams the door again.
And I finally let the tears fall.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
NOW – Pippa
The sounds of roaring voices and loud cheering jerk me from my sleep. My eyes flutter open and I quickly gather myself enough to figure out I’m pressed against the towels still. The ground rumbles, as if someone is stomping his or her feet. I push myself up into a sitting position and turn towards the booming sound. There must be a fight going on—that’s the only thing that could explain such ruckus.
Using my bound hands, I shuffle forward and press my ear to the door. Cheering and roaring, and the sound of violence fill the space. Definitely a fight. My hopes rise slightly. If there’s a fight that means there’s people around. If I scream and bang my fists on the door, maybe someone will hear and open it. My chest swells and I reach over, banging my fists on the door.
I yell out loudly, over and over.
Nothing happens. I assume there’s probably someone watching this door—surely they wouldn’t be so stupid as to leave it unattended. Whoever is there is obviously ignoring me, not wanting to draw attention. There’s a good chance no one will hear me. I keep trying anyway, pounding until my bound fists hurt, screaming until my throat is raw. No one comes.
I slump backwards into my towels, fighting back a sob. I don’t want to get taken from this place—if I do, there’s a chance I’ll never see my family again. I think about Tyke and Rainer, and my heart clenches tightly. What if Maddox didn’t find them? I’m the only person who knows they’re there. God, what if Tyke is stuck, unable to walk, down in that ditch?
Tears burn my eyes and I blink them away.
Then, as if someone answered my prayers, the door to the closet swings open. I’m faced with two girls, both who look like whores. Their skirts are so tiny I don’t even know why they bothered to wear them, and as for their shirts . . . they are no more than strips of material covering their nipples and parts of their breasts. Still, they’re people, and they’re not Harold and his guys.
