Chapter 14

 

July 12th 2011 10:26 a.m.

 

Frank's little call kept me on edge to say the least. Every sound made me turn and look behind me. Every head of sandy-brown hair walking in front of me made me reach my hand into my purse. I had gone to classes, work, and even the post office with my 9mm tucked away in my bag, loaded and ready for anything. The sound of a motorcycle passing me on the highway nearly made me swerve off the road as I reached for my purse.

This was no way to live, and I hated Frank even more for stealing away the little bit fortitude I’d managed to build over the last few months.

If those had been his intentions—and I’d be stupid to think they weren’t—then he succeeded. I hated that he had. He robbed me of my sense of self; something that I was only just beginning to discover.

I went to class but couldn't concentrate. I went to work and was only half there. The only time I managed to throw myself completely into something was when I went to train with Marcellus, and even then, Frank was the driving force behind it. I even arranged to meet with him two extra days a week. If I could get away without using the gun I would be a lot happier, and the only way of doing that was getting a handle on the stuff Marcellus had been trying to literally beat into me.

I tied my shoelaces on the bench, my skin coated in sweat. My breathing was heavier than normal, and Marcellus took notice.

"How long you been smoking again?" he asked casually, handing me a cold bottle of water.

He was the reason I quit to begin with. Complete anti-smoking advocate. Plus, he'd refused to train someone that couldn't breathe halfway through the session. On that, I didn't really blame him. It was a complete waste of his time and effort.

"About a week, maybe. Really bad the past couple days," I had no reason to lie to him. Not about something as inconsequential as that.

He nodded and took a drink of his water, pressed his towel to his forehead. He didn't look at me, and I couldn't help but wonder if I was seeing indifference or disappointment. Did I really care at this point? Yeah. Sad to say, but I did.

"Everyone has weak moments. It’s picking yourself up that makes you strong."

"Has anyone ever told you you kinda talk like Yoda?" I teased him because his words actually settled me slightly. He wasn't judging me for picking up a bad habit. He just wanted what was best for his student.

His laugh was rich and real, and it made me smile. "Mmmm... two packs a day you smoked and your lungs, blacker than Mickey's asshole they were"

I laughed. That was unexpectedly playful for Mr. Discipline.

"Wow," I said through the laughter. "That was, uh...impressive... and really, really, gross." I giggled and took another sip of my water. "Seriously, though. I know it's not good. I don't plan on picking back up the two a day habit, you know. Just... trust me."

He smiled at me and shrugged, pulling the towel off his shoulder and slinging it to the bench.

"Alright. I'm just saying. This too shall pass. Now finish up this break, and let’s hit the mat again. I don't know what's gotten into you, but you're killing it tonight. I want to show you some new moves."

"Alright, I'm coming," I said as I finished my water.

Though I knew my body would be screaming at me for hours, I also knew this was a necessary evil. Knowing how to shoot was nice, but I needed to be ready for anything Frank might pull.

 

 

July 12th 2011 8:40 p.m.

 

Two days had passed since he called. Two full days of anxiety and paranoia. Sometimes I would let myself think it was just a bluff, but then I would look down at my forearm. The scabbed up 'F' set me straight. Frank didn’t bluff. He threatened, he warned, but he never bluffed.

Still, it would be like him to make me cower for days, weeks even, before showing himself again. Perhaps the knowledge that I would be jumping at every noise and looking over my shoulder with every step was his way of tormenting me. Yeah, that would be typical Frank. He found just as much sick enjoyment from inflicting mental anguish as he did physical pain. Maybe even more so.

I threw my purse into the passenger seat and ducked in to set the paper sack of groceries down. I nestled them down onto the floor board to keep it from tipping over, a lesson I had learned after causing one too many fruit avalanches while turning. It's a pain in the ass to brake when there is a baseball-sized orange stuck behind the pedal. It's an even bigger pain in the ass having to pull over on the side of the highway during rush hour to put them all back.

I shut my door and made my way around the front, fishing my car keys out of my skirt pocket. It was that perfect time of day when I could nearly smell the sunset and the wash of violets and pinks splashed over the sky in a perfect painting of dusk. I squeezed between the side mirror of the van next to me and my own and opened my driver's side door, stopping before sliding in to close my eyes and breathe in that wonderful scent of summer sunset.

It was these moments I missed—small breaks in time where I didn’t worry about Frank or his chaos and could just enjoy existing in the world. I hated that he stole that away from me so easily, and just to spite him, I allowed myself to take in that temporary serenity and the scent of summer dusk.

The grind of a sliding van door broke the enchantment of the moment and startled me enough to make me drop my keys.

I leaned forward and squatted down to pick them up, intent on jumping into the Toyota and giving the people in the van some room, but when I stood up again the sudden appearance of a large man pulled a startled shriek from me. Iron-like hands gripped my shoulders and shoved me into the open van, my knees catching the step and throwing me back onto the floor of the emptied cargo area.

I had no time to think, to plan, or to wrap my head around what was happening or why. My foot jutted out as hard as I could manage. It wasn't the most effective method of self-defense, but Marcellus hadn't exactly showered me with tips about how to fight back an attack while hanging halfway out of a van. I was shooting from the hip.

My foot connected with something solid. With the second kick he caught my ankle in his meaty hand, pulling me across the floor of the van with a sharp tug that threatened to pull my hip right out of its socket. He pulled my legs against either side of his body, taking away the threat of my kicking feet. My skirt bunched around my hips as I slid across the van, leaving me exposed and vulnerable and pulled against him. I lashed out with hands and fists and nails, refusing to let the sick son of a bitch finish what he started.

"Oh, keep wiggling, sweetness. It feels nice," the man said with a salacious grin.

I fought as hard as I could, considering the less than advantageous position I was in. All I could think about was just keeping him from finishing the job, keep him from pushing me all the way inside the van. Someone would come outside, someone would hear me. I screamed as loud as my voice would allow.

Another hand clamped over my mouth and only when the first man pinned both wrists beside my head did I realize the hand over my mouth had come from someone else. My eyes rolled up to find an almost sickly-thin man stretching over from the driver's seat to shut me up. His scarred-up face was half hidden by the shadows of the van but didn’t hide his panic.

"Dude, she's gonna bring the cops down on us. You were supposed to pull her in!" he said to the gorilla on top of me.

"Fucking bitch is fighting me!"

"She's 90 lbs. wet. Harness the power of the fat ass and get her in here!"

When I looked back to the one holding me, I could see the damage I’d done to his face. Two scratches on his right cheek, another on his forehead, and one smaller one at the tip of his chin. When he turned his eyes on me they were dark and cold and made no attempt to hide the vengeful thoughts swimming around in the darkness. I couldn’t let them get me all the way into the van.

"He wants her there tonight. I sure as fuck ain't coming back without her now move, fat ass!"

"Fuck you! You think it’s so easy why don’t you come over here an—" but the gorilla's words were cut short as the hand holding my mouth was suddenly ripped away.

"Jonas!" the man crushing me screamed. When I looked back up above my head, he was gone.

Fatty went still above me, his hands pinning my arms, my legs still useless against him. Jonas suddenly reappeared in the driver's seat. His face was slack, eyes wide in terror. Blood dripped easily from his hair onto the van's floor and I knew he was dead.

"What the fuck?!" fatty screamed as he let go of my arms, staggering back at the sight of his buddy.

The sudden space between us was all I needed. I reared my knee up to my chest and shot my foot out with a forceful growl, connecting to his chin with a loud crack. He fell back against my car, and I scrambled out of the van while he tried to wrap his head around the pain of a possibly broken jaw.

"You fucking bitch!" he screamed and pushed off my car, using it to throw him close enough to me to grab me by the hair and mouth. I screamed against his sweaty hand, my hands reaching back behind my head searching for his face, his mouth, nose, eyes... I didn't care what I grabbed.

I felt a sudden jerk backwards and thought he was pulling me back to the van, but he screamed behind me, pulling me off my feet as he was crashed into by something else. I fell to the ground and twisted around to see a smaller man on top of the gorilla, sitting on his chest and pounding the back of his head into the cement until he went still as the grave. The parking lot was a wash of dark liquid underneath them.

Frank stood up, dragging a boot over the man's mountain of a torso and walking towards his head. He reached down and grasped the man under the arms, dragging him effortlessly towards the painted curb behind him. I knew Frank was strong, and that his strength came from something other-worldly, but seeing him move the giant so easily still seemed impossible. When fatty's bald head reached the curb, Frank pushed him to his side propping the side of his head to the curb.

Oh God, no.

Seconds after I realized what Frank was going to do, his foot came crashing down onto the top side of his head, crushing it between his boot and the concrete. I looked away, but not before I saw his head dent in or before I saw the blood and thicker things force its way out of his skull through any opening it could find.

I curled into a ball on the ground, my knees pulled to my chest in an effort to not throw up. A hand gingerly touched my shoulder, and I jumped, my fists flying only to be caught by Frank. We struggled a moment, me sitting on the ground and him on a knee beside me, but he didn’t speak or hit back. He let me lash out at him until I couldn't any longer, then he wrapped his arms around me.

I fought against his embrace but either exhaustion or defeat took hold of me, and I melted into him, resting my head against the hollow of his throat. I’d thought the he the men had referred to was Frank, but then there he was saving me from whatever fate they had in store for me.

It was safe to say, if he—whoever he was—had wanted to invite me to tea or a light chat that he wouldn't have sent two thugs in an unmarked white utility van to procure me from the street.

The arm at my back shifted, and I felt Frank’s hand slide over my hair. He pressed his lips to my temple with a soft shushing sound. We sat there for only a moment, but the fact that there were two dead bodies nearby meant we couldn't stay here. He shifted and lifted me up to my feet to let me stand on my own.

His hands moved to my hips and smoothed down my skirt. If I wasn't so shaken I might have been embarrassed. My hands moved down to finish fixing my skirt and his moved to fix the twist in my blouse then rested on my shoulders.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice unusually soft and full of concern.

His thumbs kneaded my collarbone as I looked up at him. There was no snark, no contempt. It was the soft expression of the man I had fallen in love with so long ago.

"I... Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."

His eyes darted behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder to find people walking out of the store. They were looking around them, a group of about five shoppers and two employees. They were coming out to see where the screams had come from.

Yeah, that would have been helpful a few minutes ago.

"Shit. Come on," he said, and for the first time in a long time, I listened.

I followed him towards the exit of the parking lot, to where his bike was sitting. It was his Beast. He really had gone back and gotten it. My stomach sank, but I didn't have time to think about that. The first scream from the crowd erupted, and Frank pulled me onto the bike, not behind him but in front of him. With a kick, he started the engine and we were gone. By the time the sirens could be heard, we were already making our way onto the old highway.

We drove in silence for about a half an hour. The shaking in my hands had finally eased but my heart was still thumping painfully in my chest, and I didn't think it was from the near-kidnapping. His chest was so hot against my back that I started to sweat. The sun was nearly settled into the horizon now, the pinks and purples giving way for heavier shades of violet and navy blue. Under other circumstances this would be my heaven. Or would have been, long ago.

We pulled to the side of the road, and my body tensed. I didn’t want to stop. When the bike settled, and Frank cut the engine, he let out a long-exhausted sigh; the first sound I had heard him make since we left the store. I turned to look at him, and he gave me a thin smile that was little more than skin-deep.

"You thirsty?" he asked.

As I cleared my throat I realized that I was. The screaming had turned my throat into a barren desert.

He slid his hand into his bedroll and pulled out a bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap, took a drink, and handed the bottle to me. My hand slid over his and something inside me stirred. A warning, maybe? Long forgotten feelings? Who knew? All I knew was I was damned thirsty. I just didn’t know if it was that kind of thirst.

I brought the water to my lips and took a deep drink, the plastic sucking inward on itself. I gulped it down, the coolness easing my throat, and ran my tongue over my lips to collect the stray drops before brushing over them with the back of my hand. I stared at Frank and he stared back at me with a weightless relief in his eyes.

"Thank you," I started, though I wasn't really sure what else to say to him. I was struggling with the fact that mere hours ago I was looking over my shoulder, afraid to see his face, and now I was standing alone with him and strangely calm about it. It didn’t make sense, but I couldn’t lie to myself. If it was between Frank and some random ass fucker trying to kidnap me, I would choose the evil I knew.

"I don't know why you were there. I don't think I want to know how you were in the right place at the right time, but thank you for saving me."

His thin smile spread into a wider, amused grin. He looked down, recapped the bottle, and looked back up at me with a tilt of his head.

"You always did call me on my bullshit," he laughed a bit and combed his fingers through his hair and I realized, for the first time since he’d forced his way back into my life, that he he’d grown it out. It was a good four inches longer than I had last seen and curled wildly around his ears and neck. "Yeah, I was watching. Really didn't plan to be the knight in shining armor, I can tell ya that."

I should have been creeped out that the only reason he had been there was because he was basically stalking me around town. Truth was, it did make my skin crawl but could I really be mad that he was there tonight? If he hadn't been there I would probably be dead or worse. Yes, I do believe there are worse things than death.

"So why did you?" I asked finally, exhaustion creeping up on me fast. My adrenaline must have been crashing because it was becoming difficult to move. "Why not just let them take me and get rid of a recurring problem in your life? Who were they, anyway?"

"My guess? They probably work for the same guy who put that deer in your car," he said. I opened my mouth to ask what he meant, that I'd thought he'd done it, but he cut me off, "I honestly don't get it Harley. I don't see why you think I would want you out of my life. I've said it again and again... I want you back with me."

"Why can't you just let me go, Frank? No," I said as he began to open that charming mouth of his. "I know why you say you can't. I want the real reason. It wasn't like our relationship was a love for the ages."

"Didn't you love me, Harley?"

The question was so left-field that I stumbled over my words. "I... That doesn't matter," I protested, trying to stick to my point.

"I think it does, actually. In fact, it's probably the most important question to ask. Did you love me, Harley?" He stared into my eyes, and I couldn't help but squirm under his scrutiny.

"Of course I did. I wouldn't have stayed through all the bullshit you put me through if I didn't. But that's exactly the problem. You put me through so much shit. Every day it was something else. Another fight, more violence, more running. You drove me away from you long before I left." I prayed he would accept this. I didn't want to love him, but I had. Sometimes I thought that masochistic part of me still did.

"I told you, I had my reasons. You only got half the story, Harley. If you loved me once you can love me again. I can tell you this much, I have never stopped loving you, and I have never stopped needing you."

I started to argue, but I couldn't piece together a cohesive thought. I felt like I could just curl up and sleep right there on the side of the road. My hand lifted, and it was weighed down like a ten-ton anvil. Before I could manage to press it to the sudden throb between my eyes, my body went limp and I was suddenly in Frank's arms.

"Easy," he whispered as he guided me to his bike again. "This is a long time comin', Harls."

I blinked up lazily at him and tried to force myself to stay conscious. The motorcycle shifted under me and the engine sounded so very far away. I wanted to fight against the nagging sense of sleep, but it took hold of me and coaxed me into blissful darkness.

 

*****

 

Riley

 

"Jesus Christ, it looks like a wild animal tore them apart," the nasally voice of one of the uniforms said loudly over the murmur of the crowd.

Riley shook his head at him. So much for discretion. They had a double-homicide in the middle of a suburban shopping complex. People gathered all around the scene trying to get firsthand news on what had happened and dipshit-in-blue over there was shouting about wild animal attacks. A glance around the civilians proved that they were already posting and tweeting about it thanks to the carelessness of one man. Some men just shouldn't wear a badge.

"Someone get that jackass off my crime scene," the detective ordered.

While they escorted the uniform to his car, Riley returned to the van. He leaned into the open passenger side door as the techs took pictures of the body slumped behind the wheel. There was a lot of blood on him. Most of it undoubtedly came from the gaping arm socket on his left side—they'd found a detached arm on the lot beside the van—but it looked like he'd had his head slammed a few times, too. Just not to the extent of his friend a few yards away.

Animal attack my ass, he thought.

An animal might tear you apart, but they don’t beat a man’s skull open. While he couldn’t fathom the strength, or sheer determination, it would take for a human to rip a guys’ arm from his body, he’d seen drugs make people do unbelievable things. Unless there was some crazed gorilla running around the city, this was all man.

"Recognize him?" another detective asked.

"No," Riley said, shaking his head, "but I'm pretty sure we'll find a hit somewhere. He looks like a career criminal."

"You mean, like, a hit man?" a rookie asked him from the other side of the van.

"Not professional. Just someone who's probably been in and out of the system a few times. I'm sure we got his prints somewhere," Riley explained as he used the tip of his pen to gently nudge the dead man's head aside.

His face had been pretty badly scarred, but the three on his neck stood out from the rest. There was nothing outwardly strange about them other than how perfectly similar they were. He looked to the tech and nodded his head towards the guy's neck. While she snapped pictures, Riley looked to his partner.

"Just the two, then?" he asked.

"Yeah, we didn't see the girl anywhere," his partner answered. "You think she could have been the one to—"

Riley shook his head, "No. I've met her before. No way she has the strength to do this kind of damage. No signs of a weapon. It was done by hand." Even he knew how insane that sounded.

"Jesus," his partner breathed.

"Yeah. Any word on her friends?"

"We got ahold of a Liz Logan from her address book. She's on her way down."

Riley let the man's head drop back into place and turned on his partner. "Down here?" he watched the man nod. "The last thing we need is a panicked woman seeing two dead bodies, Harris. What the fuck were you thinking?"

"I told her to come to the precinct tonight, but she wouldn't listen. Hung up on me before I could tell her anything else."

Riley cursed. Fantastic. He had two stiffs, a missing woman, some kind of super-strong maniac, and now he was going to have to play babysitter because Harris wouldn't wait until they cleared the scene to call her. As if on cue, a white Dakota pulled into the lot outside of the yellow police tape. A blond woman spilled out of the truck and ran towards them.

"Beautiful," Riley growled under his breath as he made his way towards her.

As he reached the girl, the driver got out and started up behind her. The man actually surprised the detective. He hadn't expected to see him with her.

"Mr. Tate," Riley called out. "Didn't expect you to come with Miss Logan, here."

"Detective Sheppard," Jackson said with an inclination of his head. "We all work together. I was with Liz when Detective Harris called."

"Where is she?" Liz blurted out, skipping pleasantries.

"We don't know. Car appears to be abandoned. Looks like she just got done shopping, but we haven't found her anywhere nearby," he said.

"Was she hurt?"

"Again, we don't know."

"Well what do you know, Detective?" Liz's tone was sharp and dangerous, and it stunned Riley. She'd been so soft and sweet when he'd seen her at the hospital with Harley.

"You really shouldn't have come out here. We could've waited and talked tonight," he said trying to keep a calm tone with her.

"Like I was going to wait. Every minute you don't find her is another minute he has to hurt her," Liz said before Jackson placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"He? Do you know who might have taken her?"

"The guy that hurt her at the club, maybe? Wouldn't he be at the top of the list?"

Riley sighed softly, "Yes, ma’am, he would be. But we need to make sure we don't miss anything by focusing on just one person. Now, is there anyone else you know that might have been threatening her? Might have wanted to hurt her in any way?"

"Detective," a tech shouted from across the lot.

Riley looked behind him and then sighed as he looked back to Liz and Jackson. "Stay here. I'll be right back."

God, he hated dealing with civilians. It was the same old dance every time, no matter the scene around them. Once kin got involved it was all emotional riptides and threats of lawsuits. One father had even cold-clocked him when he refused to answer his questions. Whenever he could manage it, he avoided dealing with the families and friends of the victims. Walking towards the tech, he made a mental note to take a crack at Harris for calling them in.

"Did you find something new?" Sheppard asked, shielding his eyes from the setting sun.

"Wallet. No ID, credit cards… We bagged a phone we pulled from the driver, but there’s nothing else here. Gonna take some samples of the blood, see if any of it belongs to our missing person."

"Well, there’s plenty of it around here. Thanks." He looked at the sprays of blood dripping down the side of the van and shuddered.

Whoever did that was one brutal son of a bitch.

He made his way back to the girl’s friends but hesitated behind the van when he heard them talking. Blondie sounded worked up. No big surprise there, but what she was saying had Riley completely thrown.

"Liz!" Jackson hissed, seemingly trying to keep his voice low. "Girl, are you crazy?"

She didn't answer him. Riley moved to look through one of the darkened van windows, careful not to catch their attention. Liz had moved to the little car and was looking inside. At first he thought she might be trying to steal evidence, but as he watched it looked more like she was pressing her face to the seats.

He listened as she breathed in deep enough for him to hear it, like she was trying to smell something buried deep in the layers of fabric. She might have been cute, but that chick had a screw loose. After a few moments of watching, her blond curls popped up and swirled around her as she turned to face the van.

Sheppard ducked down quickly, sucking in and holding a breath as his pulsed raced over his nearly being seen. The van rocked gently as he pressed against it, straining to hear what was being said. There was something off about those two. Something they were hiding.

"It's him," he heard her say.

"Him?"

"The guy that hurt her at the club. I smell him here. I can smell him on the dead guy, even. He did this, and he took her." Panic flooded her voice.

"It's okay, Liz," Jackson said grabbing her hands, "we'll find her."

Smell him? She really was sniffing Harley’s car. So much crazy in such a pretty package. Crazy girls aside, she had said "him". She definitely knew something more than she was letting on. Riley would never understand why people held back information when someone’s life was on the line. And they were supposed to be her friends? Tired of being lied to, the detective stood up and walked purposefully around the back of the van, rounding on them.

"Hey!" Riley shouted. "What do you two think you're doing?"

Liz gasped, looking from Jackson to Riley. "I... I know who took Harley."

"Who?"

"It was the man from the club. It was him," she said imploringly.

"What makes you say that?" Riley asked.

She hesitated. He watched the struggle play on her face, openly and loudly. This girl sucked at lying. Her flushed cheeks, the compulsive gnawing at her lower lip as she looked from him to the big guy, and her eyes darting nervously to the dead man was like a song and dance of guilt. She nudged her chin at the corpse in the van.

"The scars on his neck. I've seen them before. They were on the guy that attacked Harley in the club. I was sitting right in front of my boss when he came out and hit him. I had a clear view of it before he took off."

Riley let out a long, tired sigh. "Well... it's a start. Now we just gotta figure out who he is so we can track him down."

"His name is Frank Essex," Jackson said suddenly. Both Riley and Liz looked up at him in surprise before he elaborated further. "Harley used to run with him and his people before she moved up here. Part of some outlaw motorcycle club. He was her boyfriend. I didn't know for sure if it was him who'd come into the club that night, but Liz just confirmed it for me. That’s a mark the Coyotes use. Like a brand."

Liz blinked at Jackson as if she'd never seen him before. The detective didn’t miss that, or the fleeting glance Jackson gave her before he looked away. Something was seriously not on the up and up.

Riley shook his head and gave the pair a reproachful look. If the girl had just told him it was her ex-boyfriend, then Riley could have found the bastard before it escalated to this. Why the hell did these kinds of women protect those that hurt them? It made him sick to his stomach and he held very little respect for anyone that would take such abuse to coddle a piece of shit like this guy. It seemed that woman left a trail of wreckage in her wake because, what? She didn't want to be alone? She loved him? Who would she let get hurt next to protect Essex?

"Anything else you care to share now, so we can track down this bastard?"

"He's a drifter. They went from town to town. Didn't stay too long. Check local motels for a biker in his mid-twenties. May be alone, but could be with an entire crew," Jackson said before adding, "and he's dangerous. Very dangerous."

Riley nodded and released a long, slow breath. "Alright. In the meantime, take this one home. We'll call if we find anything, and you do the same if Ms. Rayne contacts you."

Jackson started to lead Liz back to the truck, but Riley tried to keep a discreet ear on the pair of them as he took a few steps towards the other officers.

"What? No, we need to go! He'll kill them! They're just hu—"

"He's a cop," Jackson said, cutting her off and glancing quickly to the detective. "Frank might be what he is, but he's not invincible. Regardless of what he thinks."

Riley glanced over his shoulder at them, watching Jackson try to calm her down and quiet her.

"How do you know about him?" she asked. "Did Harley tell you?"

Jackson glanced up from Liz and straight at Riley, his mouth pressing in a tight, thin line before he physically turned her away from the crime scene and towards the truck. A man that size could have easily thrown her over his shoulder if he had to, but he gave her the choice. He had to respect the man for that. Riley wasn’t sure he’d have had the patience not to give in and caveman her away, given the opportunity. Jackson seemed to have more restraint.

They both lowered their voices enough that he could no longer hear bits and pieces of their argument. Just as well. He doubted he could get anymore from them right now. They could go round later, but right now he had a missing girl to find.