Abigail fought down the bile rising in her throat as she climbed out of the taxi. Paul’s front lawn looked like the remains of a co-ed party that had gotten way, way out of hand.
Blouses and pants cluttered the yard like large, abnormally shaped flowers. Bright red underwear fluttered from the limbs of a tree as stately as a flag in the wind.
Are those my panties?
Abigail snatched the offending drawers from the branch and stuffed it into her purse. Her gaze skimmed the yard, landing on her favorite green dress which had been ripped to shreds and now hung forlornly over the porch railing.
These weren’t just any old clothes. They were hers.
Fury built up in her chest and reddened her skin. Paul had mistreated and bullied her for most of their relationship and she had taken it, afraid of what people would think if they found out. Now, Abigail didn’t give a hoot.
“Paul!” she screamed, picking up the nearest blouse. “Paul!”
A neighbor poked his head out of his house to see what the commotion was about. A few pedestrians stopped to stare at her and the colorful display of clothes decorating the yard. Abigail continued to yell for Paul and didn’t stop until he appeared in the doorway.
“Get off my property, Abigail!”
She heaved the bundle of clothes in her arms and stalked toward him, taking the stairs two at a time. “Where is it!” “Where is what?” he asked, his blue eyes shrewd and calculating.
“My mother’s easel, Paul. What have you done to it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Hand it over now, or I give you my word I will cause such a fuss today every one of your shareholders will hear about it.”
Paul lifted his chin and seemed to weigh the validity of her words. At last, he stepped away from the door and jerked his head toward the foyer. “Come inside. I’ll get it for you.”
Abigail hesitated. Paul’s blue eyes looked frozen over and his arm moved with slow, practiced precision as he gestured for her to pass him. Fear rose in her heart. When he got still and quiet, it was usually the calm before the storm.
Going inside was a bad, bad idea, but if she left now and he really hadn’t destroyed the easel, she’d miss her chance to claim it in one piece. That frame had been her mother’s most prized possession. Abigail couldn’t afford to lose yet another memory of her.
“Alright,” she said slowly. “I’ll stay in the living room. Just go and get it.”
The neighbor rambled back into his house and the streets cleared as traffic continued as usual. Paul smiled, but the grin scared her more than it soothed. The minute the door closed behind them, she knew why.
“How dare you!” Paul hissed, right before grabbing her by the neck and swinging her around. Abigail’s head bashed against the wall.
“You ungrateful, good-for-nothing woman!”
“P-paul,” she croaked, straining for air. He tightened his vise and leaned closer so that she feared he would kiss her.
“Always such a drama queen, aren’t you, Abigail.” He gritted his teeth. “You know nothing about the real world! It’s a dark, dark place outside and I protected you for years. You owe everything to me! Everything!”
Black spots danced before Abigail’s eyes. Her feet flailed in the air and with her last vestiges of strength she slapped Paul’s hand and yelped. “Help!”
“What?” Paul laughed. “What is that? I couldn’t hear you!”
The darkness threatened to consume her whole and Abigail felt herself going limp. This was it. She was really going to die. Her thoughts went to Mateo. She traced his handsome face in her mind, wishing she’d spent more time with him, wishing she’d given her all to loving him and letting him love her.
“Please…”
“I can’t hear you!” Crack!
Splinters came flying at their face and a crash resounded through the house as the front door flew open. Paul jumped back and faced the leaning door, letting his grip slack. She slumped to the ground and gasped for breath.
A group of thugs in colored T-shirts and low-slung jeans thundered into the foyer. Abigail swallowed painfully and skimmed their faces through squinted eyes. Was she dead? Was this… heaven?
“What the hell are you doing in my house?” Paul yelled, flinging his arms out. His words held a tremble and he stepped back.
The crew of broad-shouldered, Creole men stepped aside to let a man in a black T-shirt and jeans through. His gaze swept to where
Abigail was lying and she gasped, recognizing his old school swagger and dark features.
He was Mateo’s friend from the club.
Jamal bent his neck around. The loud cracks cut the air like the pull and release of a bullet in a chamber. The six men who had barged in with him held their stances like frozen soldiers, their arms hanging limply at their sides, but their eyes ready for whatever fight broke out.
“I’m a criminal,” Jamal said, strutting around in Paul’s living room like he owned the place, “I ain’t no saint and I never claimed to be, but here’s the thing. I really don’t like it when men hit women. It makes my skin crawl. You know what I’m saying?”
The question, directed at the group blocking the door, prompted a cloud of murmured agreement. Abigail’s sight had returned in full and she stared at the picture Jamal and his crew made.
“I-I can have you arrested!” Paul grumbled, his gaze searching for a way out.
“True,” Jamal flicked his fingers and two thugs cut off the exit to the kitchen. “But I can make it so you can’t talk at all.”
Paul shivered and Abigail did too, though she sensed that Jamal was here on a type of rescue mission. Despite their intentions, their thuggish appearance and violent speech were not the best choices in hostage negotiation.
“What do you want?” Paul asked, his eyes wide. “You want my money?”
“Don’t insult me,” Jamal sneered. He focused on Abigail and knelt by her side, touching her arm softly. “Are you okay?” “I’ll be fine,” she said, rubbing her neck. Jamal zeroed in on the movement and rose slowly to his feet.
“You tried to choke her?”
Paul reddened, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He fisted his hands, but he’d never been in a fight and didn’t think he would win this one.
“This isn’t any of your business,” he yelled.
Jamal turned over the sofa and the furniture toppled to the ground with a sickening thud. Paul winced. Jamal’s thugs remained expressionless as the leader of the crew kicked over the coffee table. He then turned his sights on Paul and the C.E.O. scrambled backward. There was nowhere to run and Jamal caught up to him easily.
He grasped Paul by the collar. “First, you’re going to apologize to the lady.” Paul’s mouth clamped shut and Jamal shook him like a rag doll. “Now!”
“Okay! Okay!” Paul squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry, Abigail.”
“Trash like you only understand violence,” Jamal cooed. “ And I’m just the type to deliver. Is there something you wanted, Abigail?” “My easel,” she said, getting to her feet.
Jamal stroked a finger around Paul’s neck. “Where is it?” When the man said nothing, Jamal wrapped his hand around Paul’s throat.
“Do you want me to choke you like you choked her? Where is it?”
“It’s upstairs,” Paul croaked. “In the first bedroom.”
Jamal nodded his head and the two who were blocking the kitchen raced upstairs, quickly returning with the frame. They handed it to Abigail who thanked them quietly. A part of her felt bad for the man squirming in Jamal’s grasp, but the other part of her cheered Jamal on.
“Anything else?” Jamal asked.
“No.”
“Alright, punk,” Jamal released Paul and the man hopped out of reach, “there’s only one thing I need from you now. You have an hour to pack your things and get the heck out of Belize. If I hear you stepped foot in my country again, I won’t be this nice. Okay?” Jamal walked forward and lightly tapped Paul’s cheek.
“Okay,” Paul nodded, tears in his eyes.
“Abigail?”
“Hm?”
“Let’s go.”
The thugs separated so that she and Jamal could walk through. He stopped at the bundle of clothes on her verandah.
“This yours?”
She’d barely nodded when Jamal snapped his fingers and the thugs swept her clothing into their arms. Abigail felt a bit uncomfortable at the thought of them touching her unmentionables, but decided now was not the time to show ingratitude.
“How did you know where to find me?” she asked after ducking into Jamal’s car. “How did you know where to come?”
“How do you think?”
She smiled. “Mateo.”
“He asked me for a favor. That guy never asks for anything so I jumped at the chance to pay him back. It was the least I could do, especially with everything going on right now.”
“What are you talking about?”
“That jerk tattled about Mateo and the two patients he treated at the club. They’re talking about kicking him out of the Medical Center.” Abigail fisted her hands. “Jamal, take me to the hospital.”
“We’re already here, baby,” Jamal grinned and handed Abigail a plastic bag holding her clothes. “Tell the guy we’re rooting for him.” He dropped her at the curb and drove off.