Chapter Thirty-Two
Pacino
Everyone spreads out, but John catches my arm. “Jo wouldn’t want you to be alone forever. If you love this woman, fight like hell to keep her.”
“John—”
“Live for my girl. Live life to the fullest because she can’t. Nothing that happened was your fault, Tucker. It was mine, and I’m paying for it every day.”
Frowning, I nod. I’m not sure how it was his fault, but it doesn’t matter. I need to find Phoebe.
“You grew up here?” Rooster asks. “Damn. This place is a mansion. Like a legit mansion.”
“Your house makes sense now,” Penn says. “You used to live here. Where would they keep her?”
That’s a good question. Father never kept anyone at the house. All his work was done at warehouses or various business backrooms.
His condition probably changed things. He doesn’t have the mobility he used to, so he would need to keep her close. There’s a garage and a shop out back, but he wouldn’t be able to go far.
And they showed up shortly after we entered the house. She’s in here. Somewhere.
Screaming and the sound of metal clangs fills the air as Zep opens a door down the hallway. I gasp and run towards it. “Not the basement.”
Of course they’d put her down there. Zep looks concerned as I push past him and take the stairs three or four at a time.
Everyone follows behind, and I’m sure they’re expecting some type of torture scene. They don’t understand the pain she’s been through. The sheer panic of basements.
“Dear God,” Jethro mutters.
Phoebe sobs as blood drips down her arms as she tries to free herself from the chains bolted to the fucking floor. I can’t believe they fucking chained her to the goddamn basement.
It’s a makeshift room in the unfinished basement. Against the wall is a small cot, and a crude toilet of a five-gallon bucket sits in the corner. Thank God it hasn’t been used because it tipped over in her panic.
Running to her, I cup her face, forcing her to look at me. “Phoebe, it’s me. It’s me, baby. I’m here.”
Nothing I say registers, and she continues to thrash violently against the metal around her wrists. There’s so much blood, and I can only imagine how long she’s been down here trying to free herself.
Did they watch this and laugh? Enjoy the show of Phoebe nearly killing herself to get out of the one place that is her literal hell?
The chains hit my shin as she tries to free herself, and I hiss. How many times has she hit herself trying to get out? What other marks does she have that we won’t find until later?
Luckily, I know she can’t register the pain through her panic. It’s the only small comfort I have as her eyes frantically look around the room for something to help free her. But every few moments, her eyes fly back to the floor, and I know what she sees.
Her mom.
Dead on the floor.
Watching her.
“We have to get her out of here,” I shout over her screams and grab the chains.
“Where’s the key?” Zep shouts.
There’s terror in his tone, and I know he’s worried, too. He’s come to love Phoebe for what she’s done for his family.
I can’t wait to find a goddamn key, and I grab the metal, yanking it with my girl, as she tries to pull with what little body weight she has.
It doesn’t budge, and I try again.
Nothing.
Having everyone standing around watching isn’t helping, and I glance up to give them a piece of my mind only to find them looking all around. They’re trying to find the key. They’re trying to help.
Being home puts me in a completely different mindset. When I tried to save Joanna, Father and Ryan just stood there watching. Smiling. Enjoying my pain.
I know they did more than just kill her. They’d had her for two hours before I got there. But I didn’t want to know. I saw enough to hate them for the rest of their lives. Because I was determined they’d die long before me.
“Here,” Capone says, taking one of the two chains from me. “On three.”
We run, using our body weight and sheer strength to pull the bolts from the floor. Grunting, we get nowhere, but neither of us is deterred. We’re getting my girl out of here.
Phoebe continues screaming, her entire body shaking and splattering blood on to the floor as we try again. But nothing.
Kannon and Zep join us, and after three tries, the chains finally break. Shifting my body, my back takes the hit of the metal as they fly up rather than Phoebe.
“Fuck,” I hiss.
It’s going to leave a welt, but it’s better me than her.
Phoebe crawls backwards, but she hits a wall. Her eyes fly around frantically before locking on the floor every few moments to stare. She’s completely lost. Her surroundings are foreign to her, and I know she’s getting to the point of blind fear. She can’t see a way out.
Scooping her up, I push through the guys as they stare, dumbfounded and concerned, as I race to get her upstairs. Tanner jumps up and looks horrified as I sit on the couch with Phoebe on my lap.
“Jesus. What did they do?” he mutters.
Unfortunately, the physical damage she did to herself. The psychological damage is all them. The catalyst to her current state.
Blood drips from her arms, and I rock her gently as her screams slowly subside. She’s not fully back with me, but she registers she’s not in a basement anymore. It’ll take a little longer to pull her from the basement in her mind. The one where her mom lives.
John and his sons run into the room, eyes wide and panting. “What the fuck is going on?”
Phoebe sobs against my chest, her fingers clawing at my leather as the shackles remain on her wrists. They gape at the chains on the floor connected to her wrists. It’s uncomfortable having the extra weight, but I can’t get the metal off her until she’s calm.
“Is she okay?” Jo’s oldest brother asks.
“She’ll be okay,” I say, running my hand over Phoebe’s hair. “Right, baby? You’ll be okay. You’re okay. We’re all okay.”
“We’ll make it painful,” John assures. “Do you need anything?”
I just shake my head, holding my girl as her trembling body slowly relaxes. The last thing I need is him here witnessing this, and I’m happy when he retreats again.
Once she’s calm, we’ll figure out how to get the fucking shackles off her. There has to be a key somewhere. Maybe on Ryan. I’ll dig through his pockets when she’s in a better headspace.
“Is she okay?” Capone asks. “What the fuck happened? What did they do to her?”
For as tough as he is, Capone is one of the most sensitive men in the club.
Only a few of us actually know it, and if he can ever find a woman he can stand being with other than Queenie, she’ll be one lucky bitch.
The type to get flowers and chocolates along with tampons he’ll go out to buy without being asked.
He just has to let go of the shit from his past first.
“She’s okay,” I say and cup Phoebe’s face, forcing her to look into my eyes. “You’re okay now. It’s going to be okay.”
The words don’t register as the tears continue to fall. She just sobs, and I know what she sees. She sees her mom just like I used to see Joanna.
Even at Johnny’s funeral, I damn near bitched out because all I could see was Joanna in a coffin. He was our president, but I still only saw her. It took everything I had to stay in the room as everyone said their goodbyes before he was cremated, and I almost passed out. I couldn’t breathe.
I need to get through to her. There’s more blood than I’d like, and it’s not stopping. She’s cut through her skin deep enough to make it dangerous, and I need to get her to focus. To help me free her.
“Phoebe, baby, look at me,” I whisper, cupping her face as her hands claw at my wrists.
Her eyes are wide and frantic, but she finally focuses on me. Her breathing begins to slow, as do the sobs. She’s coming back.
“I love you, Yellow Crayon. Do you hear me? I love you.”