Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
TRIXIE
Idon’t cry. Tears didn’t save me from my father marrying me off to a man three decades older than me. They didn’t save me from being raped or from the beatings. As time passed, I’d learned to keep them in. I didn’t want Piero to have the satisfaction of knowing he was breaking me.
But now? I turn my face to look out of the side window, moisture leaking from my eyes. These tears aren’t for him. They’re for Freak, for Ace, for the loss of what-might-have-beens. Ace has already lost one mother, and while I’m only a poor substitute, he doesn’t deserve to lose me, too.
Who will pick up his cake and arrange his birthday party? I doubt I’ll live long enough to mark the day he turns sixteen.
Freak will come looking for me, just like he did for Ace when he was taken by the MDMC. But will he even know that I’m gone? I’d expected him to be out for hours. By the time he realises I’m missing, Piero will have killed me. And even if he knows I’ve been taken, there’s no way to track me.
“You’re not very talkative.”
I don’t respond. What’s there to talk about?
Begging and pleading won’t help. I’d always known I was a liability if Piero ever wanted to get married again and suspected that he’d never stop looking for me.
Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if I hadn’t gotten together with Freak.
I’d had a good life with the Kings, an extra five years over what staying with Piero was likely to have given me.
If I’d stayed in my lane, perhaps I’d have been happy just knowing I’d experienced that borrowed time.
But I got together with Freak, and the thought of never seeing him or Ace again is like a knife piercing through me.
Piero might not know it, but he doesn’t need to use his fists to shatter me.
I’d been so careful, keeping my head down, not going out too often, just in case he was still looking.
If only I hadn’t stayed away from the club and had been there today, he might not have found me.
Or, if he had, he’d have had to go through the Kings.
Even at home, if Freak was there, my man would have been more than a match for him.
Instead of hiding like an animal licking my wounds, I should have coped with the embarrassment and awkwardness at the club and brazened it out.
I should have worn the mantle of being Freak’s old lady proudly, instead of keeping my distance.
Now I’m likely never to see any of the Kings again. No coffee mornings with Pippa, nor will I see Trip develop into the brilliant young man I suspect he’s got the potential to be. I won’t share a laugh with Bronwyn…
A sharp, painful pinch to my arm snaps me out of my self-pity. I force myself to turn to my hated husband, wiping all emotion off my face.
For a moment, he just stares at me. “The one good thing is that your father will never know how low you’ve sunk. He never stopped hoping I’d find you. But if he knew what you’d become, a common whore, it would destroy him.”
My father would only care as I was no longer useful as a pawn. “How did you punish him?” I know my husband. It had been a risk when I’d run. I knew he’d have taken it out on my family. It might sound terrible, but I hadn’t cared much. They’d shown no sympathy for the way Piero treated me.
He looks away, then back, his teeth grinding. “I wanted him to lose his position. The boss thought he was more valuable where he was.” An evil grin crosses his face. “It was a shame your father lost his eye in an accident.”
I don’t react, more surprised he left him breathing.
Suddenly, he slaps me across the face so hard my teeth rattle. “You’re a cold bitch, aren’t you? You must have known your father would pay the price. Yet, still you ran.”
“You’d have killed me five years ago if I hadn’t.” I’m driven to snap back.
“If you hadn’t been so defiant, so disobedient, I wouldn’t have had to take my hands to you.”
Yeah, blame me. I’d brought all the beatings on myself.
Maybe sixteen-year-old me had believed it.
Maybe even the woman at twenty-six had been programmed that’s how she deserved to be treated.
But the Kings had shown me that no woman ever did anything to justify ending up the punching bag of a man who got his kicks by beating on someone who couldn’t fight back.
Fight back. That’s what I’ll have to do now.
It’s only him and his soldato. I might not be able to inflict much damage, but I won’t go meekly to my abuse and death.
As soon as this car stops, I’ll run. Or, if I get the opportunity, I’ll punch, kick, bite, whatever I can.
I’ll send him back to his new bride covered in scratches.
If I know anything about Piero, he’ll want to draw this out.
A simple bullet to my head would be too quick, and deny him his sadistic pleasure.
I’ve no weapon, only my feet and hands. But I’ll use them. I just wish I’d prepared for this moment. Someone at the club would have taught me self-defence if I’d asked them. The problem, which I’ll regret for the rest of the time I have left, is that I hadn’t.
He suddenly chuckles. “I expected you to beg me to have mercy.”
I’ve got one more weapon in my arsenal. My words.
“What’s the point? And it’s you who will soon be begging.
My old man is the enforcer for the Kings of Anarchy.
They’ll be tracking me. They’ll find me.
Even if I’m dead, they’ll never stop looking for you.
” I shrug. “And when they catch you, I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes. ”
“You think to threaten me with a motorcycle club? Merda!” His hand slashes down. “They’re not fit to shine those shoes of mine you’re so worried about. What do you say, Marco?” The driver glances over his shoulder and laughs.
“You’re in their territory now,” I remind him. “Not yours. And even when you return home, they’ve got a chapter in New York.”
Piero snorts out a laugh. “And why would they lift a finger to avenge a whore?”
“Because they wipe abusers off the earth just as fast as they’d wipe shit off their boots.”
His face glows red. “I’m no abuser. I’m just a man who had to teach his wife how to behave.” His lips thin. “And it seems like you need another lesson.”
“Boss? No blood, please,” his soldato says fast. “We have to return this rental.”
“Casso, as if I care about the car. We can burn it.” But mad as he is, he seems to realise it’s a fucking long walk to the airport in Tucson if he doesn’t have transport. He breathes out in disgust. “How far, now?”
“Ten minutes.”
“Where are you taking me?” Not that it matters. It will be some place off-grid, which he’s already scoped out. I know he won’t be flying me back to New York. An idea hits me. “How are you going to declare me dead, if I’ve obviously been a victim of assault?”
Piero had to kill to get his place in the Mafia, but as the underboss, his days of getting his hands dirty are long gone.
Could it be I’ve hit on a weakness in his plan?
He can’t bury me where I’ll never be found.
That would mean he’ll still have to wait another two years, given the five I’ve already been missing, before he can have me declared presumed dead and remarry.
Instead of answering me, his brow creases.
I laugh. “You didn’t think of that, did you?”
Suddenly, his hands are around my neck, shaking me violently. “I’ll do what I want to do with you, then we’ll throw your body on the side of the road. You’ll be found. Don’t worry your good-for-nothing head about that.”
I’ve watched crime programs like everyone else. While it’s hard to talk with his hands squeezing my throat, I manage to stammer out, “You’re leaving your fingerprints on me right now.” And if he rapes me, as I’m certain was his plan, his DNA will be left inside me.
Letting me go, he sits back. “I’ve never been arrested. My fingerprints and DNA aren’t on record.”
“But the Kings of Anarchy will point their fingers at you.”
“You’re just a fucking whore,” he screams. “No one will miss you.”
Marco flicks the indicator, and the car turns off onto an unpaved road.
Bile rises into my throat as I realise we’ve come to the end of our journey, and maybe the end of my life.
Remembering my resolve not to make it easy, my body tenses.
This is it. I’ve got to be ready to run.
As I stare ahead, I see a shack in need of repair.
If I can get inside, maybe I can find a weapon.
The car comes to a halt. The soldato comes around and opens Piero’s door first, then walks around the car and opens mine. I’m ready. I plant both my feet into his stomach and kick out as hard as I can… He’s solid and doesn’t move an inch. In fact, he laughs. He makes a grab for me, but I evade him.
I run. Now I regret not using the gym equipment that I was responsible for the club purchasing to help Short when he was injured.
Before I’ve gone more than a few yards, my lungs start to burn.
They could easily catch me, but apparently, I’m moving the way they want to go, as I can hear them leisurely coming after me. The bastards are laughing.
I head straight for the shack. By the time I get there, they’re not far behind.
Throwing myself past the door that’s hanging off its hinges, I quickly assess what’s in front of me.
There’s a partition that’s falling apart, and wood hanging off it.
I grab hold of a plank and swing around, putting all my strength into it.
I hit the soldato fully in the face. The rotten plank breaks, but it’s enough to make him stumble and fall back.
I keep going, looking for something else, until the floor gives way beneath me.
I catch my ankle in it and crash to the ground.
I’m winded, and by the time I can stand, I’ve got two angry men standing over me.
One looking immaculate in his Brioni suit, and the other looking dishevelled with blood streaming down from his misshapen nose.
The pompous expression on Piero’s face enrages me.
Ignoring the pain in my ankle, I put all my weight on my other foot and launch at him, attacking his face with my fingernails, feeling satisfaction when they rake down his skin as I disfigure him.
Taken by surprise, he rears back, then hits me with all the force he can put behind his blow.
Stunned, I fall backward, landing heavily on something that bruises my kidneys.
“Fottuta puttana,” Piero snarls and kicks me hard in the ribs, which still haven’t yet completely recovered from the bruising courtesy of Candyman.
He lifts his hand to his face, pulls it away, and examines the blood from where my nails have raked him.
Then he kicks me again, this time aiming for my head.
I put my hands up to cover it, but he changes his angle and plants his foot in my stomach.
Curling into a ball, I force myself to think of Freak, to remember how much he loves me as the hits keep on coming, trying to remember every detail of my man’s face, until my mind blanks out.
I come to slowly, wondering why heaven feels so much like hell.
Every part of me screams in agony. With horror, I realise that while I’ve been unconscious, all my clothes have been stripped off.
It should be a relief to realise I’m still alive – it’s not.
Having retained at least some of my senses, I remain still, not even opening my eyes.
There’s a reason they’ve not yet killed me, and I’m in no rush to find out what it is.
Something, maybe my heightened breathing, betrays me.
“She’s awake.” Rough hands pull me up, and I’m dragged to a flat part of the floor that feels solid under my back.
Pretending is of no use anymore, and the pain I’m in means I’ve no fight left in me. I don’t even have the energy to scream.
“I’m going to fuck you now, dear wife, just like the old days.
Then, when I’m finished, Marco’s going to take you.
Every fucking hole, anyway we want to. But nothing you’re not used to, as you’re a whore.
You may even enjoy it.” He pauses to spit at me.
“And when we’re both done, I’m going to sink my dick into you again and strangle the life out of you.
Yeah.” An evil, anticipatory grin crosses his face.
“I’m going to enjoy you thrashing as I choke you. ”
He comes closer. My eyes are locked on him as he undoes his tie and discards it, then removes his jacket, giving it to Marco to hold.
He undoes his zipper, releasing his engorged dick, which is nothing to write home about, and never was.
Freak’s is far more spectacular. Palming his cock, he looms over me…
A gunshot.
Marco folds to the floor.
I glance up, startled. I must be dreaming.
But if I am, I don’t want to wake up. I swear I can see Freak, Bullseye, and Short.
Blinking hard, when the vision doesn’t disappear, gradually I allow myself to believe that Freak’s real when he whips off his cut, then takes off his t-shirt, and uses that to cover me, giving me the dignity I’d thought, in this world at least, had been lost forever.
As I’m staring up at him in disbelief, I hear Saint’s voice. “Get the prospect here with the truck. Yeah, we’ve got her.”
Then Tempest growls, “She alright?”
Short barks, “Obviously not. Darlin’, don’t worry, we’ve got you.”
Freak kneels down by my side, his hands hovering, reluctant to touch me. “Trix, babe…”
My attention is drawn by the sound of fists hitting flesh.
My eyes move to where Woody and Words are beating on Piero.
He’s trying to cover his body to protect himself, while crying out, “Do you know who I am? You can’t get away with this!
” I might be feeling half-dead. There’s no part of me that isn’t hurting, but somehow, my swollen lips start to smile.
Now the Kings have got him, I’ll never need to be scared of Piero again.
I’m safe. Freak’s found me. I try to tell him I’m alright, that everything’s going to be fine now he’s here with me. But my mind, seeming to know that I’m safe, goes offline.