Chapter 21 #2
I no longer care what he means to my mother. I warned him not to put his hands on her again, so he deserves no mercy, and that’s exactly what he’s going to get.
The moment the swings come into view, I break into a jog. “Mum,” I call out when I’m close enough for her to hear me. “Mum,” I repeat in a slight panic when she doesn’t step out from where she’s hiding. “Where are you?”
I feel an immediate relief when she finally comes forward, stepping out into the light from my phone, but that feeling quickly dies when I look at the condition she’s in.
Her clothes are soaked through, clinging to her thin frame, and there’s a deep gash on her forehead. Blood trickles down the side of her bruised and swollen face. Her hands tremble at her sides, and her eyes are wide and glassy. At first, they don’t seem to register me at all.
“Mum,” I say again, softer this time, stepping forward. “What happened?”
She doesn’t answer. She stands there, swaying slightly, and for a moment, I think she might fall. I close the few feet separating us, catching her just as her knees buckle. She’s ice-cold.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” she whispers finally, her voice hoarse and distant.
This woman may have let me down countless times in my life, but despite all that, she’s still my mother.
“Of course I’d come.”
When the tears pooling in her eyes begin to cascade down her face, I don’t hesitate to pull her into my arms.
I can’t remember the last time I held her like this, but when she breaks down and begins to sob, something in my chest cracks wide open.
“Shh,” I say, running my hand down her bony spine. “He’s going to pay for this. I’ll make sure he never hurts you again.”
“I don’t deserve you,” she whispers into my chest.
That may be true, but I keep that to myself. When she starts to shiver, I release her and shrug out of my hoodie.
“Here, put this on,” I say, slipping it over her head. “Come. Let’s get you out of here. Once you’re safe, I’m going to hunt that fucker down.”
Her arms slip through the sleeves slowly, and when she winces, my anger flares back to life. She clutches the front of the hoodie, like it’s tethering her, before bringing it to her nose.
“This smells nice.”
“What?” I ask, frowning, because that’s such an odd thing to say in a situation like this.
She looks up at me with those familiar, tired eyes, the same ones I remember watching through the crack in my bedroom door when I was a kid. They always held so much pain and too many secrets.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” she says, her voice is unsteady, like she’s barely holding herself together.
I stop and turn back to face her fully. “What is it?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Her hand lifts slowly to the cut on her forehead, and when her fingers brush over it, she flinches as if it burns. The silence stretches too long. I feel it tightening in my chest.
Then her shoulders drop. She won’t meet my eyes.
“Don’t be afraid,” she whispers. “They’re not here for you.”
“They? What do you mean?”
At first, I think she’s confused … concussed. Maybe the hit to her head scrambled her thoughts. Perhaps she doesn’t even know what she’s saying. But then she looks at me, and her expression is so heartbreakingly clear that the bottom falls out of my stomach.
“They just want the girl,” she whispers.
Lucia.
I glance back in the direction of the car, ready to make a run for it, but before I can, two men step out of the shadows behind the swings.
Their movements are quiet, practised, like they’ve done this before. One is tall and heavyset, the other thinner and twitching with energy, and my pulse kicks into overdrive.
I don’t hesitate. My hand shoots behind me, and my fingers wrap around the grip of the gun I shoved into the back of my sweats. The big guy is the first to fall as I put a bullet straight between his eyes.
My mother screams and squats down, clutching her head in her hands. She’s lucky she doesn’t receive the same fate for what she’s done.
The second guy rushes me before I get a chance to take him out as well. And it’s not until he’s right in front of me that I see the glint of silver in his hand as he thrusts it in my direction.
I twist my body, but I’m not quick enough. The knife slices through my skin like butter, just below my ribcage.
The initial sting morphs into a searing hot burn when the blade sinks in further, but as soon as he pulls back, ready to strike again, my survival mode kicks in.
Father Flannery touched on knife attacks during my training. His best advice was that if I were in an open space, like I am now, with room to move, I should run. But I can’t do that. I can’t.
If I’m going to keep Lucia safe, I have to take this fucker out. I was taught that if I were in a situation where fleeing wasn’t an option, then my best chance of survival would be to secure the weapon. So I do that instead.
I lunge forward, staying low as my shoulder slams into his chest with bone-jarring force. In the same breath, my hand locks onto his wrist and yanks it tight against my side, holding it there with unyielding pressure.
He grabs a chunk of my hair with his free hand and sinks his teeth into the cartilage of my ear. But before he gets a chance to take hold, I shove the gun into his abdomen and fire two shots. He goes down like a bag of shit.
He’s still alive, but not for long.
I’m panting as I lean down and grab the knife that’s now lying beside him, tossing it out of his reach. I snatch up my phone next, which I dropped during the struggle and slip it into my pocket.
He’s moaning like a little bitch, but when I stand to full height, training the gun on him again, his terrified eyes lock with mine.
“Please help me,” he begs.
“See you in hell, motherfucker,” I say as I put a bullet right between his eyes.
My mother screams as she tries to scramble away on her hands and knees. I reach down, dragging her to her feet. I’ve never in my life manhandled this woman, but I’ve reached my limit. What she has done is inexcusable.
“They did this to you, didn’t they?” I snarl, jerking my chin towards the bruises on her face. “It wasn’t Devon at all, was it?”
She trembles, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I’m … I’m s-sorry,” she stammers.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
She shakes her head again, weak and pitiful, so I shove her away. When I release her arm, she hits the ground with a dull thud.
“You’ve just signed your death warrant,” I growl. “And when Dante comes for you, I won’t lift a damn finger to stop him.”
I cast one last look at the wreck of a woman who gave birth to me. She’s broken, snivelling, useless … and I am done.
There are no more chances. No more excuses. She’s dead to me. Whatever part of her that was a mother is long gone, buried under the multitude of lies and betrayal.
I turn my back without a word, leaving her there on the cold ground, choking on her own tears, as I break into a run.
“Romeo,” she calls out, but I ignore her. Whatever happens to her from here on out is not my problem.
I’m sprinting blind through the park, my lungs are on fire, and my legs are barely keeping up. I’m desperate to get back to Lucia, hoping the two fuckers I just wiped out were the only ones here with my mother.
As I’m nearing the car park, I hear the sharp crack of glass exploding in the distance, and my heart lurches in my chest.
Lucia!
A blood-curdling scream tears through the night a moment later, freezing the breath in my lungs as a chill slices down my spine.
My mind’s a mess, scrambling to catch up, but my body’s still moving. My instincts are howling as I tear towards the sound. I don’t think. I don’t hesitate.
I just run.
I have to get to her.
I have to save her.
I hurdle the kopper log fence separating the car park from the park, my gun still clenched tight in my hand, but I’m too late.
Tyres shriek somewhere ahead, and my head snaps towards the sound. Red taillights blur into the darkness, vanishing around the bend, gone before I can even take a breath.
“Fuck,” I roar. “Fuck!”
My hand slips into the pocket of my sweats to retrieve my phone. I know this call will seal my fate, but none of that matters. All I care about is saving Lucia.
“This better be important,” Dante grumbles down the line as soon as he answers.
“They have her,” I say through the knot that’s now lodged in my throat. “They fucking have her.”
A long silence stretches. Then Dante’s voice drops. The following three words out of his mouth come cold and hard. “What? Who? Salvatori?”
I swallow hard, my fingers gripping the phone like a lifeline. “Yes.”
“Fuck … how?”
As I’m approaching the car, I see the rear door wide open, and the window smashed in. The sight has me feeling like I’m going to hurl.
I slam it closed as I pass and move around the front of the car before slipping into the driver’s side.
“My mother,” I reply, because I’m not going to sugar-coat this. “She lured me to the park under false pretences. It was a trap.”
“And you took Lucia with you?” he bellows down the line.
“No. Yes.” I scrub my fingers through my hair and wince at the pain that shoots down my side.
I flick on the interior light and lift my black T-shirt, which is now soaked in blood.
“I thought I’d left her at home with the dog, but she somehow managed to sneak into the back seat when I wasn’t looking. ”
I glance down and grimace at the large gash in my side. It looks deep and is oozing blood, but I don’t have time to get this stitched up. I need something to stem the bleeding, though. I don’t want to bleed out before I reach Lucia.
I flip open the centre console and grab a handful of napkins I shoved in there a few months ago. They’re crumpled but clean enough.
Wincing, I lean over to the glove compartment and fumble around until my fingers brush against the roll of duct tape I stashed there. It’ll have to do. Not ideal, but nothing about this situation is.