8. Vegarro “Vega” Moretti #2
Dior was talking as he entered. “Sonnet, this is my third time calling you. Third.” He pushed the door open with one shoulder while holding his phone near his mouth.
“I don’t know what kind of depressed disappearing act you’re doing, but I don’t like it.
Call me back before I come to your house and use that emergency key you forgot I have.
” He stepped inside carrying two shopping bags.
“I’m serious, bitch. You have thirty minutes before I pull up with food, holy water, and an attitude. ”
He ended the voicemail and kicked the door shut behind himself. Then I rushed him before he could turn around. I locked one arm across his upper body while my other hand covered his mouth.
Dior’s entire body went rigid. Then he exploded. His shopping bags hit the floor as he kicked backward, twisted in my grasp, and tried to throw his head into my chin. A scream vibrated against my palm. It was loud but muffled.
He was a fighter too, but I outweighed him by more than a hundred pounds. Holding him still required effort only because I was trying not to hurt him.
“Stop moving,” I growled. “I’m not here to hurt you, but if you keep fighting, I will.”
That only made him fight harder. He swung one leg backward, caught nothing, and started trying to drag us both toward the door.
I tightened my arm enough to stop him without crushing his ribs. “Be still and shut up before I snap your fucking neck.”
Finally, he froze, though his breathing remained fast against my palm.
“Sonnet is alive.”
As soon as I mentioned her name, his body tensed again.
“She’s being protected from some very bad people.”
Dior gasped against my glove.
“You’re not calling the police. She’ll contact you as soon as she can.”
His muffled response sounded insulting.
“I’m taking my hand away. If you scream, swing on me, or reach for anything that can be used as a weapon, I’ll break something that you won’t heal from. Do you understand?”
He didn’t answer.
So, I tightened my hold slightly. “Do you understand?”
Dior nodded quickly.
“Can I let you go without you doing something stupid?”
Another nod.
I released him and stepped back.
Dior spun around so fast he nearly lost his balance. His eyes widened when he saw my size and the mask covering my face.
He placed one hand against his chest. “Oh, my God,” he breathed as he backed toward the wall. “Jesus Christ, you’re huge. Where is Sonnet?”
“You don’t need to know.”
His fear remained visible, but anger began overtaking it. “You broke into my home, attacked me from behind, and told me my best friend is being protected from bad people by somebody who looks like those bad people. Do you hear how crazy that sounds?”
I just stared at him.
So, Dior pressed his lips together, thinking. Then he said, “I don’t believe you. Sonnet has been acting strange for days, and now you’re standing in my living room telling me not to call the police. For all I know, you killed her.”
“She isn’t dead.”
“Then prove it.”
I pulled out my phone and opened the secured live feed from the camera inside Sonnet’s room. Sonnet lay across the bed, fully dressed and very much alive, but still asleep.
I turned the screen toward him, and Dior grabbed for the phone, but I pulled it out of reach.
“Don’t.”
Staring at the screen, he gasped, “Is she chained up?!”
“She is.”
His mouth fell open. “You kidnapped Sonnet?!”
“I took her before someone worse could.”
His eyes scanned me from head to toe. “Who is worse than you?”
“The people willing to kill her.”
He gulped while he looked back at the screen. Sonnet shifted in her sleep.
I locked the screen and closed the space between us.
“I’ll text you from a number with updates, so you’ll be sure she’s okay.
You’re going to keep living normally. If anyone asks, you believe Sonnet left town because she was struggling and needed space.
You won’t mention me, and you won’t call the police. ”
This sassy motherfucka had the nerve to question me. “And if I do?”
“You’ll find out how much restraint I’m holding back right now. You’ve heard the saying ‘I ain’t a killa, but don’t push me’, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I am a killa, a good one, and a trained one, so it’s your best bet not to push me.”
I still didn’t think he was convinced, so I unlocked the phone again, swiped across the screen, and held it in front of him.
The first picture showed his mother leaving a grocery store.
Then I swiped to the next of his father unlocking the door to their house.
I continued through photographs of their cars, the front of their home, and the church they attended every Sunday.
The attitude disappeared from Dior’s expression as I told him, “Your parents are Patricia and Bernard Ellis. They live at 9146 South Woodlawn, and their license plates are registered to a silver Lexus and a black Cadillac. Every Sunday, they arrive at Greater Grace around nine forty-five. Your mother stops at the coffee shop on Seventy-Ninth afterward, and your father takes Stony Island home from work every evening.”
He stared at the phone before looking at me. “They don’t have anything to do with this.”
“They don’t, and whether they remain uninvolved depends on you.”
I stepped closer and lowered the phone. “If you call the police, I’ll know before you finish explaining why you’re calling. Your parents will be dead before that call ends.”
His face lost what little color remained in it. Then he swallowed, but he didn’t look away.
“Sonnet is alive,” I told him. “Keep your mouth closed, and your parents remain that way too.”
“You’re fucking sick.”
I slid the phone back into my pocket and walked toward the door. Dior remained in the center of his living room, silent for the first time since he had entered it. The shopping bags still lay near his feet, their contents scattered across the floor.
I opened the door and looked back at him. “Remember what I said. By the time you hear an officer answer, it’ll already be too late.”
Then I stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind me, leaving Dior frozen in the same spot.