Chapter 16 EZRA
I didn’t know where we were going, only that we were leaving, and leaving fast. I eventually fell asleep in the passenger seat and woke up to Jacques talking to himself—or as I realized, speaking to the person in his ear.
They were having a bit of a heated conversation from the sounds of it.
It had only been around two hours since we’d left after the parking lot brawl.
“So then how the fuck did they find us?” he asked. It was the loudest he’d raised his voice the entire time we’d been in the car and it almost startled me. “Sorry, kitten.” He rubbed my shoulder. “I’m obviously not talking to you.”
“What’s going on?” I grumbled. The road was completely dark, surrounded by tall trees on either side. The occasional reflection from the road illuminated our path. “Where are we going?”
“I can’t say,” he told me. “Not while I’m—” He paused, almost like he was being shouted at through the earpiece.
I really wanted to know what they were talking about, but the last time my curiosity was put to use, I’d caught myself between the Whistleblower Act and a hard place—a.k.a.
Jacques, a.k.a. Reaper. “I’ll let you know in minute, kitten. ”
Rubbing my eyes, I stared out of the window and tried to reflect on what had happened.
Those people had come for me, they were trying to get me, to take me away, probably have me hauled inside some dark room, interrogated, and maybe even forced to take the blame.
It was a living nightmare at times, the idea that billionaires were above the law, the idea that they could make up their own laws, and maybe even fabricate shit that wasn’t there, and more specifically that it was my fault all those people died in those trials.
Jacques reassured me as I grew restless in the passenger seat, ultimately removing his earpiece and telling me he didn’t know who was responsible, and neither did his contact.
We knew the FBI had gotten the tap on my legal team, but so many others could’ve followed that same tap and the same information they had.
“We’re going into deep hiding,” he told me. “There’s going to be a manhunt for the two of us. Mostly me. They’re spinning it—”
I didn’t know if I wanted to hear the rest of what he had to say. I didn’t want to know what they were spinning. “Will we be safe?”
“The safest,” he said. “Because we’ll be together.”
* * *
Arriving in the dead of night, we were in Boston.
The air was cold and the sky completely clear.
We were in a quiet, clean alley, gated off from the main road, with two large dumpsters against the wall, completely empty.
It felt too clean. I walked as Jacques talked to someone on the phone, occupied by seeing the steam from my breath, opening my mouth wide and exhaling slowly to make the biggest cloud.
I tried to walk closer but Jacques walked further away from me.
I knew it must’ve been an important conversation, but I just wanted to cuddle—or get somewhere warm.
He hung up the phone and chased me down against the car. He immediately wrapped his arms around me and nuzzled his cold mouth against my neck. “Sorry for that, baby,” he said. “When I said we were going underground, I might’ve meant that a little literally.”
“Underground?” I asked, looking around. “But you don’t have—” My brows creased as I tried to think about where exactly this could’ve been. I knew we were in Boston, and the only place he had here was an apartment with a loft. And this definitely wasn’t a loft.
A car pulled up outside the fence moments later. The large headlights shone on us. A tall man climbed out of the car.
“I had to call in a favor,” he said, keeping me close with an arm around my shoulder.
The headlights cut off and the man opened the fence and shimmied through an opening. He laughed. “I didn’t think I’d see you asking me for a favor,” he said.
“Who is it?” I asked quietly, my mouth clenched from the cold.
“Looks like you’re both going to be in for a ride,” he laughed.
“Santo,” Jacques said. “I never wanted to call in the favor, but here I am. And tomorrow, you’ll know why.”
Santo walked up to us, his eyes scanning me. They looked like they were breaking me down bit by bit. “I know,” he said. “I’ve got sources, Reaper. And I owe you one. Truly.”
I looked to Jacques, wanting an immediate answer to why, but I knew this wasn’t just some friend. This man was dangerous. “Why?” I asked. It just came out, and once I’d asked it, the two of them looked at each other, then their warm gazes fell upon me.
“Your boyfriend here killed someone for me,” he said. “We gathered a little more of the city because of it. Almost totally eliminated a family. We get death threats on occasion from some of the lieutenants trying to revive their legacy, but it doesn’t matter much now.”
“I heard your dad died too,” Jacques said.
Santo scoffed. “Jeez, that was a while ago. I’ve slept since then,” he said. “I’m not trying to sound mean about it,” he looked right at me. “But my father was a dick. And I would’ve killed him myself if his cancer hadn’t taken him out. In fact, I’m not sure I didn’t kill him.”
“I’m sorry to—” I started.
He held up his hand, and on his finger was a set of keys. “I’m sure you’re both wanting to get settled and warm,” he said. “I’ve got one of those metallic car covers too. You won’t be using that for a while, and you don’t want it frosting over.”
“You’re like—some criminal?” I asked. It might’ve been the cold adding to my abruptness, or I was just used to Jacques telling me to ask any question I had.
Santo laughed, handing over the keys to Jacques. “Aren’t we all?” He looked me up and down, my stomach almost twisting into a knot. “Except for you, I suppose. You look too clean. Are you ruining him yourself? Or letting the world do that?”
“Thanks for the keys,” he said. “I’ll be in touch if we need anything else.” Jacques gripped me tighter. “And don’t forget why they call me Reaper. Keep your eyes to yourself.”
“Relax.” He had the type of smirk that made me freeze in place. “I’ve got someone in my bed already. He’s keeping it warm. Let me know if you want to double date, I’m sure I could swing us a chef to cook for us.”
I didn’t want that, but I also didn’t know where we were about to go. There was a door in the wall, but Jacques mentioned actually going underground, and I didn’t see anything going underground. I clenched my teeth together, keeping myself from asking more questions.
“I’ll let you know,” he said. “If we’re here for a while, we might need the company.”
“I don’t want you going stir crazy,” he laughed. “Everything is as asked. And if you need anything, call me. There’s a phone inside that connects right to me.”
“Thank you,” I let out. I didn’t know if I was supposed to be thanking him, but he was the reason we were going to be in hiding—and maybe have an extra layer of security.
“Let me get the car cover,” Santo said. “You should get whatever you need out first. And—maybe open the door.”
The door was hiding under the two wheeled dumpsters.
It opened up onto a set of stairs. The keys were for a door at the bottom of the stairs, and inside, an apartment.
It was already warm, and my nose was wet from the temperature change.
We walked right into the living space with a large leather sofa facing a flatscreen TV on a wall.
Everything was chrome and white with orange overhead lights making me feel like I was on vacation.
I walked around as Jacques unloaded the car with his friend’s help—assuming they were friends.
I didn’t know what criminals referred to each other as.
The living room entered onto a hallway and at the end of it, a kitchen with fake window stickers was placed against the tile walls.
Along the hallway was a bathroom and a bedroom—one bedroom, double bed, comfy enough after I bounced my booty on the end of it.
This was the complete opposite to what we’d had in Vermont.
This was closed off, constricted, with zero ability to see outside.
I sat on the leather sofa, drained, and watched as they brought everything in from the car.
I was deflated, and still in my outside clothes—part of me wondered if we’d be leaving just as quick.
We weren’t.
I didn’t say a word until Santo left.
“How long are we going to be down here?” I asked as Jacques sat beside me, tugging at my zipper.
“Until we get someone to come tell us the world is good again,” he said.
“The world has never been good,” I said with a smirk.
“That’s true, but when I’m with you it is, and I want it to be like that all the time.” He got my jacket off and hugged me, pulling my entire body on top of his. He did that until my head was on his chest and his fingers were able to comb through my hair.
“What if it’s never good?”
“It will be,” he said. “I believe it will be so, I know it will.”
I looked up at him from his chest, trying to make eye contact, but he was looking up at the ceiling. I also wondered about the building we were beneath. “I’m not even sure if we’ll survive down here. There’s no ventilation or anything. And what about food?”
“Relax, kitten,” he said, his fingers becoming a little rougher as he pushed and pulled them through my hair. “I’ve got it all sorted. You should get some sleep.”
“I just—I need to know these things.”
As he started explaining how we’d get food through Santo’s workers, and that there were vents to make sure we weren’t going to go crazy from a carbon dioxide overdose, I fell asleep.
It was better than any bedtime story, and he was right.
I needed sleep. My day had gone from having a drink with friends, browsing the fresh fruit and vegetables at the grocers, to an ice skating game, and then being forced to hide from people looking for us—my anxiety had spiked so much already, that listening to Jacques’s heartbeat, so calm, put me into one of the best night’s sleep I’d had in a while.
* * *
Being underground wasn’t all that bad . . . was something I lied to myself about.
We’d been underground for a day. There was a door I could leave through or take fresh air from, but that was restricted to the dead of night, and only just outside enough that I was behind the car and the two dumpsters.
I had more questions about that too, since the alley was fenced off, and we’d eventually need the dumpsters to be emptied of trash.
Too much time on my hands meant I was overthinking, and I didn’t want to overthink about the case anymore. The legal team were informed of the tap on their systems through Santo—I think. I didn’t know much more than Jacques telling me it was all taken care of.
So, it was overthinking and watching TV.
“Oh my god, you’re on the news!” I squealed, seeing a mugshot of Jacques appear. He looked menacing.
Jacques was in the kitchen, which is where he was doing his overthinking—I think.
My brain wanted to switch off, but it wasn’t possible.
“What are they saying?” He came through, dressed in a red and white apron with little frills on the bottom.
I giggled at the sight of him. “This is what—why are you laughing?”
I was in hysterics. “The apron,” I said, whacking my limbs around on the sofa as I laughed harder. “Where did you get it?”
He walked in front of the TV screen, and now the mugshot appeared right beside his face. “This was the only apron choice,” he said, showing it off for me as I continued to giggle. “I thought you’d like it.”
“I love it, I do.” I was laughing so hard I was crying. “You look like one of the lunch ladies from high school.”
“Oh, I do?” he asked, flexing his big bulging tattooed muscles in his equally tight black T-shirt. “They looked like this, huh?”
I shrugged, wiping my tears on my T-shirt, pulling it up from the bottom and cleaning my face. “Some of them were hella butch, so yeah. Maybe.”
“I’ll take it as a compliment,” he said, still flexing. “Unless it’s not a compliment, kitten. In which case, I fear I might have to go get a spatula and show it that little ass of yours.”
“Spank me,” I giggled, still wiping tears from my cheeks. “But you’re not paying attention. You’re on the news.”
He nodded. “I know,” he sighed, throwing himself down on the sofa beside me. “It’s gonna be ugly before it gets pretty again.” He hugged my head under his arm, locking me there gently with a little squeeze. “So, what are they saying about me, huh?”
On the screen, after all the laughter, we watched as the ticker on the bottom told a series of lies about how Jacques, named Reaper, had kidnapped a worker for the pharmaceutical company, Nexovex. He turned it up so we could hear the female news presenter.
“There’s a conspiracy which dives deeper into why this kidnapping took place.
The FBI aren’t releasing the name of the person being held because they have stolen assets from Nexovex, which they believe are being used in an attempt to criminalize the pharmaceutical company.
Any sighting of Jacques, a.k.a. Reaper Harlan should be reported immediately. Do not engage. This man is dangerous.”
“What is she even saying?” I asked him.
“They’re trying to make it sound like you’re a thief, and I’m forcing you into harming Nexovex’s reputation,” he said. “They’re setting it up so that when you come out of this, nobody will take your testimony seriously.”
My heart raced. I clung to Jacques. “But—but—but—”
Jacques held me tight. There was no escaping his grasp, not that I’d want to right now. The news didn’t name me, but it might as well have.