Chapter 8
CELINE
The next day, Jackie and I leave work at the same time and decide to go to the Christmas market. It’s just what I need after the blowout with Julian yesterday. He wouldn’t tell me who that man was or what his sinister words meant. He wouldn’t tell me anything, but there were tears in his eyes.
“I’m not an idiot, Julian,” I screamed. “I know what you are.”
“You don’t know anything,” he said. “Dammit, Celine.”
The way he said ‘dammit’ was like: We’ve been living in this false reality for so long. Why do you feel the need to change that now? Just go along with this show for a while longer. Keep pretending.
“Are you okay?” Jackie asks.
She’s only a couple of years older than me, but with that extra nursing experience, she’s acted somewhat as a mentor as I find my feet on the ward. Tall, thin, with a hooked nose that gives her character and startlingly bright and beautiful green eyes.
I loop my arm through hers. “How could I feel depressed in a place like this?”
She grins as we walk past a stall selling custom-made snow globes and walk toward a kiosk dishing out hot drinks.
We order some hot cocoa in giant paper cups and then find a spot on a picnic table beside a big statue of Santa, his red suit glittering with lights from inside, a ho ho ho coming electronically from his mouth every so often.
Jackie talks about the trip she’s planning with her boyfriend for the spring. Malta, somewhere they’ve always wanted to go. I do my best to listen, to be a good friend.
But then I spot him.
The same man, with the same loose leather jacket, is now wearing a wool cap to cover his bald head. He leans against the wall next to the small ice rink. When he sees me looking, he raises his paper cup as though in a toast.
Jackie taps my hand to get my attention.
“Huh? Sorry?”
She smiles. “You need to get more sleep, Celine. Your head is in the clouds.”
“Sleep? In our profession? When would we have time to do anything if we ever slept?”
“Don’t get caught in that trap,” she says gently. “Life has to come first.”
“You’re right.” I try not to look at him.
Without a body…
When I demanded to know what Rico meant by that, Julian pretended to be confused. It was like he thought I didn’t know him… like he’d forgotten I’m his sister and can read his cues, even if I’ve spent years pretending I can’t.
Jackie checks her phone. “I should get going.”
I should go with her. But something hot is gathering inside me, like a ball of energy waiting to be released.
Why should I be afraid of this man? What’s he going to do in front of all these people? Why does he think he has the right to intimidate me?
“Celine,” Jackie says. “Are you coming?”
“I’m going to hang around for a little while,” I say, knowing it’s probably a mistake. But screw it. I won’t let this asshole scare me.
We say goodbye. When Jackie leaves, the man pushes away from the wall and wanders over. He looks different from yesterday, his eyes glassy. When he sits and slams his cup down, I smell the whiskey emanating from it.
“Well, ain’t this a nice surprise,” he says.
“I’m not scared of you, you sad little man.” Somehow, my voice doesn’t waver, and that makes me proud. “If you’ve got a problem, it’s not with me.”
“Oh, I’ve got a problem.” He licks his lips, his cloudy eyes flitting up and down my body. “I need to get some more whiskey before we make sweet, sweet love, Celine Moreau.”
I try not to show my disgust and fear on my face. But it’s difficult. He smirks as if he’s seen deep inside of me and can read every little nuance. Every little tremor of terror.
“Don’t like the sound of that, hm?” he says.
I fold my arms and sit up straighter. I’m not going to let this asshole beat me. I’m not going to let this new life, this upside-down world where I finally know the half-truth about my brother, break me.
“Go fuck yourself,” I snap.
His smirk falters. His hand is shaking as he reaches for his paper cup of whiskey. When he takes a sip, his eyes don’t leave me. A line of brown liquid slides down his chin.
“That isn’t a very intelligent thing to say. I want you to look under the table.”
He snakes one hand out of sight.
“Why?” I snap.
“Look under the table, or you’ll bleed right here. Right now.”
Something in his tone makes me do it. He doesn’t sound as though he’s lying. He sounds serious.
I lean down. A gasp punches out of my throat.
He’s holding a gun, aiming it at me, out of sight so that no one else can see it.
When I sit up, his smirk is back – in fact, it’s evolved, become a full-on grin. I’m good in high-stress situations. I wouldn’t be able to do my job if I crumpled every time things got tough, but this is a new breed of panic.
“We’re going to take a walk,” he growls. “You and me. Somewhere private. Somewhere… special. Or I can pull the trigger. Your choice.”
I look around the busy Christmas market. “You won’t,” I whisper.
“Are you sure of that, Celine Moreau? Are you certain?”
I’m certain that if I go with him, something terrible is going to happen.
What choice do I have? My legs are Jell-O when I stand. His eyes never leave me. The gun’s no longer in sight, but he’s got his hand in his pocket, and I can see the shape through the leather. He wouldn’t even have to take it out, just angle it, aim, and pull the trigger.
Job done.
“Where are we going?” I ask, wondering if I should just run, but then it’s too late.
He walks around the table and grips my elbow, squeezes, making my bones ache. “Wherever the fuck I want,” he snarls.
Before I know it, he’s marching me across the market and out the door, the Christmas music receding. He shoves me into the first alleyway we pass by, taking out the gun again, looking at the mouth of the alley with that sickening lick-lipping habit.
“You’re not much,” he says. “But I’ll make do—”
“Game’s up, motherfucker,” someone growls.
We both turn.
Damian walks toward us, emerging from the shadows, the pale winter light reflecting off the scar on his face, his eyes fixed on Rico with laser focus. He’s got a gun in his hand, pointed straight at Rico.
“What were you going to do to her, Rico?” Damian snarls, walking slowly toward him.
Rico’s mouth has fallen open. His face goes white like he’s on the verge of passing out. I’ve never seen anyone so scared. He looks even more frightened than I just was, lips shuddering.
“Duh-Damian.”
“Ruh-Rico,” Damian snaps. “Tell me. What. Were. You. Going. To. Do.”
When he’s close enough to Rico, he pockets his gun, grabs Rico by the jacket, and efficiently searches him. Rico stands frozen, as if he’s seen a ghost, unable to move. Damian takes Rico’s gun and stuffs it into his waistband.
“Ah, there’s my answer. You sick fuck.”
At first, I don’t know what Damian’s talking about, but when I follow his gaze, I see it. Rico’s excitement pushes against his pants.
Damian punches Rico so hard in the face that he surges backward, slams against the wall, his skull making a wet sound as it collides heavily and bounces against the rock. Rico slumps, eyes rolling, moaning softly.
Damian turns to me. He wasn’t exactly Mr. Happy before. But this is different. He’s a different species. Pure fire. Pure rage.
“We have to go,” he says gruffly. “I don’t know if he’s alone.”
“We?” I whisper, just about pushing the word out.
“You, me, this bastard.” He nods towards Rico. “He’s seen me. Which means I can’t let him go running back to the big bad boss.”
He says the last line with vicious dryness.
“I need to go home,” I say.
Damian shakes his head, matter-of-factly. “If Rico is working with someone else, they might be waiting for you there. You’re coming with me, Celine.”
It’s not a question, not a choice.
Rico sits up, his hand to his head, looking glassy-eyed at the wall.
Damian takes a step forward, grabs my arm, not hard, but not gently either. “Now, Celine.”
I nod reluctantly.
He tells me he’s doing this to keep me safe, but as I follow him, I wonder if I’m walking into more danger.