Authors: Sharon Sala
Oh, fuck. That has to be Brendan Poe. No wonder Juliette is attracted to him. He’s even more beautiful than his father ever was.
She was so rattled she grabbed a tissue and covered her face, as if weeping for her daughter’s plight.
Brendan’s gaze went from her to the other bartenders, but when he realized Toni was crying, his legs nearly went out from under him. What did they know that he didn’t?
“Jack? Is there news?”
Jack looked up, then jumped to his feet and ran to him, thumping him heartily on the back.
“Good work, son. Good work! They have a name and address, and are on their way to the location as we speak.”
Brendan staggered, then backed into the hall and turned away. He didn’t want them to see him cry.
Jack followed, standing beside Brendan as he wept, unaware Grayson had walked out into the hall behind them.
“I knew the man was bad news,” Brendan said. “I should’ve been there.”
“You were doing what I sent you to do, and then did what no one else thought to do. You chased after them. It was timing, Bren, timing.”
Grayson walked up behind the pair, curious to what they were saying. “What did you see? Did you find a witness?”
Grayson March was the last person Brendan wanted to talk to, and yet he turned to face him, tears mingling with the water running out of his hair onto face.
“I found friends on the street and started asking questions. Michelle from The Candy Basket said Count LeGrande was out during that time. I went looking for him and found an old blues man who plays guitar on the corner. He told me he saw LeGrande going toward the riverfront right after we shut down the bar. My aunt Claudette, who’s taking care of my mother and sister, knew where he lived. I found LeGrande because of all of them.”
Grayson was impressed in spite of himself.
“So LeGrande saw it happen?”
“No. It wasn’t that easy, but I kept pushing, talking to him about everything he might have seen, and when I described the abductor, that’s when it clicked. LeGrande didn’t know his name, but said he saw a man fitting that description go into the bar every night, and come out right before closing. He said the man always stood in a nearby alley and watched us leaving the bar. He knew what he drove and he knew the tag number. That’s what I gave the cops.”
The knot of guilt in Grayson’s gut was getting tighter. He had to apologize.
“Look, Brendan, I owe you an apology. What I said before… it was just in the heat of the moment. You understand.”
Brendan’s expression was emotionless.
Grayson kept talking. “I know the bar is gone, but I’ll build it back and your job will be—”
Brendan took a step back, but not in fear. It was a subconscious move to put more distance between them.
“You keep your fucking job and I’ll save you the trouble of firing me, because I quit. You said you spoke in the heat of anger, but it was your truth. I cannot make the fact of my birth go away. You’ve made it painfully clear you don’t want me anywhere near your gold-plated world. Point taken. And in the spirit of fair play, you leave me and mine the hell alone, too.”
He walked back into the room, leaving Grayson and Jack in the hall.
Jack’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t feel so good about you, myself. All this time I had it in my head that you were my friend, but it’s been brought to my attention tonight that it’s not so. I think it’s time I walked away from the job, too. My heart’s not in it anymore.”
Jack followed Brendan back into the room, leaving March to stew on his guilt alone, and the worst of it was March still didn’t know if he was losing Julie, too.
Chapter Eight
Julie came to, tied spread-eagle and naked on a bed. The troll was standing at the foot of it watching her while slapping the side of his leg with a cat-o’-nine-tails.
Whap. Whap. Whap.
There were beads of sweat on his upper lip, and a flush of sexual anticipation on his face as kept up the rhythm.
Whap. Whap. Whap.
“So, you’re finally awake.”
Her stomach lurched, but it wasn’t from being naked in front of a dangerous pervert or that he was obviously getting ready to use that whip on her. The worst part of it was that she was still alive.
Whap. Whap. Whap.
She thought about begging or offering him any amount of money if he’d just let her go. But she didn’t. It took every ounce of courage she had to stay silent, watching him grin as he circled the bed, his black eyes narrowing as he moved closer, wanting her to get the full of effect of the slap of leather against denim.
Whap. Whap. Whap.
In spite of her determination to remain stoic, with the first sweep of the whip toward her face, she whimpered like a dog with a butt full of buckshot.
As soon as he saw the fear on her face, he began hitting himself harder.
WHAP. WHAP. WHAP.
Chub frowned. He liked it better when they screamed. Maybe he needed to give her something to cry about, enough to make it hurt, but not enough to break the skin. He raised the cat-o’-nine-tails over his head and brought it down across her inner thigh.
Her scream was as sharp as the radiating pain in her body, and then it faded to a guttural moan. A faint streak of blood was rising just beneath her skin. She heard him giggle as he did an antsy two-step then slapped himself a little more.
Whap. Whap. Whap.
The smell of his sweat, mingling with the stale air in the house, was as sickening to her as the stench of her own fear. The coppery taste of fresh blood was in her mouth as she realized she’d bitten her tongue. His face was a blur now, but she knew where he was from the repetitive slap of the whip against his thigh. Never in a million years had she imagined this was how she would die.
“Not so tough now, are you, bitch?”
WHAP. WHAP. WHAP.
She blinked past the tears until she could see him again. He was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, slapping the cat-o’-nine-tails harder and harder against his leg, breathing deeper and heavier, moaning now between blows.
His excitement was building. It was only a matter of time before he began raping her and he wouldn’t be gentle. It would hurt her far worse than the whip. When he began trading lashes from the whip—one for him, one for her—she lost her mind, screaming for mercy, writhing away from the snaky strips of leather and pulling so hard against the ties that bound her to the bed that her wrists and ankles began to bleed.
She shrieked. “Bastard!”
He hit her.
WHAP.
And then himself.
WHAP.
Harsh, choking sobs burned the back of her throat as she cursed him yet again.
“Sick, perverted son-of-a-bitch!”
WHAP.
The next blow of the whip was across her face, which finally sent her into blessed oblivion.
She came to again, choking and gasping for air when he threw water in her face. This time he was naked. She wouldn’t look at his erection because she couldn’t bring herself to face what would come next.
“Got nothing more to say?” he asked and brought the cat-o’-nine-tails down hard on the mounds of both breasts. Bloody welts rose within seconds, although, yet again, he had not broken the skin.
She moaned, trying desperately to form words, but her lips were too swollen to move.
He raised the whip just as another clap of thunder shattered the silence and he brought the whip down across her face.
“Hell of a night to die, ain’t it, bitch?”
****
Detective Carson was riding shotgun with a Parish police officer and cursing the weather. Once they’d turned off the blacktop, the dirt road had turned into a thick, mucky gumbo.
“Can’t you go any faster?” he asked, thinking of the time that had elapsed since Juliette March had been taken.
“Not without going in a ditch.”
“Just don’t get us stuck,” Carson muttered.
“It’s four-wheel drive, sir. We aren’t going to get stuck,” the officer countered.
Carson glanced in the side-view mirror at the phalanx of parish and police cars behind them. They were running without lights and sirens so as not to alert him to their arrival.
“How much farther?” Carson asked, trying to see through the rainfall and the constant swipe of windshield wipers.
“We’re almost there,” the officer said, and then all of a sudden, he slammed on the brakes. “I take that back. We’re there,” and came to a sliding stop directly behind a black SUV.
Their headlights caught on the muddy license tag as Carson peered at it through the pouring rain.
“That’s the car!” he shouted as the other cruisers began pulling up. They cut the headlights and killed their engines in unison.
Carson jumped out on the run with a search warrant in his pocket and a gun in his hand, while the others began circling the property.
There was a light on in the living room and another one at the far end of the house. A deputy had already moved to that light source, hoping for a glimpse inside the room. All of a sudden the deputy spun away and started running toward Carson. Even in the downpour, it would have been impossible to wash away the look of horror on his face.
“She’s in there, sir! Bloody as hell, tied spread-eagle to a bed.”
“Take it down!” Carson ordered and stepped back as a pair of officers took a battering ram to the front door.
It went down with the first blow and suddenly the house was full of police, all running toward the light at the back of the house.
****
Chub heard the thud as his front door hit the floor, but was too excited to focus on the fact the noise wasn’t part of the storm. By the time he heard the thunder of running feet, it was too late. He spun toward the bedroom door just as it flew back against the wall. Police swarmed the room—yelling at him to put his hands behind his head and screaming for him to get down.
When two officers tackled him, he lost his erection and the cat-o’-nine-tails at the same time. He hit the floor screaming obscenities while they rolled him onto his belly, handcuffed his hands behind his back, and dragged him backward from the room. He had one last glimpse of the bloody woman on his bed and then he was gone.
Carson had seen plenty in his twenty-plus years on the force, but was shocked by what Chub Walton had done. As horrific as Juliette’s wounds appeared, the irony of the moment was Carson’s subconscious need to hide her naked body, as if the worst that had happened to her was the nudity, itself.
“Cut her free and cover her up!” he ordered, then pointed at one of the officers. “Go tell the paramedics the scene is clear and get them in here, STAT.”
“Yes, sir,” he said and ran out of the room.
Julie’s eyes were swollen shut and her lips were so painful she could hardly speak, but she knew enough to know she’d been saved and kept trying to talk.
“Who… here? Call Brendan.”
Carson already knew the relationship between the victim and Brendan Poe. He wanted her to know who the real hero was.
“You can thank your Brendan for finding the lead that got us here so fast.”
She started to shake as they began removing the bindings from her wrists and ankles.
“Bren? Here? I want Bren. Get Bren.”
“No, ma’am, not here, but I’m sure he’ll be waiting for you at the hospital.”
“Waiting,” she mumbled and passed out.
Carson glanced at the EMT. “Can you tell the extent of her injuries? It’s obvious he whipped her all to hell, but can you tell if she’s been raped?”
The EMT frowned. “At first glance, I would say no, but we can’t be sure until they do a rape kit. However, at this point, it almost doesn’t matter. Between the shock and pain of what she’s endured, the emotional act has already happened…” He motioned to his partner. “Let’s get her moved before she wakes up.”
They transferred her to a stretcher, quickly covering her from head to toe with a waterproof sheet, and then he carried her through the downpour to the waiting ambulance, leaving the police to process the scene.
Carson stood in the doorway, watching as the taillights of the ambulance disappeared in the darkness, then dug Jack Michaels’s business card out of his pocket.
****
Jack jumped when his phone rang then fumbled it, trying to get it out of his pocket.
“This is Michaels.”
“I don’t have Grayson March’s number,” Carson said. “Is he there?”
“Yes, do you want—?”
“Just inform him we have his daughter.”
“Oh, thank the Lord! Is she okay?” Jack said and turned and gave everyone in the room a thumbs up, which brought Brendan to his feet.
“She’s alive. They’re taking her to Touro Infirmary,” Carson said. “Tell Brendan Poe she asked for him first.”
The hair suddenly crawled on the back of Jack’s neck. The cop didn’t say she was okay, just alive.
“Yes, yes, I will do that,” Jack said. “And thank you.”
“All of you need to thank Brendan Poe. Another five minutes and we would’ve been too late.”
“I will tell them,” he said.
Grayson was standing now, afraid to ask for details.
Jack saved him the effort. “I asked if she was okay. Carson said she was alive.”
Lana March moaned then started to weep. Grayson had a hand on her shoulder, still waiting for the rest of the verdict.
Brendan grabbed Jack’s arm. “What else?”
Jack purposefully raised his voice, intent that Grayson and his wife understand the extent of their betrayal.
“Carson said another five minutes and they would’ve been too late. He said she’s alive only because of you, Brendan, and he also said that you are the first person she asked for.”
Brendan grabbed Jack’s arm as he swallowed back tears. “Where are they taking her?”
“Touro Infirmary,” Jack said, then cupped the back of Brendan’s head and gave him a brief hug.
When Brendan walked out of the room, the other employees of The Black Garter went with him.
“Where’s he going? What did you tell him?” Grayson asked, as he grabbed Jack by the shoulders.