Brawler (36 page)

For now, I can’t stop watching cartoons. I just need to feel close to her somehow. I can’t sleep in our bed, I can’t go into the baby’s room, and I can’t stomach food. I just ache for my wife.

I hear arguing, then I see Venessa come in to stand in front of me, but I’m only mildly paying attention. This is the part where Aurora wakes up and —

“You’ll have to go through me first, Jules,” Says Venessa, and then I do pay attention, because Jules and Venessa are tight, so what the fuck?

“Stop babying him, Venessa, shit!” she yells. “Rogan, tell her. Max, will you tell him then? Someone fucking tell him, because this needs to stop now.”

“You’re the expert on all things Rafe now?” Venessa, spits at her.

“Would you stop fighting me? I’m trying to fucking help! Macy can handle herself until we can get to her, pregnant or not! Let me fucking talk to him, okay? This is what I do!”

“What exactly is it that you do, Jules?” asks Max, scrutinizing her.

“I’m DEA,” she says, and okay, now I’m following.

“So you ain’t here by accident then,” says Rogan.

“Yes and no,” she says. “I’ve been working a case in DC, then I started hearing about shit going down at home. Around that time Macy started telling me about what’s been happening here and when you called me, I panicked and came home to see her. Then all this went down and I’m starting to think this is all connected. That’s one of the reasons I stayed.”

“What’s the other?” asks Rogan.

“I have unfinished business here,” she says, glancing at Max.

“You told us you were Special Forces,” Venessa accuses.

“I
was
Special Forces,” she says. “Now I’m DEA.”

“This explains things,” mutters Max. “Fuck. Were you investigating me, too?”

“Yes,” she says. “But I had no choice. Everything comes back to Lush, my two best friends, and
you
.”

“You should have told me!” he yells.

“I couldn’t,” she says, simply shrugging it off.

“Fuck you, Jules,” he says, walking out the door.

“What’d I miss just now?” asks Rogan.

“My husband’s got issues,” she says. “That’s what you just missed. Now can I talk to him?”

“Husband!” yells Venessa.

“Not now, Venessa,” she says, looking to me. “Rafe, I need to speak with you alone.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, and my voice sounds horrible even to me. “But whatever we talk about happens in front of them. We’re a team, so whatever you want to ask, ask.”

She’s good. Too good. Tell you one thing, the DEA is lucky to have her, and if she’s here looking into Max, then he’s probably fucked. About two hours later I’m primed. I’m so fucking primed I take a shower, eat a peanut butter sandwich, and meet my team in the kitchen. Jules’ line of questioning had me thinking outside of the box I’m used to. She had me repeat every conversation with every person I had in the last three months. And when she asked me to repeat my last conversation with Ben, I did, but when she asked me who knew Macy had been hospitalized previously I knew the answer was no one outside this room, certainly not Ben.  As soon as I said it, my gut told me that motherfucker had my wife. Especially because he was referring to Briggs when he said it, and I know for a fucking fact she never told him, because she never told anyone outside of us. Add to the fact that prick attached himself to my wife at every opportunity and was seriously pissed off when she cut him loose. So for me, that’s when the “I’m sorry” text made sense. He was sorry for what he was about to do. It hits me hard; that last day outside of the lab, he was threatening her. I took it to mean my days with her were numbered because she was better than me. He was telling me my days were numbered because he was going to take her.

And he did.

“What’s it gonna be partner?” Rogan asks me.

“Ready to tear the fucking city apart?”

“Goddamned right I am,” he says. “Let’s get your wife back.”

Venessa and Jules both nod and Jules takes me to the side to remind me she can’t call her people in without more notice. Unless we’re one hundred percent certain and that if I plan to take them all out, she won’t call them out at all because they want the bad guys alive. She also pointed out that if we had to call them in it would draw attention to Macy because it’s her drug the DEA is investigating being used in the trafficking scene. So my answer was not to call for reinforcements. Jules and her team can have whoever may be left standing, if and when they ever show up.

But I make a promise to myself and to my wife that Ben Freeman won’t be one of them.

It takes two fucking days more to track down a single lead about Ben; the guy is a fucking ghost. Until Jules calls a guy who knew a guy and we are given an address. Little do I know the day Macy dropped the program, he did the same two hours later. He had his records destroyed somehow, with no forwarding address. Where he fucked up and we found our in was the plates to his car. The address is currently a rental, the landlord says he rented to the place to a man not named Ben Freeman several months ago. However, when we gave a description, the names may not match, but the face did.

 It’s a start.

T
he first day, when I woke up in strange clothes in a strange room, I was fucking terrified. I was also terribly sick. So sick, in fact, that Ben never left my side, apologizing profusely for causing me so much distress, the fucker. Turns out the little prick tried using my own drug on me, and guess what? It’s never been tested on a pregnant woman, because yeah … Why would it? Needless to say, I didn’t handle it well. For every reaction my body gave, I catalogued it in my brain to analyze later. He kept mumbling about how it worked on the others. What others, I wondered? But I passed out before I could ask.

Day two I threatened to kill him after I castrated him. I refused to eat the food he brought, and I wanted my clothes back. He kept his distance because, on some level, he’s afraid of me. Good, he fucking should be. That night while trying to sleep he decided he needed to be “Closer to me,” and for that I ripped out a large chunk of his hair and split his lips open. Ten minutes later, thug number three showed up and cuffed me to the bed once again, wearing that stupid fucking smirk.

Day three my nausea returned with a vengeance and the only thing that helped me, even a little bit, was a shower. I wanted one so badly I agreed not to go crazy long enough to get clean. Guiding me through the house, I tried taking it all in, but god’s honest, I felt like shit. Everything was fuzzy and it was like I was looking through a tunnel on acid. Like a true pervert he stayed in the bathroom with me “Just in case,” but he made no moves to look or touch me, so I chose to be quiet about it. When I finished he took me to the kitchen, and while I ate some toast, I looked around and saw  several pairs of shoes. I was confused. These were women’s shoes, but I didn’t see women’s things. Maybe Ben lied when he said he hadn’t been with a woman since meeting me? Because I was behaving, he let me sit on the couch. Isn’t he sweet? I only acted pleased because I wanted to get a closer look at those shoes.

Pretending to doze, I curl up facing the door. Ben is talking to me, but I’m not listening. I’m still looking at the shoes. There are four pairs of shoes, and each is a different size. What the fuck?

Again, just as I was about to start asking questions, my body decided it would rather sleep, so it did. Curling up with my hands over my belly, I slept as best as I could. Missing my husband, my friends, and wondering if there was a chance of me making it out of here alive.

Day four wasn’t my day. I woke up to yelling. Listening hard, it was thug number three telling Ben if he isn’t going to get the info from me he would do it, that he’s on a deadline. Deadline? For what? Then it shifts to Ben yelling about not hurting me, that he cares about me, and that I’m pregnant. Number three said to use the baby as leverage, and Ben didn’t answer verbally, so I’m not sure which way he went.

Then I hear number three yell “Shut the fuck up,” which made no sense because as he said it Ben was entering my room and wasn’t speaking, so who was he yelling at?

“Macy?” he asks. “Are you awake?”

“Yes,” I tell him.

“How are you feeling?”

“Who was he yelling at, Ben?”

“No one,” he says.

“No one?” I repeat. “He just yells ‘Shut the fuck up’ randomly? Ben, what the fuck is going on? What am I doing here?”

“Keep your voice down, all right?”

“I want answers, now,” I tell him.

“I’m running out of time, Macy,” he says. “I need the data, or he’s going to get the information his way, and you don’t want that.”

“His way, huh?” I ask. “All of this was to get my data? It’s to treat cancer patients, Ben. What in the hell are you into? That’s why you always needed my help? To steal it from me? I knew it!”

Smacking me across the face, he grumbles, “Keep your goddamned voice down, Macy. That drug has unlimited potential, but you are to single-minded to see it. There are others, like me, who see it’s potential. Give it to me, I’ll test it, and if you’re telling the truth, I’ll let you go.”

Still shocked he hit me, I lean forward looking him in the eyes “You’re lying,” I tell him. “You’re also not bright enough to do without help. A lot of help.”

“You don’t have a choice here,” he says. “It’s this way or his way. Which will it be?”

No sooner did he finish his speech the door flew open and in walked number three, with a kitchen spoon and a smile. Before I could defend myself he smacked me in the face with it forcing me to cry out. Holy shit, does that hurt.

Grabbing me by the hair he pulls me from the room, down a hallway. He opens a door, then proceeds to pull me down the steps into the basement. I wish I could say I kept up, but I didn’t. My knees took the brunt of it while I protected my belly. When we reached the bottom he says, “Should have done it his way, bitch.” Then punches me in the back of the head, sending me straight forward.

Odd thing was, I swear, just when my body was prepared to meet concrete, I was caught.

Day five was difficult, I think. I woke to a pounding headache and cramping in my belly. Before opening my eyes I gave myself a moment to take in my injuries. I haven’t been eating, my head has taken some abuse, but not my belly yet. Feeling damp between my legs I reach a hand down slowly, bring it back, and because it’s dark I can’t see, so I try to smell instead.

“You’re spotting,” comes a voice next to me. “You started spotting about four hours ago, but we’ve kept your legs elevated, and with extreme stress it’s normal. We’ll check you again soon to make sure.”

“Maybe she has a concussion?” says another.

“He hit her hard,” says another. “But I don’t believe enough to concuss. Besides, we caught her.”

“Why don’t you give her a chance to wake up,” says the fourth. “She’s got to feel like shit right about now.”

“She needs fluids,” says the first. “She’s dehydrated.”

“I’m okay,” I say, sitting up. “Thanks for catching me, and keeping an eye on me.”

“You’re far enough along; you should be fine if you stay still.”

“I like your way of thinking.”

“Why aren’t you freaking out right now?”

“Would you believe me if I told you my friends and I have been looking everywhere for you?”

“I would believe that, yes,” says another.

“I work at Receiving, same as each of you,” I explain, and once I’m finished I hear some sniffles and a deep sigh. When they each took turns telling me how Ben took them to test the drug on them I had to lean over and chuck. Jesus, this is all my fault. These women were used as guinea pigs because of me.

“We don’t blame you, you know.”

“You don’t have to, I blame myself,” I tell them, curling up in a ball.

“They will use your baby against you. You know that right?”

“I expect as much, which is why I need to find something down here to protect myself with when he comes back.”

“Ben is obsessed with you.”

“I figured that out a few days ago,” I tell them. “I’ll be saving him for last.”

“Last for what?” But before I can answer number three comes back down, this time with a belt.

Steeling myself for impact, I pray my husband’s okay, that he knows that I love him, and that I can get through this. That I will get through this, for us.

Thinking you’re strong and being strong are two different things. I am very strong emotionally, but when a belt is seared into your back the physical strength leaves you and you start to scream; there’s no stopping it. Holding my belly, keeping my baby safe, I scream until I can’t scream anymore.

Grabbing me by my hair, he asks me if I’m ready to talk yet. When I close my eyes the girls come to my defense before he can hit me again, but turns on them instead. Hearing their screams wwas worse than hearing my own. It’s my fault they’re here. If anyone should be screaming, it’s me. The last thought before I lose consciousness again is tomorrow I’m going to fucking kill him. Problem was when tomorrow comes, I can’t move.

For the next several days, maybe even a week, I live in a sea of pain. Never even during my times with Briggs have I felt like this. I don’t know what day it is, and neither do the others. The days are the least of my problems right now; it’s the pain from the belt that consumes me. I can’t breathe without the pain stealing my air. Tonight, though, while I listened to the women encourage each other to last another day, I knew our time is running out. Falling asleep, I make myself a promise and pray that, if I can’t make it happen, Jonas will forgive me for what I am about to do.