Authors: Maya James
"Thank
you," Trisha breathes, relieved.
As
Justin had promised, Trisha's face returned to normal within a few days after
the attack as her swelling went down. I walk over to her with a proud smile.
"You did great, right up until you whined like a bitch," I tease.
"Fuck
you, hoe!" she replies with a big friendly smile that makes me laugh. Even
her PT giggles at us.
I'm so
glad she hasn't
completely
lost herself in this.
Her
bruises have all faded from black and blue into a hideous yellow. There was
some loss of hearing in her right ear, but not critical. The only real damage
done was to her wrists and her trust and faith in people. Right now, the only
friends she is seeing are Justin and I.
The
poor thing hasn't been able to remember anything about the morning of her
attack, and that's a blessing. But it frustrates her beyond words. She thinks
she should remember, that it would help her if she did, but I'm not sure I can
agree. It should be enough to know what happened without remembering the
brutality of it.
When
her PT leaves us, she stares at me, wanting to ask the same question she asks
me every single day.
Have
the police found him yet?
"No,"
I answer before she asks. "Nothing new. No one has seen or heard from him
at all, and his car hasn't shown up."
Trisha
nods that she understands.
"I
think you might have to start thinking that you will never see Sam again, and
that you're safe," I add.
There's
a familiar look on her face, a mix of emotions I know all too well—furious
anger and heartbreak. She knows what he did and she wants revenge but doesn't
know it's been taken for her. But never underestimate the grief.
Yes, he
turned out to be a piece of shit, but before that, they really had something. Losing
that...it’s the same grief she would experience if he died.
Shameful
guilt, that's another one mixed in there. I don't know why we do that to
ourselves. She has nothing to feel guilty about—neither did I—but that doesn't stop
the self-doubt a woman feels.
"Do
you really believe that he'll never come back?" Trisha asks as I carry her
things and we walk to the door.
"I
do, yes."
We open
the door and step out. "You know, you sound pretty confident about that,"
she says full of curiosity.
Be
careful!
"Because
I
am
confident," I reply unafraid. "He ran, took off like a
coward. The police said he stopped at his Lake George home for a bit and took
off from there."
I help
her get into Justin's car and climb in myself. Tony shuts the door for us.
"Nothing
says guilt like a runner. Sam knows he fucked up, and he knows he can't come
back. He won't come back because he can't—he goes to jail if he does." I
almost believe that myself.
Tony
climbs into the front. The glass is up, so we can't see him, but the car shifts
from side to side unmistakably.
"I
guess," she says, shrugging her thick shoulders. "But if I had a
couple friends that have a ton of money, ones that had gone out of their way to
successfully hide that fact from everyone, friends that probably have
connections—I wonder if they could
make
someone like Sam
disappear."
It
wasn't a question, but if I don't reply, she will take my silence as an answer anyway.
"Does
that shit really happen?" I ask, purposefully trying to make her feel a
little silly.
"I
think it does," she said, not giving up too easily. "It probably
happens more often than we think. And if that ever happened to me—"
Shit,
here it comes!
"I
would be grateful."
Wait!
What?"
"You
would be grateful? Not mad, or hurt?" I ask, probably more shocked than I
should sound.
"He's
a shit! I trusted him!" A tear quickly forms in her eye and runs down her
cheek. "No, I wouldn't be mad. I don't remember getting hit, or strangled,
but I do remember that it was a good night, and in the morning there was
nothing I had done to deserve what he did to me. Not a fucking thing!"
I wrap
my arms around her, seeing the pain oozing from her expression. Trisha puts her
arms around me too, and I hear her sobs.
"Screw
him, Trisha. You didn't do anything wrong and you didn't deserve any of this.
You just need to think about yourself now, let him go."
Trisha
slowly lets go of me. "I hate him, Charity, so if you guys took care of
him—thank you."
I hear
what she's saying, but I just shouldn't confirm anything for her. There may be
some ups and downs along her recovery, and Panther doesn't need to be caught in
a down.
"I
wish we could take the credit." That isn't a lie, I really do wish we
could tell her.
Trisha
wipes the wetness off her cheeks and laughs. "If you did do it, that's
just what you'd have to say."
That
makes me laugh too.
We're
heading back to my building, now it's our building. My apartment has been empty
since Melissa returned home, so we insisted Trisha take it as soon as she was
released from the hospital.
We told
her it was because I'm taking her to therapy every day and making sure she has
everything she needs, but we all know the truth. She couldn't make it on the
disability checks alone and she can't work. The Grill had to fill her position;
they have to say it'll be there when she returns, but we all know it won't be,
and there's no way she was keeping her apartment without her job.
Justin
was not having anything else happen to her. He was prepared to argue until he
had his way, but fortunately he didn't have to. Trisha went along willingly, I
think in part because she wanted to be near the only two people she trusts for
now.
We
drive silently for a few minutes.
"I'm
really impressed with your therapy," I say when I feel it's safe to change
the subject. "I came among much slower with my recovery from the car
accident."
"Yeah—I'm
one tough bitch," she jokes.
I laugh
at her. "You're a
determined
bitch, I can't argue that."
After
Tony dropped us off, I got her settled in and left her to rest.
Justin
is waiting for me upstairs as I come in the door. "How's she doing?"
"Pretty
good," I tell him. "Better than expected—at least better than I
expected. Her therapist says she's about sixty percent normal strength and
function."
He
nods. "And how are you?" he asks softly.
"Me?"
"Yes,
you
. How are
you
in all this? Don't pretend you're not
tired," he says as he takes my coat from me and hangs it in the closet.
I
smile, grateful that he knows me so well. "I am tired, baby, but it’s nothing
I can't handle."
Justin
brings his gorgeous face to mine, making my heart flutter. His lips graze mine
almost accidentally, then press stiffly into me.
"I'm
sure you can handle it," he says proudly, "but there's no arguing on
this. When she's in a good spot, emotionally as well as physically—I know—I am
taking you on a break. I've been talking to your parents, they're already
looking forward to spending time with us soon."
It's
almost annoying how perfectly he gets me.
I start
the kissing this time. "That sounds wonderful, just as soon as she's
good."
"
G
ood morning, Sylvester," I tease
as I pass the hologram.
Justin
smiles despite himself. He's looking relaxed behind his desk this morning.
We're flying to PA right from here this afternoon, so he came to work dressed
comfortably. The girls are drooling because they've never seen him dressed down
before and Jenifer has thanked me for it several times already.
I told
her to keep her eyes off my man's ass, and she told me to fuck off.
Ha ha.
John is
here and ready, and Lena is on her way over from her office, so Justin dials in
to the video call.
Mr.
Roberts is already waiting and Austin signs on as Lena comes in, walking on
clouds that I assume are from Terrence. We wait for a few moments for Franco, Cattie
and a few others from our group—the ones that are aware of the other team that
we are tracking. Not all of them are aware because we thought some of them
would freak out, so it was best to keep them in the dark.
There
are several chimes that signify the others joining the call.
"I
think everyone is on now," Mr. Roberts says in a dignified voice. "Cattie,
why don't you start us off on Mr. Lewis' status?"
"Sure,"
she replies eagerly. Only Justin can see her since he's keeping the rest of us
off camera. "As we expected, Senator Lewis is starting off very carefully.
Each month he's using nearly the same amount he always has for his habit, and
he's been using most of the balance on random items, nothing significant for
us, which is great."
"But
how are his other accounts, especially the campaign funds?" Franco
interrupts. There is genuine concern in his tone.
"Perfectly
fine," Cattie answers.
"So
he's being a good boy as I promised," Austin says happily.
"Do
we know what he's been doing?" Mr. Roberts asks. "Even though he's
well within his limits, we should still know what he's up to."
"Agreed,"
Franco says.
"We
know exactly what he's been doing," Justin interjects. "Exactly what
he always does. Every two weeks he's in AC, split between the Tropicana, the
Borgata, and recently Revel as well. He's planning a trip to Vegas, something
he did do occasionally before. And his online account has been very active.
That's up just slightly from before, but nothing significant yet."
They're
silent for a second.
"I'll
have a report emailed to each of you with the details, what games he plays and
for how long—how much—but I don't think we need to discuss that here,"
Justin adds.
"No,
that's perfect," Mr. Roberts says. I don't think they expected Justin
would have that much detail available.
"As
I said, he's being very careful, at least for now," Cattie confirms.
"So,
what about this other problem?" Mr. Roberts asks.
Lena
and John perk up, this is why we are all in here with Justin. John's round face
comes to life.
Justin
taps away at his keys and begins a screen share on the call, opening an organizational
chart. "We've had Blake Adams at the top for a bit."
I know
the chart he's showing without seeing it on screen. There are several question
marks next to Blake's name, other people we have to find, and one more that we
have found.
"He
led us to Teresa Holster and Nelson Seals. From them we found Allen Sikes, a
mid-level member that brought us to two more low-level people, Ben and Earl,
and finally another high-level hit, Arthur Shea."
We can
hear several of them grumble on the call. They know who he is, and they know
you cannot easily fuck with him. Arthur Shea already owns several senators and
the current Vice President.
"This
is his play for Presidential control," Mr. Roberts said flatly.
Everyone
on the call goes silent.
"We
have a decision to make," Justin says in a calm, simplistic voice.
"It has to be a vote from all of our senior members."
"And
what is that?" Austin asks.
Justin
makes a face like it should be obvious. "Do we take him on and hope we get
the control before he does, or are we out before it costs us too much?"
It's
quiet for a moment. "Why are there question marks on the chart?"
Franco asks.
"I
don't believe we've found everyone yet. Arthur Shea is definitely in charge,
but there could be others—and we haven't yet found who's taking care of their
security," Justin tells them. "That's critical, and we're getting
close."
The
call doesn't last much longer. Mr. Roberts will get the word to the others so a
decision is made on how to proceed.
Once
it's over, John has to rush out for a call. Justin has something to show us,
something that has him upset. Even without John, he asks us to look up at his
wall monitor.
"Phone
bills?" Lena asks.
Justin
nods. There are two of them side by side.
"The
same number appears on both of them," Lena notices.
"It's
a burner, not reliably traceable," Justin says. "We're trying to see
if we can get the tower history, at least see where its user is based out
of."