Deliverance for Amelia (11 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six: Amelia

I
WATCH THE BEACHGOERS as they enjoy the day’s festivities, normal people enjoying a normal vacation. Sitting under their white umbrellas; some reading, some cuddling, some watching their children play.

Here I am, wearing a white, breezy tunic top with some white cargo shorts, an eighteen year old girl – now engaged – to a handsome, green eyed murderer. A murderer - who, might I add - I cannot deny. A murderer who awakens the demons in my soul. Yeah, I like fucking him. I won’t deny it. Why would I? The way his hands caress me, the way his length stretches me. The way he fucks me with abandon as his muscles ripple above me. He’s a bad man, but he ignites a fire in me.

Did I sign up to be stolen? No. Did I volunteer to be handed over to Gabe? No. There is one choice that I have, and that choice is to fuck him and enjoy it. It helps me escape the horror that has become my life. My monster becomes my lover during those moments. Gabe will not take that from me. He may have taken everything else, but that one thing is the only decision that I have anymore, and I will not deny myself the pleasure that he can offer.

Just as he’s incapable of loving me, I’m also incapable of loving him. I’m not incapable of lusting after him, though. We’re more alike than he thinks. If he thinks I’ll ever love him, he’s got another thing coming. It’s only a matter of time before his ego gets a sucker punch. 

The contempt that I have for him is unimaginable, and words cannot even begin to express how I
love
to
hate
him. It’s a fine line between love and hate, and I never quite understood it like I do now. The passion associated with hating someone is the equivalent of loving someone. It courses through your veins, and it becomes part of you. I may have never had a man before him, but I’m pretty sure that hate sex is the best sex. I’ll have to find out if that’s true when I get the hell out of this mess.

Gabe is typing away at his laptop. Doing ‘his job’ I suppose. His fucked up, insane job that entails ripping flesh apart. I shiver when I think of his victims. What I was forced to watch has been planted in my memory, never to be unseen.

I hear a light knock and look over my shoulder. He presses his index fingers into the corners of his mouth and offers a saccharine smile, reminding me to play the part of a soon to be bride.

Don’t worry, fiancé - I won’t fuck up your royal highnesses plans. Oh ruler of everything that is terrible.

He pads his way to the door and my mother comes bounding through the second that the knob turns.

“Amelia, where on earth have you been? We’ve been worried sick, darling!” She exclaims as she wraps her arms around me, nearly knocking me over.

My grandmother stands in the doorway, her eyes locked onto Gabe. I want to scream at them,
“I’ve been taken, father allowed it! Help!”

But, I can’t. It’s imperative that I play this part. I’ve got to keep them safe. I rub circles over her thin back with my palms as I offer my grandmother a bright smile, “I’m sorry, mother. I am. I just thought that you wouldn’t approve.”

My grandmother’s eyes snap to Gabe once more, as she looks him up and down. My grandmother is intuitive, so she’ll be hard to convince. My mother on the other hand…

“Wouldn’t approve?” She says, sounding exasperated as she pulls away and grips my shoulders, “The way your father goes on about this Gabe, it sounds as if you’ve found a rare…
expensive
… diamond.” Her eyes snap to the direction of Gabe before meeting mine once more, “And, he is rather handsome.” She murmurs as she turns and slinks over to him.

“Gabe, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard wonderful things, and it is no surprise that you’ve managed to steal our Amelia’s heart.” She states as she reaches out to shake his hand, “My name is Emilie Bellerose. I’m Amelia’s mother, and this is her Grandmother June.”

I scoff inwardly.
Steal
is definitely the appropriate word.

“The pleasure is mine.” Gabe says as he puts on the charm, leaning down and kissing the thinning skin on top of her frail hand, and he is good at it too, my mother is practically swooning.

He turns to my Grandmother June, “June, you certainly do not look a day over thirty.” My grandmother doesn’t buy it as she shoves her way past him and grips my shoulders, “Amelia, my dear, you practically scared me to death. Are you alright, sweetheart? This isn’t like you.”

I smile weakly as I look into her brown eyes. She was my escape when I was younger, but no longer. If I dared to use her as an escape now, the result would be her death. I won’t do it.

“I’m fine, grandmother. I’m so happy to see you again.” She nods haltingly as she looks over at Gabe then back towards me. She leans in and whispers, “You just tell me when. I’m packing my 9.”

I laugh. My grandmother is my mother’s mother. She was raised in the country, and my mother was as well. My father was a man of wealth, and when he and my mother married, mom changed for the worst. Grandma June is certainly no bullshit, so I know she’s not lying about ‘her 9 that she’s packing’.

“I love you.” I whisper as she places a withered hand on my cheek. “And I you.” She responds before placing a kiss on my forehead.

Lunch is a freak show. Well, maybe not looking like one in the physical sense, but beneath the bubbling surface, it is.

My father sits at one end of the table and Gabe at the other. Grandma June has not touched her food, but she has taken full advantage of the booze that the waiter is steadily serving her. It still doesn’t settle her dagger eyes, it just offers a soft haze over them.

Father, on the other hand is digging in, his eyes not leaving his plate. Mother has her hand on Gabe’s as she unapologetically flirts.

Here I am, watching it all play out as I poke at the untouched prawns and risotto on my plate with my head rested on my palm as my elbow props me up.

“Amelia! Sit up!” My father barks as he nods in the direction of the paparazzi down below, perched in the sand. I offer a fake smile as they snap a few shots before they’re finally done. People stood behind them on the beach, shading their eyes as the cameras flashed. Wondering what they could possibly be capturing. I’m used to the gawking. I’ve practically lived in a fishbowl my entire life.

My grandmother shakes her head as she takes a gulp of her margarita, “Tony, let the poor girl live. She isn’t a goddamn poster child, for fuck-sake.”

“Mother!” My mother exclaims.

I reach up to tuck my hair behind my ear and my father’s eyes snap to my engagement ring. I’ve managed to keep my left hand under the table to avoid questions. Well, it’s too late for that.

“What in God’s name is on your finger Amelia?” My father growls as he stands and leans over the table. All eyes are on my hand.

Gabe’s lips curl up as he looks around the table, “Well, I guess now is better than never.” He locks eyes with my father, “We’re to be wed. Tonight.”

The blood drains from my families faces as they look from Gabe to me.

Finally, after the seconds ticked away without a word, my mother speaks, “Well. That is certainly a surprise.” She plasters a smile on her face as she continues, “I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t shocked. It’s a shame that I couldn’t have helped with the planning.”

My father is fuming. His eyes have not left Gabe’s. Gabe reaches out towards my father, “Thank you for your blessing, sir. I’ll take good care of her.”

My father slumps down into his chair and clumsily returns the handshake.

“Tony, please tell me that you didn’t! She’s only a child!” My grandmother exclaims.

Gabe takes a sip of his chardonnay, “Far from a child.”

Grandma June’s eyes snap to his as she bellows, “Who in the hell do you think you are?”

Gabe smiles slyly, “We’ve already gone over this, June. I’m Gabriel Thibault,” He pauses as he gets up and stands behind me before grasping my shoulders, “and this will be Amelia Thibault come tonight.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Gabe

I
STAND UNDER THE ARBOR as I await my bride. It has been decorated in white flowers – I’m not a flower genius, so I couldn’t tell you what kind. It’s just the minister and myself up here. Amelia’s mother and grandmother sit in the white chairs ahead. Her grandmother loathes me, and it’s apparent in her hatred filled gaze. Go on, old lady – you do not scare me. She’s been pretty toasty all day, sipping margaritas. I guess the idea of her granddaughter marrying me stresses her out. Amelia’s mother, on the other hand, is happy as a clam. I have to grit my teeth when I hear that woman speak.

I’m wearing a white suit with a black dress shirt and I have one of the white flowers tucked into my pocket. My hands are folded in front of me as the violinist begins playing the wedding march. We’re right on the shore as we wait for Amelia and her father. The sun is dipping beneath the ocean in the distance, the waves pick up different hues as they crush against the next. The white fabric that has been strung over the arbor catches in the breeze.

When I see her, my breath catches in my throat. She’s stunning. Her hair was left down and is styled with soft curls which frame her round face. Her rounded hips are prominent in the form fitting, fishtail gown that I had tailored to fit her like a glove. Her father has his arm linked through hers as he grudgingly walks her down the aisle. Her little hand holds the bouquet of red roses with a vice grip. She looks utterly terrified.

Her father nods haltingly as he offers me his one and only child. His eyes are filled with remorse as he lifts her veil, and kisses her cheek. She turns her face away from him with an absolute look of disgust.

I grasp her hand and turn her to face me. I’m a foot away from my future wife, and all that I can think of is stripping her bare, and claiming her as Mrs. Gabriel Thibault.

“You look beautiful.” I whisper, and she quickly diverts her eyes as the minister begins,

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today…”

“She’s yours now, Gabe.”

The voice rattles away in my head.

Yours.

Yes, mine.
Mine
.

“… with the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Gabriel, you may now kiss the bride.”

A smile creeps across my face as I snake my arm around her waist and press my lips to hers.

I sit at the beachside bar. It’s late, past midnight. I’m a married man now, and where’s my wife? She’s with her grandmother. The old, wrinkled, foul mouthed lush. Whatever. It’s nice to get away from Amelia’s weird ass family. Two days left in Cabo, then she’s all mine to do as I wish.

“Anything else?” The bartender asks. He’s an older man, wearing a bright Hawaiian print shirt.

I nod as I slide my empty beer towards him. He turns, fetches me another and pops the cap.

“You used to be a whisky man.” I hear. The voice is a familiar flatness. I turn and see Eddie McFarlan a few stools down, the same son-of-a-bitch that hired me for my first hit.

“No shit.” I say as I stand and take a seat next to him, “Eddie-Fuckin-McFarlan. How are you, man? It’s been a while.”

I’ve known Eddie for a long time. He was a good friend of my father’s. He’s in his mid to late sixties. He has long, grey hair and a mustache. He’s wearing his usual cowboy hat.

“No shit.” Eddie says as he bites down on his unlit cigar.

“What are you doing here?” I ask before taking a swig of my beer.

He tinkers with the sweating tumbler in front of him, “Tailed your ass here. I heard business has slowed.”

I eye the bartender who has busied himself with another customer before my gaze shifts back to Eddie’s, “Yeah. What about it? It will pick back up. It always does.”

He huffs as he sips the amber liquid, “Yeah, but it’s only a matter of time before you snap that pretty little thing’s neck in half.”

I cock an eyebrow, “So you’ve seen my lovely wife?”

“I have,” He responds, “she didn’t look too happy about your sudden exchange of vows. Where’d you find her anyway?”

I sigh, “I’m in cahoots with her father. He owed me money. Didn’t pay up.”

Eddie ticks his tongue as he shakes his head, “Man, I usually wouldn’t put anything past you…”

“And you shouldn’t.” I respond, “So. You followed me here. Why?”

“I need you to do a job.” He says, his voice is always monotone and gravelly.

“Alright.” I say, “You could have just followed the normal procedure for contacting me.”

“This job, or shall I say ‘jobs’ is different than any other request. This is to send a message.”

I take another swig of beer, “Go on.”

“It’ll take a year, Gabe. I have certain wishes for three of ‘em. The others, you can do as you please.”

“How many are we talking here?” I ask.

“There’s twelve of ‘em.” He responds before taking another sip, “I want a kill a month.”

“What’s this about Eddie?” I implore. I’m honestly curious.

“My daughter went missing over four years ago. Her body was located last week. She was sold, man. A fuckin’ sex slave, sold to the highest bidder by some Mexican trading ring. Like I said, there’s twelve of ‘em. I know their names and locations. One of ‘em is here in Cabo – he’s one of the kidnappers, the one that took her. Pick him off first. I don’t give a shit how. The others are spread out through the states, mostly in the south, close to the border.” He leans closer, “You can do whatever sick shit you want, but there’s three of the bastards that I have special requests for. Mauricio Garcia, Antoine Rivera and Roman Cruz – they’re the ones that I want you to seriously fuck with. You know that term “See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil”? Yeah, use your fucked up imagination – I don’t want ‘em to see, speak or hear ever again. They tortured her, they raped her, and they’re the ones in charge.”

“Wow.” I say, my voice bland, “So, you do know that I charge a million for each, you’re looking at 12 million.”

He nods a he reaches over to retrieve a black duffel bag, “It’s all there, along with the list.”

I smirk as I polish off my beer and swing the bag over my shoulder once I stand, “I’ll be in touch.”