Page 98 of Mob Saint

While we wait, we can still think about what we can do. I look at the others and consider our options.

“Shane, give me your phone. I need to call Tiera’s dad and see if he knows anything that’s happening.”

Shane pulls the phone from his pocket. As he hands it to me, he wonders aloud what I already have. “Do you think he knows? If her kidnappers called him or Gareth, would he tell you about it?”

I shrug and tilt my head slightly to the right, and it hurts like a motherfucker. How I forgot I took a blow the head is beyond me. How I’m still thinking straight is beyond me. I think it’s sheer nerves and fear that’s doing it. Like how those mothers can lift cars to protect their children. I feel like I could do that to protect Tiera. She’s what matters most. I don’t need to remind myself of that. But my mind won’t stop repeating that over and over and over.

I shake my head and wince. Shane misunderstands and frowns, but I do it to clear my mind. I need to focus again. Fortunately, I already know Brant’s number by heart just like I do Gareth’s.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Tiera

My fucking head hurts like a bitch. Someone rung my bell like it’s church on Sunday. I can’t—and don’t want to—open my eyes. The effort is too much, and I fear any light shining into them. Instead, I listen…to silence. I sense nothing around me. There’s no one moving or talking. Even the air is silent. I have no sense of where I am.

I fought with all I had to keep the men from taking me. I clawed, I scratched, I bit, I kicked, and I punched. I practically ripped the shower rod from the wall as I tugged on it to keep the third man through the door from snatching me off my feet. When he picked me up, I kicked him in the balls. He dropped me, and I smashed my head against the lip of the tub’s side. I want to reach back and see if I have the goose egg I suspect.

The shower curtain came down with me as I fell. The first guy through the door—the one I sprayed directly in the eyes—grabbed a hand full of my hair and wouldn’t let go. I got the shower curtain over his face and rolled all my weight onto him, pinning him face down as I tried to smother him. Even as the second man—the one I sprayed in the mouth and nose—yanked at the back of my shirt, I wouldn’t let go. I just squeezed my thighs around the ribs of the guy I straddled. Thank God for all those hours of running. My legs are far stronger than the cellulite would make you think.

But it wasn’t enough. I didn’t know there were two more men waiting in my bedroom. It took four of them to haul me out, kicking and screaming. The one I tried to suffocate at least had the decency to pass out, so I felt like I accomplished something in my own defense. My success lasted a heartbeat. One man zip-tied my wrists behind me.

That wasn’t enough to stop me from kicking backwards, landing blows against his shins. Another soccer move, using my heel to drive backwards. All I got for my efforts was the man grabbing my pussy and warning me they’d all have turns if I didn’t stop. I threw my head backwards and cracked him in the nose. I pretty sure he bled on my shoulder.

After that, things moved faster than I could keep up with. The barrel of a gun pressed against the base of my skull and nudged me forward. They tried to rush me down the stairs, but I stumbled twice, and it was enough to convince them they had to let me move slower unless they wanted a captive with a snapped neck. But I was three stairs from the bottom when I recognized Seamus. I leapt down the last ones, nearly skidding in blood that belonged to an intruder. My captors didn’t expect me to move so fast, so I got to my boyfriend’s side and dropped to my knees.

One guy said I was where I belonged—on my knees and ready to suck them off. Vulgar fucker. The only person who gets to tell me something like that is Seamus, and he’d only do it while we’re roleplaying. He’d never speak to me that way if we weren’t being intimate. They tried to pull me back onto my feet, but I thrashed harder than I had in the bathroom.

I didn’t want to leave Seamus’s side, and I sure as hell wouldn’t go with a speck of willingness. Even with the gun back at the top of my spine, I still refused to leave. That’s when things went black. One of them pistol whipped me, the side crashing into my temple and making me crumple.

That’s where my head hurts the most right now and is causing the throbbing pain that forces me to keep my eyes closed. I feel dried blood on my cheek. I’m lying on my side with my injured side up. My wrists are no longer bound. None of me is bound.

They either believe I’m going nowhere and have no chance of escape, or they want me to try and fail. Either way, I’m their hostage. But I won’t be forever. Either they’ll kill me, or Seamus will come for me. I spotted the wound in his thigh where a bullet ripped his pants and grazed his leg. He was paler than usual, but not so much that I feared he was on death’s doorstep. I saw his chest rise and fall, and he groaned when I called his name. I think me saying his name over and over was rousing him, but I didn’t get a chance to say it more than three times. I don’t know that it was enough.

Cormac’s shoulder seemed far worse from the blood beneath him. I don’t know if the bullet passed through or lodged in there, but it didn’t appear to hit a major artery. His blood didn’t geyser, and he didn’t have the pallor of someone about to die. I’ve seen burn victims just before they pass away. I’ve seen smoke inhalation victims just before they breathe their last. I know what imminent death looks like, and Cormac’s coloring was still too ruddy. But he might be by now.

Seamus had no noticeable wounds besides the grazed thigh. Something invisible caused him to remain unconscious. What if he wasn’t able to activate his tracker? I’m certain he has one. I wish I did. I’m certain he will insist upon it before I can even ask. I refuse to consider the possibility I won’t reunite with him. Fate owes me a fucking happily ever after. I kissed my frog. Now I want my prince. It’s not that I believe I deserve happiness. I don’t know that I can ever believe that’s a natural right.

It just doesn’t happen to enough people in this world for me to believe it’s a condition everyone is meant to not only experience but be in a permanent state of. But having even another five minutes with Seamus would make me happy. I want a lifetime, though. I’ve already lost so fucking much. Do I deserve to lose even more?

What did I do to earn a place in hell on Earth? I know I’ve broken the law far too many times to ever claim I’m the mob’s innocent victim. I could have turned myself in. I could have turned over Gareth, Keith, and Vince. But what would have been the cost to my parents if I had? Far too much. Far more than I’m willing to pay.

So, I gave in each time Darren or Gareth came knocking. They manipulated the fuck out of me in the beginning. Then they didn’t have to try very hard. I gave in before there was anything for me to argue. I rolled over like the dumb bitch Vince called me more than once.

That’s something Seamus can never find out about. He’d lose his ever-loving mind. It’s bad enough he vaguely knows the things said to me. But to know that was a specific insult hurled at me too many times to count would make Seamus unstoppable. I know I couldn’t. Not with my words or with my body. I don’t think anyone—including Cormac or his dad who are as big as him—could once he decided retribution would be the best way to protect me.

My head hurts from my thoughts bouncing from one thing to another. I need to open my eyes just a crack. I need to get oriented. The eye closer to the ground opens a slit, but my other one doesn’t want to. It’s not swollen shut or anything. I’m just not that awake yet. Wherever I am is pitch black. I can’t see an inch in front of me.

I force both eyes open and try to adjust to the darkness. I refuse to panic, so I keep my breathing measured. I’ve had panic attacks since the accident. I know what they feel like when they’re coming on, and I know how to prevent them. I go through my breathing routine, and I feel my heart slowing.

I’m not afraid of anything jumping out at me, though I’m not thrilled at the prospect that something might crawl on me. But I’m afraid that I’m so disoriented I have no idea if it’s day or night. I don’t know how long I was unconscious. Was it an hour? A few hours? A day?

I scan the walls where I think they likely meet the ceiling. I see no red dots representing a camera. If they can’t see me on screen, can they tell I’m awake with an infrared, heat seeking device? If I move around, will they know I’m awake? If I stand and tried to find the end of the room, will they watch me like some red and orange alien? What if this is my only chance to explore my surroundings? They could come back at any moment, and I’ll be none the wiser about where they’re holding me. If I know how much space is around me and any doors or windows, I might plan a successful jail break.

I push up on my elbow and wait. Do they care what I’m doing? Are they waiting to pounce until I’m in an even weaker position? Are they laughing at my expense because Seamus is already dead, and they enjoy seeing a woman pine for him?

The thought that Seamus is dead rips such a searing pain through my chest it steals my breath. Why the fuck does it have to take something like this to confirm my feelings for him? I’ve known all along that I’m in love with him, but it’s beyond question now. I’ve been in love before, so I recognize the emotions. This is everything I remember, yet so much more intense. It might tempt me to think it’s infatuation instead, but there’s a calmness that comes with it.

Don’t get me wrong. I feel the excitement of new love—the eagerness to see him, the missing him when he’s not around, the joy when he is, the deep need to know he’s happy and that I’m part of that. At the same time, I feel the contentedness of having been with the right man for as long as I can remember. It took me years with Aaron to get to this point, and even then, it wasn’t a sensation that enveloped me like a cocoon that would help me emerge into the person I’m meant to be.

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