Page 82 of Parker
My reflection fractures into jagged shards. I hardly recognize myself from the woman I was in my bathroom mirror when I got dressed for work. This morning, I wore mascara. Now it’s streaked like war paint.
My left eye is a deep shade of purple, while a reddish lump has formed on my forehead. Dried blood trails from my nose, both remnants from my earlier man handling. I’m sure my head connected with a door frame at some point. In the chaos, it was hard to tell.
I look barely alive, my eyes hollow, haunted almost. The nausea I’ve become so used to rises up my throat, and I push it back down.
I try the door first. It’s locked.
My bladder tells me it’s time to go. I knock on the cracked wood.
“Hello, can anyone hear me?” Silence. No response.
“Help!” I scream at the top of my lungs.
Nothing. “Hello? Please.”
“Shut up, Mrs.,” an angry male voice barks on the other side.
“I need the bathroom.”
“Use the bucket,” he replies.
On turning back toward the bed, I see a rusted metal bucket sitting on the floor beside it. I’ve been turned into an animal, a common criminal within hours. I think it’s hours. It could be days. I’ve lost track.
My son moves again. A tiny foot flexing against my womb. My hips ache from the discomfort of these past hours. Tears breakthe surface. I slide down the door, then crumple in a heap on the floor.
“Where am I?” I sob. “What do you want?”
The angry man doesn’t reply, and I don’t use the bucket. Crawling back over to the bed, I climb on and curl up in a ball, then cry. As I drift off, my thoughts move to Joel. He’ll come. He has to. How will he ever find me here? What if he doesn’t even look? He doesn’t know he’s going to be a father; there’s no reason for him to want to.
***
“Good morning, Mrs. Parker,” a cheerful male voice says, waking me from my slumber.
Sun is streaming in the small window directly onto my face.
“I must apologize for my men’s treatment of you. My orders were that you were to be brought to me unharmed, but I believe you gave them quite a task to get you here. Felix has a broken nose.”
He chuckles.
“He never saw that sandal of yours coming. Quick thinking, Mrs. Parker, taking it off in the van.”
“My surname is Smith,” I mutter. “I’m divorced.” No point making this emotional. Facts may keep me and my child alive.
Opening my eyes, I find myself looking at a brute of a man. One I recognize instantly – Drayton. He’s exceptionally tall with muscles that burst through a plain black t-shirt, his hair cropped close to his scalp. He has shrewd dark eyes, and tattoos cover both his forearms. The words love and peace are spelled out in Celtic lettering. He smiles down at me through broken teeth.
A long scar stretches from his right ear and down the side of his jaw. It’s been tattooed over to look like barbed wire. He’s thetype of man who visits you in your nightmares. Joel did tell me how he came to have the injury, but I can’t quite remember.
“Where am I?” I ask quietly, not risking taking my eyes off him.
Once again, I push myself up to sit on the side of the grubby bed. He holds his hand out to shake mine in greeting. On autopilot, I take it. His palm is slick with sweat. My bones strain under the pressure of his grip.
I want to wipe my hands on my skirt, but I don’t. Let him think I’m calm.
“A pleasure as always, Mrs. Parker,” he says. “Currently, you’re in a hotel my men and I frequent regularly. Similar to that of your husbands, but not as classy. The girls here are more affordable, shall we say. We aren’t quite able to pay Parker prices just yet. But we’re getting closer.”
His gaze runs over my face, assessing my reaction. I keep my expression as bland as possible, even though inside I’m screaming.
“Have you heard of me, lately?” he asks.
