My father's long legs carried him back to the head of the table, and he picked up the phone, showing us the screen and Vlad's name written across it. With a swipe of his finger, he answered the call and held it to his ear. We all waited and listened with our breaths held.
"Sir?" My dad's voice was cool, calm, and we could never show the Chrobak's that, sometimes, even our nerves of steel could wobble. "Thank you for the kind words...not doing too great, no...okay sir, I appreciate that..." We listened to half the conversation, a conversation that seemed to be taking ages.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Graham becoming more and more agitated, his leg bouncing in time with mine. "She was... no, sir..... yes?...." My father's mouth hung open for a split second, his fingers flying to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose.
"What?" I mouthed, catching his eye. Turning his back on us, he walked towards the floor to ceiling window.
"Sir?"
I didn't like this one bit, and I shared as much with worried looks towards the men.
"Vladimir, you gave me your fucking word." My father said; I didn't need to see his face to hear his teeth clenched. "Forgive me, but you can imagine this has come as a bit of a shock. Why now?" He implored.
Shoving my chair back, I stormed towards my father and grabbed his shoulder.
His eyes looked at me, and I mouthed again, "What?"
He shrugged me off. "I understand..... yes, sir." And then the call had finished.
The room was too fucking quiet, and my mouth was agape as I watched my dad take his seat once more. Following suit, I sunk into the chair just as Graham got to his feet, reaching over to place an arm on his best friend. “Arch, what is it? Who do they want?”
My dad's knuckles were white, squeezing the cell in his firm grip. "Jaxon," he whispered. "He wants Jaxon."
All the air was sucked into a swirling vortex where black holes fought to the death to snatch it away from us. From me. Eyes bored into me, as hushed, panicked whispers erupted around the table. I yanked at the buttons of my shirt, needing more than ever to be free from it. Sweat trickled down my forehead as I tried to understand Vlad's fucking logic.
What. The. Fuck?
"Well, he can't fucking have Jax!" Graham bellowed, throwing his hands into the air. "This was part of your agreement, was it not? That he could never take your flesh and blood."
My father slumped forward, resting his head in his hands. "He can have Jax, and he will. There's no getting out of this, Graham."
Graham screwed his face up, creating more wrinkles on his brow. "What in fuck's name does that mean, Arch? Why the fuck not?"
Looking at me, my father sighed. "Because he will refuse to give us Amy's body for a funeral if we do not comply."
I sucked in a breath of air, my voice still fucking lost.
"Bullshit! We'll fucking go in there and take her ourselves, Arch."
"You know we can't do that. We don't have the manpower or guns to start a goddamn war with the Chrobak's." Father cast another look at me, placing his hand on mine. "And if I know my son, I know he's already got one foot out the door if it means giving his best friend some peace."
My father was fucking right. Graham looked between the pair of us, throwing his hands in the air, opening and closing his mouth in complete disbelief.
I could have sat there, tried to argue to the case, beg him to let me stay, and I'd deal with Carter. But how the fuck could I look the man in the eye, knowing I was the reason he didn't get to say goodbye? Jesus.
"I guess I'd better pack my bags then," I said, and the whole table exploded into shouts of counter-arguments, plans to steal Amy's body, scribbling down names of other guys in the business around this state and that state. But I'd tuned out, imagining what the fuck would await me at Vladimir's.
I'd never be allowed home again. Fuck.
Chapter Six
Ella - Captive.
I wake with a start, cold, stiff, and groggy. My tongue feels rough, my hips hurt, and I think my eyes are still not working correctly because the room is pitch black.
The floor is cold and hard, and, with careful, tiny movements, I push up from the concrete and rub my eyes. There’s a rasp in my chest which scares me, I sound like a monster. Where am I?
Broken memories of a man carrying me away come back to me, stuttering and starting like a broken engine, preventing me from putting the pieces together.
“M-mama?” I call out through a croak. Speaking hurts, and the pain in my chest makes me cough. My lungs heave, and I splutter, each burst makes the pain in my body burn like something I’ve never felt before.
Tears stream down my face, drenching my cheeks, and when I wrap my arms around my body, I notice I am naked.
Crying, I crawl around the floor, my hands searching for something to cover myself with. But there’s nothing. It’s an empty room.
My hands find something metal, and scurrying on to shaking feet, I feel a lock. It’s a door! I bang and scratch at it, seeking for a lock, or something to see outside. There’s nothing.
“Help me! Please! P-please!” I scream, the world around me rocking as though I am a boat on choppy waters. No-one answers.
“Hello?” I cry. “Please, is anyone there? Help me!”
I collapse on to the floor, my nails dragging down the metal. There’s a loud bang coming from above me, silencing my cries.
I look up. “H-hello?”
From the darkness, a man’s voice booms. “Hello, sweet Ella.” Sweet Ella? What happened to me?
“Please mister, please l-let me out.” I cry from below the hole in the door.
He laughs. “All in good time, Ella.”
A sob tears through me again. “Please, where am I? Who are you?”
Something cold splashes on to my head, making me flinch. “Here, drink this.”
Without asking what it is, desperate to ease the dryness in my mouth and on my tongue, I get to my knees and open my mouth. The water is lukewarm and tastes like metal, but I don’t care. I gulp it down.
“You’re in Purgatory, Ella. Do you know what that is?” He asks, ceasing the drink.
Purgatory? I’ve heard of it. I don’t know. My brain is jumbled.
“Purgatory is my home, sweet girl, and now it is yours, also.” I can hear the smile and something about the way he speaks jolts another memory into my minds’ eye. It’s clearer now, and I can see Mama and Daddy on the couch, taking their medicine and Vladimir! That’s his name. Oh, my gosh. It’s real.
“I don’t understand,” I say.
“Oh, you will.” And with that, there’s another loud, ear-piercing shriek, and the door begins to open. I shuffle backward on my knees, too scared to know what’s out there, a man, a familiar-looking man, stalks into the room.
He’s so skinny, is my first thought. And the bushy strip of hair across his lip unsettles me for reasons I don’t know. He’s dressed in a black top with a big red P on the left side of his chest, and black combats. Heavy, scary-looking boots adorn his feet, and he stalks towards me, slapping a belt in his open palm.
Vladimir stands behind him, resting against the door frame, and my eyes dart between them. “What's happening? Please, please, don’t hurt me.” I beg, and then it happens. The first blow of many. The skinny man raises his arm and brings the belt down across my chest, and I scream, my tiny body flying to one side, my hands grabbing at the flesh that’s dangling off. Vomit erupts from my mouth and soaks my naked body. He doesn’t stop.