Sighing once more, I nodded. “Okay. But you phone me as soon as everyone has left, not a minute later.”
I walked towards the kitchen door, bracing myself for the sight beyond, and it was as my foot stepped into the hallway when I heard the mighty roar of Carter. His screams were followed by grunts and then his desperate protests.
My father and I ran from the kitchen and bolted into the living room. Carter was on his knees before Amy’s lifeless, skinless body, fat tears streaming down his face, while Mike and Olly held his arms.
“What the fuck is going on?” My father asked, directing his question towards his best friend, Graham, who was standing by the window, watching the scene with a grim expression.
“He’s asking where it is,” Graham replied, crossing his arms over his chest. His navy suit speckled with blood; I shuddered.
My father looked my way and raised an eyebrow, “Any idea, Jax?”
“Not a clue,” I shook my head, dumbfounded like everyone else.
“Let me go!” Carter bellowed. “Where is it? I gave it to her.” His voice cracked, rendering it unrecognizable. Long, high pitched wails shot through the air.
Fuck. “Fellas, let me talk to him, huh?” I said, approaching the guys and waving my hand for them to let go of Carter. They nodded and stepped aside, allowing me to crouch down beside my buddy, mindful of the blood underneath our feet.
His sad blue eyes gazed up at Amy, and his shoulders trembled with as much violence as the scene before us. “Carter, buddy, come on. Let the guys do what they need to, I’ll take you home, and we can talk, or do whatever you need to.”
Carter turned his gaze towards me, his lip curling. “Whatever I need to do?” He croaked. “What I need to do, Jaxon, is find the cunt who killed my woman and kid and spill his guts on to the ground while he’s still fucking breathing!” His hands pushed against my chest, and once again, my feet slipped, leaving me a drenched mess in Amy’s blood.
Carter rose and regarded us all, individually, with a glare that could have killed. “Now, where the fuck…is it?”
My mouth opened to ask what it was when a crescendo of noise and male voices came from the hallway. Heavy boots pounded the wooden floors, and all of our heads snapped towards the sound.
The footsteps grew louder, you always heard him before you saw him, and even Carter became silent. Vladimir Chrobak and his right-hand man, Jozef sauntered into the room, the stark contrast between Vlad’s tacky as hell Hawaiian shirt and Jozef’s Purgatory uniform made them stand.
“Well, gentlemen,” Vlad clasped his hands together, surveying the scene with dead eyes, “What a mess we find ourselves in, eh?” The boss man cast a look towards Carter, who had turned his back on everyone, his hand gripping Amy’s calf, and he tutted. “Jax, why is he still here? The poor man does not need to be here for this.”
“Fuck you, man!” Came Carter’s distressed voice. He moved quickly, at speed, and his nose was pressed against Vladimir’s before anyone of us had a chance to react. “I bet you had something to do with this, didn’t you? Fucking tell me!”
Vladimir did not move. He did not flinch, and the smirk on his lips unsettled me.
They stared at each other; seconds felt like an eternity. Vladimir looked past my friend and at me again, tilting his head and giving a sigh. “Jaxon, take him home. We have a lot of work to do here.” Nodding at my boss, I was surprised when Carter allowed me to lead him from his home and back into the waiting SUV.
It was as we were driving back to my condo on the outskirts of town, when the rage set in, seeped into my bones. I wasn’t a vengeful man, not really, but I’d be damned if I let Vladimir fucking Chrobak take the lead on finding out what happened. If I owed Carter anything, it was this.
Chapter Four
Ella, Thirteen Years Ago.
Mama is sad again. I know this because she’s got that dress on. That gray, threadbare dress and the bruises on her legs are back.
It’s so cold; I dare not complain, though. Instead, I curl my feet under my bum and gaze out the window, watching as the snow falls from the sky, blanketing the floor.
Daddy should be home soon with money. And then we can afford to warm the house and have a hot cup of something. He’s been gone longer this time, and I know mama needs her medicine, the medicine she sticks into her arm when she’s sad. She’s on the sofa, scratching, and clawing at her fragile skin; her eyes are wider than I’ve ever seen them before.
Mama says Daddy leaves for so long to get us money. I’m not sure what she means by this, as I know he doesn’t have a job like Marsha’s parents do. And even when he does return, he has enough for their medicine, some bread and maybe, if we’re lucky, some milk. It’s never enough to warm the house, but I’m hopeful, this time, he’s succeeded.
“Ella, go to bed, you’re irritating me, girl.” My mama’s voice is thick with annoyance for her only child, her eyes never once looking my way, their gray stare focused on the fuzzing picture on the television.
“But I want to wait up for Daddy,” I protest.
Without hesitating, she screams and flips the coffee table in front of her, sending the old thing flying, its glass smashing into pieces. Her voice wails, making me jump and retreat into a ball, my eyes slamming shut so fast they ache.
“Why don’t you ever do as you’re fucking told?” Mama screeches storming my way.
I cry, a whimper rippling through my chest. “I’m sorry, mama, please don’t hurt me,” I plead with her.
Her skinny, bony fingers fist my nightdress at the collar, she is a frail woman, not much bigger than I, but sometimes her strength comes from no-where. “Hurt you? You ungrateful brat! You’re lucky I don’t kill you!” She screams now, her sunken face filling with boiling blood as she chucks me across the floor. My back smacks something hard and sharp, the pain radiates from my spine straight down to my toes and straight up to my neck.
Mama does not care, though. She is yanking on the net, stained heavily with nicotine, and throwing her glare outside, manic eyes searching for her husband.
I’m rubbing my sore back when Mama gasps, flinging a hand to her mouth. And then she’s laughing, throwing her head back and giving me a deadly smile. “Run, run, run as fast as you can…” she sings, her voice haunting, menacing.
“W-what?” I stutter, each movement I take almost leaves me crippled on the floor.
Mama laughs again, pulling a cigarette from the carton. It dangles from her lips as she searches for her lighter, my back screams and I scramble to my feet. “Run, run, run as fast as you can,” she repeats, and this time, I don’t argue. My weak, shaking legs carry me up the stairs, and it’s as I’m collapsing on to my mattress when I heard the door open, and several unfamiliar male voices erupt throughout the property. I can hear Daddy. He sounds happy. He speaks, and a man laughs, and then my Mama is squealing in delight.
“She’s upstairs,” I hear her say, and then footsteps are thumping on the stairs, each one creaking under the heavyweight.
Terror takes hold of me, and I empty my bladder, what is going on? I’m soaked and crying silently, and then my bedroom door flings open. Four men stand in the doorway, and I scream. I do not recognize them, but the dark looks, evil smiles, and guns at their hips, have me trembling.