“No, I need to know why you’re here.”
He turns and continues to where he was initially headed. A black piece of plastic shoved under one of the large silver pipes, curls up at the exposed corners. To the left of Jason is a shoe, cheaply made, that I not only recognize from my captor wearing, but from Garvey Penner wearing that day in the manor. Tilting my head down for closer inspection, I see a motionless socked foot with blood covering the soles. Holy shit.
A flash of movement on the other side of the pipe catches my attention—somebody in a plain black baseball hat is hiding back there.
Jason’s shoulders don’t hold the usual hardness, his ego not anywhere to be found. A first. It’s as if he’d rather be anywhere else but here. He motions for my mom to get me out without his usual animosity. “Go, King. Get out of here.”
I’m about to speak, but my mom grabs my hand. “Alex, come on.”
As I’m dragged away, I try my hardest to hold on to the good, to hope, and remember Sara Jane’s words whispered in my ears just a few weeks ago . . .
I run my finger down the middle of her bare chest, her skin slick with sweat. Bending down, I lick, needing to be reminded what heaven tastes like. Two fingers slide between her thighs. I know she’s sore, but I’m the devil incarnate, and my cravings for her overpower my sympathy. I devour her moans and still her writhing body. I touch deep, so deep inside her, wanting to know what purity feels like. Soft pliable walls warm the most evil side of me. “Angel,” I say before kissing her pubic bone and sliding to her hip and opening my mouth. I dig my teeth into her—not enough to taste her lifeline, but enough to leave a mark. Her back arches and her hands pull, causing the pain I yearn for.
My hunger not satisfied, I move up her body to her protests and sink my dick so deep inside her that she grabs the sheets and fists them tight. Lapping at her neck, eating up her words and breath, I swallow her goodness and replace it with my depravity, filling her body with my sins, and begging her, “Save me.”
Lying in the dark, solace is found in her gentle touch as she strokes my back while the full weight of my burdens bear down on her. She kisses the side of my head, and then with her lips against the shell of my ear, she whispers, “You saved me, Alexander.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to remember how her skin felt under my hands and how her lips tasted. But a vision of her lying almost lifeless in the bloody gravel stabs my heart instead. She thinks I saved her that day. What she doesn’t realize is she saved me years ago. The thought of her carried me through the darkest days of that fucking room with no light.
Sara Jane, I’m coming back to you.
I’m coming back for you.
33
Alexander
We round a corner and there’s the door. Wide open. A soft light filters in from some other distant opening. When we get closer, I see the garage.
Turning back, my mind begins to connect the dots.
An abandoned building.
A dilapidated warehouse.
All the things I saw when I was first captured—this isn’t that place.
I know this place.
I know this garage.
This is my garage.
My penthouse garage.
My feet stop as I look around in shock. “Holy fuck. We were right here all along?”
This time when my mom nods, I see the sadness reach her eyes. “We found your motorcycles hidden behind a parked truck.”
“But Jason . . . he lives in the penthouse.”
She sighs sadly. “He feels terrible, but he never had a reason to come in here. He doesn’t have a parking spot.”
“Fuck.”
My mom starts walking toward the sidewalk just beyond the exit. “I know you feel the need to swear, but maybe we can tone it down a bit.”
Now that’s funny. “I’ve missed you.”
That makes her stop and turn back. “I missed you, too. You turned into a man when I wasn’t looking.”
I grew up when she was dead. She’s alive. I run my filthy fingers through my equally dirty hair, not even caring. The pressure of my hands on my head keeps my mind from blowing any more than it has. I’m struggling to comprehend the gravity of this moment. I’m alive. I’m alive because my dead mother saved me. Looking down at my shirt and clothes, my grimy hands, I say, “It was bound to happen whether anyone was paying attention or not.” Remnants from the bitterness implanted from my father taints my words.
“I’m sorry for leaving.”
I catch up and walk next to her, even though it’s a struggle to walk at this pace. I hate being so weak. “You were murdered. I was left to mourn with a monster who hated me.”
We keep walking down the street to an older model gray minivan parked at a meter. The back door slides open when we approach, but before she climbs in, she says, “I owe you a lot of apologies. I know this. I also know you have a million questions, but please, time may be of the essence, so let me answer them on the way.”
“On the way to where?”
“A safe house.”
“What? No. Take me to the manor. I need to see Sara Jane.”
“Get in the van, Alex.” Her look is as pointed as her tone. “We must go.”
Peeking inside the van, Cruise sits in the third row. His face is fucked up, but a bloody smile creases the dried blood on his cheeks. Both of his eyes are swollen, but I see just enough of that spark that has always been him. “Damn, brother,” I say, looking him over.
“I live another day for women to continue to love me.”
I laugh, his high spirits still intact.
“Alex?” I turn toward the front and even in the dark of night I see the friendly face I came to rely on for more than taking care of the manor, but someone who helped take care of me after my mother’s death. “Neely? What are you doing here?” I climb inside and embrace her the best I can from this awkward angle.
The door slides closed behind me when she replies, “Long story.” Her hand runs over the back of my head, and she holds me so we can see each other better under the streetlight that trickles inside the vehicle. “It’s so good to see you.”
“You too.” Damn tears come threatening again.
“Let’s go.”
I sit in the middle seat, next to my mom . . . my mom who is alive. My head is spinning, and as much as I’m sure it’s from lack of nutrition, seeing my mom isn’t helping. She’s alive. She came back. They are the only words I can focus on. And Neely? Jason? Buckling up seems frivolous compared to all we’ve been through, but I do it without a second thought. “I have so many questions I don’t know where to begin.”
My mom reaches over and takes my hand. “We have business to take care of.”
Neely adds, “And a score to settle.”
“I need to know. How are you here?”
After checking the time on the dashboard, she says, “I staged my death.”
“But there were cops and paramedics at the scene. Witnesses.”
“All staged. Everyone was paid.”