I pulled up in front of her complex, turned off my bike and dismounted. I took big strides, a man on a mission, taking two steps at a time to the fourth floor. I reached her door and pounded my fist against it.
“Reina, open the door,” I ordered, picturing her inside drowning her sorrows in a bottle of wine like she had when I went on a run and left her. I kept at it, bruising my knuckles as I rapped them against the door. “So help me God, if you don’t open this fucking door, I’ll tear it down,” I shouted.
Nothing.
Motherfucker.
I dropped my fist, cursed under my breath, and took a few retreating steps back and charged my shoulder into the door. Once, twice, before it burst open. I pushed through the doorway and stepped into her dark apartment. I flicked the lights and my eyes searched the small space.
“Reina?” I called for her but silence was all I got in return. I moved through her apartment but knew I wouldn’t find her. Dread filled me as I reached for my phone and called her cell phone.
It rang and rang until her voicemail picked up.
I hung up and called again.
No answer.
I swallowed hard, roughly running my fingers through my hair before calling Blackie.
His phone didn’t even ring and just went to voicemail.
I tried again before hanging up and calling Lacey.
“Please, pick up,” I pleaded frantically.
Before I could hear her voicemail too, I shoved my phone into my pocket and stormed out of Reina’s apartment, not even bothering with the door. I’d probably regret that later but right now all that mattered was getting to the people I loved. You don’t realize what a comforting privilege it is to hear someone you love answer the phone. You don’t realize how desperate you are to hear their voice until you don’t. Until you fear you won’t hear it again.
My mind teetered, my maker called to me, taunting me and I tried with everything in me to fight against it, to fight against my mind as I drove to my ex-wife’s house.
You remember this feeling don’t you?
You know what it’s like to feel so helpless, so out of control, don’t you?
How do you rest your head at night knowing everything you touch is destroyed?
First Jack, now them.
I stumbled off my bike, racing up the walkway of my ex-wife’s house, my feet skidding to a halt at the front door that was ajar. I grabbed my gun from the waistband of my jeans and stretched my arms in front of me, cocking my gun as I kicked the door open.
My eyes jumped around the room, taking in the damage, realizing there was a struggle. I cleared the first floor, desperate to find my daughter, knowing it wasn’t likely.
“Lacey,” I called out into the silent house as I climbed the stairs. I almost fell backward when I heard someone whimpering. “Lacey? Baby is that you? Where are you?”
I started down the hallway when I heard my daughter wail, spinning around on my heel as she emerged from the master bedroom, throwing herself into my arms.
I wrapped one arm around her, dropping my gun to my side and closed my eyes as I relished in her embrace.
“It’s okay, daddy’s here,” I said, caressing her back. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” I promised, hoarsely.
She pulled back, her body shaking as she sobbed.
“They took him. He was here and I wouldn’t listen to him…I told him to leave…that I didn’t want to see him but then they broke into the house. They took him,” she shouted at me, poking me in the chest with the gun she was holding.
I glanced down at the familiar gun in her hand, watching as she spread her fingers and let the gun fall from her trembling hand.
Blackie’s gun.
I diverted my eyes back to hers as I kneeled down to pick up the gun. Tears fell from her eyes, her make-up smeared beneath them and her lower lip quivered as she stared at me.
“Slow down,” I coaxed, lifting the gun. “Blackie gave you this?”
“Yes,” she shouted exasperatedly. “He gave me the gun and told me to go hide in the closet.” She dropped her head into her hands and cried. “I heard him tell them no, I heard him beg them not to put the needle in his arm and then I heard nothing.” She dropped her hands from her face and her eyes found mine. They weren’t the eyes of the young women she had become over the years, but they were the eyes of the little girl who was staring at me as I held her baby brother in my arms after he died.
My phone rang, dragging me out of my trance and I tucked one gun into my back pocket and grabbed my phone, not even bothering to look at the screen before answering.
“Hello?” I barked into the phone.
“Do I have your attention yet?” Jimmy sang into the phone.
“You son of a bitch,” I growled.
“Now, now,” he chastised. “That’s no way to talk to the man holding all the cards, is it? Especially when I have something that may belong to you,” he crooned.