by Anna Zaires
The real question is: will Rosa?
The thought of her hurt, broken and violated, fills me with rage. I want Julian to slaughter the other man as savagely as he killed this one. In fact, I want to do it myself. I would’ve insisted on coming along, but arguing with Julian would’ve only slowed down Rosa’s rescue.
For now, all I can do is wait and hope that Julian brings her back.
Spotting my little purse on the floor, I crawl over to pick it up. Every movement hurts, but I want that purse with me. It has my phone, which means I can reach Julian. And that’s important—because it suddenly dawns on me that Rosa is not the only one in danger at the moment.
So is my husband.
No. I push that thought away too. I know what Julian is capable of. If anyone is equipped to handle this, it’s the man who kidnapped me. Julian’s life has been steeped in violence from childhood; killing a scumbag or two must be like cutting grass for him.
Unless said scumbag is armed or has buddies.
No. I squeeze my eyes shut, refusing to entertain such thoughts. Julian will return with Rosa, and all will be well. It has to be. We’re going to be a family, build a life together . . .
A family.
My eyes pop open, my hand flying to my stomach as I gasp out loud. For the first time, it strikes me that without Julian’s intervention, Rosa and I might not have been the rapists’ only victims. If I had been brutalized, knocked around some more, there’s no telling what might’ve happened to the baby.
The terrifying thought steals my breath away.
I begin to shake again, fresh tears forming in my eyes. I don’t even know why I’m crying. Everything is fine. It has to be.
Clutching my purse, I focus on the door in the back. Any second now, Julian will walk through it with Rosa, and our lives will go back to normal.
Any second now.
The seconds tick by slowly. So slowly that it’s all I can do not to scream. I stare at the door until the tears stop and my eyes begin to burn from dryness. No matter how much I try, I can’t keep the dark imaginings away, and the fear inside me feels like it’s going to swallow me from within, eat away at me until there’s nothing left.
Finally, the door starts to creak open.
I jump to my feet, aches and pains forgotten, but then I recall Julian’s parting words.
He’s not the only one who might walk through that door.
Lifting the gun he gave me, I take aim with trembling hands and wait.
Chapter 26
Julian
As soon as I send my message to Lucas, I open the door and step out into the alley behind the club. Immediately, the smell of garbage hits my nostrils, mixing with the pungent odor of urine. It must’ve rained while we were inside because the pothole-ridden asphalt is wet, the light from a distant street lamp reflecting in the oily-looking puddles.
Reining in my violent rage and worry, I methodically scan my surroundings. Later I will let myself think about Nora’s tear-streaked face and how badly I fucked up, but for now I need to focus on saving Rosa.
I owe her and Nora that much.
I don’t see anyone nearby, so I wind my way through the dumpsters, heading toward the street. A few rats scurry away at my approach. I wonder if they can sense the thrum of violence in my veins, the lust for blood that intensifies with every step I take.
One death was not enough. Not nearly enough.
My footsteps echo wetly as I round the corner, turning onto a narrow side street, and then I see it.
Two figures struggling by a white SUV some thirty yards away.
I can see the yellow of Rosa’s dress as the man tries to drag her into the car, and black rage surges through me again.
Pulling out my knife, I sprint toward them.
I know the exact moment Rosa’s attacker sees me. His eyes widen, his face twisting with fear, and before I can react, he shoves Rosa at me and scrambles into the car.
I put on a burst of speed, managing to catch Rosa before she falls, and she clutches at me, sobbing hysterically. I try to soothe her while extricating myself from her clinging grip, but it’s too late.
The car starts up with a roar, and the tires squeal as Rosa’s assailant slams on the gas, escaping like the coward that he is.
Fuck. I stare after the disappearing car, panting. I know my men are stationed at the intersection ahead, but a public shootout would draw too much attention. Holding Rosa with one arm, I pull out my phone and tell Lucas to follow the white car.
Then I turn my attention to the sobbing woman in my arms.
“Rosa.” Ignoring the adrenaline pumping through me, I gently pull her away from me to view the extent of her injuries. One side of her face is swollen and crusted with blood, and there are scratches and bruises all over her body, but to my relief, I don’t see any broken bones. She looks so shaken, though, that I pitch my voice low, speaking to her as I would to a child. “How badly are you hurt, sweetheart?”
“He . . . they . . .” She seems to be incoherent as she stands there trembling, her dress ripped open, and I grit my teeth, fighting a fresh swell of fury. I can already see that whatever happened to her is not something she’ll easily get over.
“Come, sweetheart, let me take you back to Nora.” I keep my voice soft and soothing as I bend down to pick her up. Her shaking intensifies as I swing her up into my arms, and I clench my jaw tighter, walking back toward the alley as quickly as I can.
When we’re in front of the door to the club, I lower Rosa to her feet. Then, holding her elbow for support, I carefully usher her through the doorway.
We’re greeted by the sight of Nora pointing the gun in our direction. The second she spots us, however, her face lights up and she lowers the weapon.
“Rosa!” She drops the gun and runs across the room to us. “You got her, Julian! Oh, thank God, you got her!” Reaching us, she rises on her tiptoes and hugs me fiercely before wrapping her arms around Rosa and guiding her to the couch. I can hear her murmuring reassurances as Rosa clings to her, crying, and I use the opportunity to call for our car to come around to the alley.
A couple of minutes later, the car is ready.
“Come, baby. We have to go, get you both to the hospital,” I say softly, approaching the couch, and Nora nods, her arms still wrapped around Rosa’s shaking frame. My wife seems much calmer now, her earlier hysteria nowhere in sight. Still, I have to fight the urge to grab her and make sure she’s as all right as she seems. The only thing that stops me is the knowledge that Rosa will fall apart without Nora’s help.
Thankfully, my pet seems up to the task of dealing with her traumatized friend. That steel core I’ve always sensed within her has never been more evident than it is now. Even with the rage scorching my insides, I feel a flash of pride as I watch Nora get Rosa off the couch and lead her toward the exit into the alley.
Lucas is leaning against the car, waiting for us. As his gaze falls on Rosa, I can see his face changing, his impassive expression transforming into something dark and frightening.
“Those fuckers,” he mutters thickly, walking around the car to open the door for us. “Those motherfucking fuckers.” He can’t seem to stop staring at Rosa. “They’re going to fucking die.”
“Yes, they will,” I agree, watching with some surprise as he carefully separates Rosa from my wife and guides the crying girl into the car. His manner is so uncharacteristically caring that I can’t help wondering if there’s something between the two of them. That would be odd, given his fixation on the Russian interpreter, but weirder things have happened.
Shrugging mentally, I turn to Nora, who’s standing by the open car door, her left hand gripping the top of the door frame. She seems lost in her own world, her gaze strangely distant as she lifts her right hand and places it on her belly.
“Nora?” I step toward her, a sudden fear gripping my chest, and at that moment, I see her face go chalk-white.
Chapter 27
Nora
The cramping sensation I began to feel a few seconds ago suddenly intensifies, turns into a sharp pain. It lances across my stomach, stealing my breath just as Julian steps toward me, his face tight with worry. Gasping, I double over, and instantly I feel his strong hands on me, lifting me off my feet.
“Hospital, now!” he barks at Lucas, and before I can blink, I find myself inside the car, cradled on Julian’s lap as we screech out of the alley.
“Nora? Nora, are you all right?” Rosa’s voice is filled with panic, but I can’t reassure her at the moment, not with my insides cramping and twisting. All I can do is take short, gasping breaths, my hands digging convulsively into Julian’s shoulders as he rocks me back and forth, his big body tense underneath me.
“Julian.” I can’t help crying out as a particularly vicious cramp rips through my belly. I can feel a hot, slippery wetness on my thighs, and I know if I look down, I’ll see blood. “Julian, the child . . .”
“I know, baby.” He presses his lips to my forehead, rocking me faster. “Hang on. Please, hang on.”
We fly through the dark streets, the streetlights and traffic lights blurring in front of my eyes. I can hear Rosa talking to me, her soft hands smoothing over my hair, and I’m aware of a vague sense of guilt that she has to deal with this after everything she’s been through.
Mostly, though, what I feel is fear.
A hideous fear that it’s too late, that nothing will ever be all right again.
* * *
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Esguerra.” The young doctor stops next to my bed, her hazel eyes filled with sympathy. “As you might’ve guessed, you miscarried. The good news—if there can be any at a time like this—is that you were still in your first trimester, and the bleeding has already stopped. There might be some spotting and discharge for the next few days, but your body should return to normal fairly quickly. There’s no reason why you wouldn’t be able to try for another child soon . . . if you wish to do so, of course.”
I stare at her, my eyes feeling like they’ve been scraped with sandpaper. I can’t cry anymore. I’ve cried all the tears within me. I’m aware of Julian’s hand holding mine as he sits on the edge of the bed, of the continued dull cramping in my belly, and all I can think is that I lost the baby.
I lost our baby, and it’s all my fault.
“Where’s Rosa?” My throat is so swollen I have to force the words out. “Is she all right?”
“She’s in the room next to you,” the doctor says softly. She’s unusually pretty, with a pale, heart-shaped face framed by wavy chestnut hair. “Would you like to speak to her?”
“Are they done with her examination?” Julian’s voice is as hard as I’ve ever heard it. His face and hands are clean now—he used bottled water to wipe most of the blood off us before we got out of the car–but his gray jacket is stained brown. I wonder what the doctors think of our appearance, whether they realize that not all of the blood on us is mine.
“Yes, they’re done.” The doctor hesitates for a second. “Mr. Esguerra, your friend said she doesn’t want to press charges or speak to the police, but that’s something we strongly recommend in cases like these. At the very least, she should let our sexual assault nurse examiner collect the evidence. Perhaps you can talk to Ms. Martinez, help us convince her—”
“Do any of her injuries require hospitalization?” Julian interrupts, his hand tightening around my fingers. “Or can she go home with us?”
The doctor frowns. “She can go home, but—”
“And my wife?” He gives the young woman a piercing look. “You’re certain there are no injuries beyond the bruises?”
“Yes, as I explained to you earlier, Mr. Esguerra, all the tests came back normal.” The doctor meets his gaze without flinching. “There’s no concussion or any kind of internal injuries, and there’s no need for a D&C—dilation and curettage—procedure when the loss happens so early in the pregnancy. I recommend that Mrs. Esguerra take it easy for the next few days, but after that she can return to her normal activities.”
Julian glances down at me. “Baby?” His tone softens a fraction. “Do you want to stay here until morning just in case, or would you rather go home?”
“Home.” I swallow painfully. “I want to go home.”
“Mrs. Esguerra . . .” The doctor places her hand on my forearm, her slender fingers warm on my skin. When I look up at her, she says gently, “I know it’s little consolation for your loss, but I want you to know that the vast majority of miscarriages cannot be prevented. It’s possible that the incident with you and your friend was a factor in this unfortunate event, but it’s just as likely that there was some kind of chromosomal abnormality that would’ve caused this to happen regardless. Statistically speaking, some twenty percent of known pregnancies end in miscarriage, and up to seventy percent of first-trimester miscarriages occur because of those abnormalities—not something the mother did or didn’t do.”
I take in her words dully, my gaze slipping from her face to the name tag pinned to her chest. Dr. Cobakis. Something about that seems familiar, but I’m too tired to figure out what.
Listlessly, I look up again. “Thank you,” I murmur, hoping she leaves the topic alone. I understand what she’s trying to do. The doctor’s probably run into this before—a woman’s automatic tendency to blame herself when something goes wrong with her pregnancy. What she doesn’t realize is that in my case, I am to blame.
I insisted on going to that club. What happened to Rosa and the baby is my fault and no one else’s.
The doctor gives my forearm a gentle squeeze and steps back. “I’ll get your friend ready for discharge while you get dressed,” she says, and walks out of the room, leaving me alone with Julian for the first time since our arrival at the hospital.
As soon as the doctor is gone, he releases my hand and leans over me. “Nora . . .” In his gaze, I see the same agony that’s tearing me up inside. “Baby, are you still in pain?”
I shake my head. The physical discomfort is nothing to me now. “I want to go home,” I say hoarsely. “Please, Julian, just take me home.”
“I will.” He strokes the uninjured side of my face, his touch warm and gentle. “I promise you, I will.”
Chapter 28
Julian
I’ve never known an emptiness like this before, a burning void that pulses with raw pain. When I lost Maria and my parents, there had been rage and grief, but not this.
Not this awful emptiness mixed with the strongest bloodlust I’ve ever known.
Nora is still and silent as I carry her up the stairs to our bedroom. Her eyes are closed, her lashes forming dark crescents on her colorless cheeks. She’s been like that—all but catatonic from blood loss and exhaustion—since we left the hospital.
As I lay her on the bed, I catch sight of her bruised cheekbone and split lip, and have to turn away to regain control. The violence seething within me feels so toxic, so corrosive, that I can’t touch Nora right now—not without it marking her in some way.
After a few moments, I feel calm enough to face the bed. Nora hasn’t moved, still lying where I placed her, and I realize she’s fallen asleep. Inhaling slowly, I bend over her and begin to undress her. I could let her sleep until morning, but there are traces of dried blood on her clothes, and I don’t want her to wake up like that.
She’ll have enough to deal with in the morning.
When she’s naked, I take off my own clothes and scoop her up, cradling her small, limp body against my chest as I walk to the bathroom. Entering the shower stall, I turn on the water, still holding her tightly.
She wakes up when the warm spray hits her skin, her eyes flying open as she convulsively clutches at my biceps. “Julian?” She sounds alarmed.
“Shh,” I soothe. “It’s okay. We’re home.” She looks a bit calmer, so I place her on her feet and ask softly, “Can you stand on your own for a minute, baby?”
She nods, and I make quick work of washing her an
d then myself. By the time I’m done, she’s swaying on her feet, and I see that it’s taking all her strength to remain upright. Swiftly, I bundle her into a large towel and carry her back to bed.
She passes out before her head touches the pillow. I tuck a blanket around her and sit next to her for a few moments, watching her chest rise and fall with her breathing.
Then I get up and get dressed to go downstairs.
* * *
Entering the living room, I see that Lucas is already waiting for me.
“Where’s Rosa?” I ask, keeping my voice level. Later I will think about our child, about Nora lying there so hurt and vulnerable, but for now I push it all out of my mind. I can’t afford to give in to my grief and fury, not when there is so much to be done.
“She’s asleep,” Lucas responds, rising from the couch. “I gave her Ambien and made sure she took a shower.”
“Good. Thank you.” I cross the room to stand next to him. “Now tell me everything.”
“The clean-up crew took care of the body and captured the kid Nora knocked out in the hallway. They’re holding him in a warehouse I rented on the South Side.”
“Good.” My chest fills with savage anticipation. “What about the white car?”
“The men were able to follow it to one of the residential high-rises downtown. At that point, it disappeared into a parking garage, and they decided against pursuing it there. I’ve already run the license plate number.”
He pauses at that point, prompting me to say impatiently, “And?”
“And it seems like we might have a problem,” Lucas says grimly. “Does the name Patrick Sullivan mean anything to you?”
I frown, trying to think where I’ve heard it before. “It’s familiar, but I can’t place it.”