Текст книги "End of the Innocence"
Автор книги: Alessandra Torre
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
Chapter 55
Brad hung up the cell. “She’s at home.”
“And you don’t want to go out.”
“We did. We went to Bern’s after the rehearsal.”
“Bern’s?” Stevie shot him a look that communicated everything in one simple glare. “The king of pussy goes to a steakhouse before tying the knot.” He shook his head.
“I’ve had pussy. I don’t feel the need to jeopardize my relationship for subpar ass.”
“Then take us out so we can get some. I’ll take subpar over none. And your definition of subpar is another man’s dream.”
Brad took a long drag of his beer. “You have nothing to bitch about. There were plenty of girls at the party we had last month.”
The man snorted. “And guys. A joint bachelor party? I don’t understand how you guys can let loose and have fun when the other person is there.”
Brad laughed. “Yeah. A couple doing things together. Doomed.” He leaned back in the couch. “I hate to break it to you, Stevie, but my life as a slut is over.”
“And you seem remarkably calm about it,” Ben remarked, walking into the room with fresh beers and passing one to each of them before settling into one of the large leather armchairs.
Brad shrugged. “You know Julia. I don’t deserve her as it is. This is the happiest I’ve ever been.”
“I’m not saying it doesn’t make sense. I’m just surprised that you recognize it.” Ben leaned forward, clinked his beer against Brad’s. “You hit a home run with her.”
Stevie groaned. “This all is great, but let’s at least order a stripper. Get a PG-rated lap dance, and then let me take her upstairs.”
“The man owns a strip club. He’s not going to get excited about some tits bouncing up and down,” Ben said dryly.
“Owned a strip club,” Brad said, finishing the bottle and setting it on the counter.
Stevie glanced over. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Didn’t seem like something a husband should have. I signed it over to Julia.”
Stevie coughed hard, sitting up and setting his beer on the floor. “Holy shit. You really are whipped.”
“Don’t give me that. You handed Nikki your balls in a velvet sack on your second date.”
The man shrugged. “Hey, she handles them better than anyone else.” He stood. “That doesn’t mean I’m turning down blowjobs from strangers. I guess I just assumed that if Brad-fucking-De Luca ever froze over hell and got remarried, that he’d go out with a bang.” He laughed. “Or five or six bangs, given your reputation.”
“Sorry,” Brad said shortly. “Guess Ben will have to be the new wild man.” He leaned forward, clapped the man on the back and stood. “Martha made some carrot cake this afternoon. You guys want some?”
They moved to the kitchen, Stevie bitching the whole way about the unnaturalness of cake at a bachelor party, before pouring a big glass of milk to drink. They drank, ate, smoked cigars on the porch, and then crashed, the two men heading to the guest bedrooms while Brad climbed the stairs to spend his final night as a bachelor, alone in his big bed. He glanced at the clock. 1:35 a.m. Too late to call, but he needed to hear her. Already missed her. He rolled over in the silent dark and tried to fall asleep.
♦♦♦
The seven month old BMW X5 4.41 was wrapped in plastic and loaded onto a vehicle transporter, along with other cars of questionable origin. It left town less than two hours after Julia Campbell’s capture, traveling north on a busy interstate, headed for Canada.
Chapter 56
WEDDING DAY
I woke up in pure blackness, my senses reengaging one by one, slowly reporting grim details of my surroundings. Sight. Pure dark, so complete in its entirety that I felt a wave of claustrophobia hit me. Sound. Muffled voices, hard tones filled with anger, hate, and—most terrifying of all—glee. The rustle of fabric against my ear as I twisted my head, the sound informing my brain that I was, in fact, blindfolded. Smell. A sickly, sweet scent, coming from the blindfold, almost, but not quite, overriding the dirty, masculine stench that reeked in this room. Taste. Wet cloth in my mouth, tugging at my skin, keeping my tongue in place, the horrible aftertaste of vomit in my mouth. Touch. Hands bound behind my back with rough, scratchy rope. Ankles spread and secured to chair legs beneath me. Sitting upright, utterly secured, my body recognizing, even without sight, the bruises that covered me.
My brain understood everything about the situation immediately, bursting into reality in one, horrific instance, like stepping into the harsh sun, painful in its strength. I screamed through the cloth, my effort producing only a small sound, and strained every muscle, thrashing my body from side to side, trying to free some small part of my body in at least one minor way. The chair rocked, tipped, and in an agonizingly slow motion, tipped back and crashed to the concrete floor. The impact slammed my head backward, and with one painful crack, my body stilled, all senses instantly snuffed.
♦♦♦
I was taken for a reason. To win a battle, a battle of control and emotions and pride. Step one was to take me. Step two involved making sure I would never be a part of the Magiano family. That step could be accomplished in two ways, one of which was death. The other option’s viability would depend on how I reacted to my capture.
I did not react well.
Chapter 57
“Did I miss something?” Becca barged through the doors of Noche with a ferocity that startled half the women in the spa’s lobby.
Olivia shot her a look of warning. “Stop yelling. This is the type of place where you whisper.”
“Ten, right? I checked my text messages. We were going to meet here at eleven. Look.” She thrust her cell out, forcing Olivia’s eyes to focus on it. “Hair and makeup appointment at eleven at Noche. From that scary ass assistant of Brad’s. Did you get one?”
“Lower your freaking voice,” Olivia hissed, sending an apologetic look to the woman to her right. “Yes, I got one. And I talked with Julia last night. She said she’d be here.”
“So where is she?” Becca didn’t wait for a response, she pressed a button and held the phone to her ear. “I’m calling her again. She hasn’t responded to my texts.”
Their names were called, and they stood, Becca taking a long look at the clock before following the uniformed attendant through the frosted doors. 10:19 a.m. Julia was late.
As they walked through the quiet hall, Becca’s phone buzzed, her eyes catching on the lit screen and reading the message quickly, then passing it to Olivia.
I won’t make it to Noche. I need time to think. I’ll call you later.
Their eyes met in the dim light, and Becca frowned.
♦♦♦
White uniforms converged on Fleur De Lis like maggots, bits of white weaving with a rapid pace through the stone halls, placing gloved hands on every available surface. Flower arrangements were wheeled in, tablecloths ironed, place cards straightened, then straightened again by nervous fingers. Corsages were pinned, bobby pins placed in curled hair, and wedding programs were unwrapped and placed in the hands of eager ushers. The final moments were completed in an orderly and excited fashion, everything unfolding exactly as to plan. And, an hour before the ceremony was to begin, limos began the slow, precise journey through the front gates. The guests were starting to arrive.
The world ran on appearances, and that day was no exception. Brad disagreed with that mandate, but you had to play the game to win it, so he played along. And, as usual, he seemed predestined to win, the details handled perfectly by Rebecca and the two wedding planners’ capable and expensive hands. And, as he glanced through the open doorway off the lobby, everything seemed in place. Just missing one thing. He moved into the drawing room, set off to the side of the chapel and scowled, settling into one of the high stools. Lucas walked over with a smile, moving around behind the bar. He poured a shot of whiskey and held it out.
“Bottoms up.”
Brad shook his head, sliding his phone in his pocket.
“What’s wrong? Pre-wedding jitters?”
The comment earned Lucas a scornful look, and Brad stood and walked to the window. “Can’t get ahold of her.”
“Julia? She told you—you couldn’t see her today.”
“I want to talk to her. Hear her voice.”
“Brad. The ceremony’s in an hour. Then you’ll have the rest of your life to talk to her. Relax and take a damn shot.”
“I can’t just sit here. The waiting is driving me crazy. Let’s head outside, Stevie is down there.” He stood, shouldering into his tuxedo jacket.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were nervous.”
Brad met his eyes. “When it comes to Julia, I’m always nervous.”
Chapter 58
“It seems a little early to panic.” Olivia’s voice rang out in the lavender-tinted room, causing six updo’d heads to turn her way.
“Early?” one of the wedding planners said, her over-plucked eyebrows coming to a point in the middle of her lined forehead.
“It’s eleven-thirty,” the other planner said anxiously, as if everyone in the room wasn’t aware of the hour. “The ceremony starts in thirty minutes. And no one knows where she is. A bride, missing from the wedding ...” She started to breathe quickly, in terse gasps, on the verge of what appeared to be a nervous breakdown.
“She cancelled on us for hair and makeup,” Becca said flatly, shooting Olivia a look, their argument already hours in the making.
“Which would make sense if she ...” Olivia shrugged suggestively as the words dropped off.
“If she what?” Becca shot back.
“I’m just saying ...” Olivia said airily, “maybe she changed her mind. Decided she was making a mistake.”
“Making a mistake?” The female linebacker, who worked for Brad, stepped forward, her arms crossing in front of her ample chest. “Making a mistake by getting married? Have you been in the same room with them? Spoken to either one of them in the last year? They were made for each other; I’ve never seen two people more perfectly matched. Not to mention this is Brad-Fucking-De Luca. Women don’t ‘change their mind’ about Brad, they hunt him down like rabid animals.” She snarled the final words, now officially inside of Olivia’s bubble, her teeth bared and claws out.
Olivia wilted slightly, glancing away and studying her fresh manicure. “I’m just saying that we could give it a little more time. You already drove by her house. She’s not home so she’s probably on her way here.”
“I think we should tell Brad,” Martha spoke from her post at the window.
“No,” the two planners spoke in unison, panic crossing their faces. One stepped forward. “It’s common for brides to flake. It’s better that the groom doesn’t know. It can taint the ceremony for him, or cause a fight right before the wedding.”
The room was silent, her logic making sense. Rebecca nodded. “Brad will lose it if he knows.”
“So what do we do?” Julia’s mother spoke from her seat in the center of the room, her features tight, mouth pinched.
“We wait. We wait for her to show up. She’ll show up,” Becca spoke from the doorway, and it was the last words spoken for a while, no one having a better solution to offer.
Chapter 59
Rebecca knew this was bad. This was beyond bad. She ground into nothing the soft napkin, the one with Brad & Julia perfectly printed, just as she’d wished. It seemed ridiculous that she’d ever cared. Why did napkins matter when a bride was missing? And it didn’t matter what the bimbo in the other room thought. Julia wasn’t flaking out. It was impossible. She wasn’t that kind of girl. And Brad wasn’t the kind of man who got left at the altar. Something was wrong, she could feel it in her gut. She looked at her cell and wondered, for the thirtieth time that day, if she should call Brad.
♦♦♦
Debra Campbell paced, her heels snagging on the carpet when her steps got too hurried.
“Please, dear. Sit.”
“I can’t sit. Something is wrong. I should have known it earlier. Her not returning our calls this morning?”
“She’s always hard to get ahold of by phone.” The man stood, stopping his wife’s journey with firm hands, pulling her over to a loveseat and pushing her down. “Your blood pressure has to be sky high. Please. Panic isn’t helping.”
His touch grounded her, as it always had. She took a trembling breath, reached out and gripped his hand. “She wouldn’t stand him up, would she?” There was hope in the last word. Hope that her daughter was abandoning this marriage. A humorous development, considering she had been thanking her lucky stars just one day prior. Julia had done well. Her new husband was successful. Adored the ground she walked on. Would do anything to make her happy. But now, there were only two possibilities. Something was terribly wrong, or Julia had cold feet. She prayed for the latter.
Her husband held her gaze steadily, more moisture in his eyes than she had seen in quite some time. “I don’t know, Debra. I really don’t know.”
Down the hall, there was the sound of shouting, and she wiped her eyes. “Let’s go back. See if anyone’s heard anything.”
Chapter 60
She was not responding. They had found her on the floor, still tied to the chair, a pool of blood around her head. One man had panicked, calling the man who shouldn’t have been called. And now they stood, in a circle around her body, repeatedly checking for a pulse and untying her limbs. They carried her to a bed, a bed that had already hosted its share of dead bodies, and prayed that hers wouldn’t join the ranks. If she was to die, it was only by his order. Now was not the time, and failure was unacceptable.
♦♦♦
In actuality, I never had a chance to walk down that aisle. It was never in the cards, plans made to remove me from the equation long before I ever tried on wedding dresses, long before invitations were sent. I don’t think dramatics was their intention. Perhaps they thought that snatching me the night before would be enough advance notice to hold the ceremony—to call guests and cancel the event. As it happened, my absence was not discovered in time, and even then, was suspected to be a case of pre-wedding cold feet.
♦♦♦
“Can we panic now?” Rebecca screamed into Olivia’s face, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her roughly, the girl’s thin body shaking like wet spaghetti. “It is time, the guests are seated, and they are about to start the damn music!”
“Stop yelling at me! It’s not my fault she isn’t here!”
“Who called her cell last?” one of the wedding planners asked anxiously.
“I did,” Julia’s mother said, wrapping her sweater tightly around her shoulders. “Her voicemail is full.”
The strands of music almost missed their ears, drifting among the room casually, weaving easily between their strained words. The second planner looked up with a stricken look. “Oh my God. They’re starting.” She fumbled for her sleeve, pushing back the material to reveal a watch face. “Early.” She fled the room, her heels clattering down the hallway.
The room sat in silence, the chords of the song changing as it reached its crescendo.
Becca finally spoke. “So ... what do we do?”
The remaining wedding planner spoke. “We go. Just like we planned. It’ll take ten minutes to do the procession. We’ll just have to pray she shows up.”
♦♦♦
“She’s breathing,” the man spoke rapidly, and the doctor shot him an irritated look.
“I’m well aware of that; I did attend medical school. Please back up and let me examine her.”
“I’m just saying, she must have only been out for a few minutes. I think she’s just sleeping now. Might still be from the chloroform. If she’s breathing then she’s not dead, right? And we checked for a pulse—it seems ... present.”
The doctor bit back a sarcastic response and started his examination. “It means she’s not dead yet. That could all change quickly depending on what is going on with her brain. At the minimum, we’re talking a concussion. What are these?” He ran his fingers lightly over a bandage on her shoulder, blood staining its edges.
“We cut her. With a knife. When we found her on the floor. Some thought she was faking. But she didn’t flinch.” He chewed at the edge of his cuticle nervously.
The doctor raised his eyebrows but said nothing, moving to the front of her body and lifting her head slightly, his fingers gently probing the wound on the back of her head.
“Best I can tell: she was unconscious when you found her. You’re right in that she is sleeping—that can be from her concussion. Her pupils show that she was sedated recently, that she might have just gained consciousness recently before her head trauma. The drugs are still in her system, and could partially account for her state. But head trauma is a messy and unpredictable animal. Normally, I’d do a CT or MRI scan. But I’m assuming that this is a situation where you don’t want her to be moved?” He glanced at the men, one giving a silent nod. “Well, I don’t want to put any more drugs in her system. From the looks of the wound, and the fact that she is sleeping right now, the impact on her skull was pretty severe. All we can do is wait, and let me talk to her when she wakes up. A concussion can be deadly, but we’ll know in a few hours if you’ll have another body to deal with.” He pulled off his latex gloves and dropped them in the closest trashcan. “I’ve got to get back to the house. Call me if anything changes.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
Hands were shaken and the doctor left, leaving the two men alone with her, their eyes meeting above her body, silent communication passing between them.
“The boss is gonna be pissed.”
“Not if she pulls through. You still got her phone?”
“Yeah. Lots of calls and texts. Should I respond to any more of them?”
“No. Drive a few miles away and kill it. I’ll watch her. Talk to the boss while you’re gone. Feel out the situation.”
There was a silent power struggle, and then the man spoke, “Okay. I’ll be back soon. Call me if she wakes up.” He glanced at the girl, then back at the man. “I’ll be back soon.”
“And I’ll be here.”
Chapter 61
Brad exhaled, his hands clasped before him, the collar on his tux scratchy. Finally. Fourteen months after she had walked into his office. Thirteen months after she had broken in and stolen his heart. The year-long engagement had dragged on, punctuated by empty nights where she stayed at her house, nights he realized how much he wanted and needed her to be his wife. He felt lost without her—incomplete—like he was missing out on something incredible. She had become, in those twelve months, his best friend as well as soul mate, the power of their relationship terrifying in its perfection. And now, finally, he would have security. Would have the strength of their marriage. A message to his family and to the world that they were, and always would be, together. Musical chords began, the orchestra gradually joining in, bit by bit, until the entire ensemble was participating, their notes rising in a strong crescendo. His heart swelled along with the music, until he thought it would burst, and he smiled despite himself, a break in the dam that they had reached this day safely.
The doors opened and the wedding procession began, Julia’s mother entering to the tones of Bach.
Had Brad paid any attention during the procession, he would have noticed the tight faces of the women, their hands clenched around their bouquets, worried glances flitting from one bridesmaid to the next. But he didn’t pay attention to them. He stared, fixated on the large arched entrance, and waited. Waited for Lohengrin’s March to begin and for the love of his life to appear.
Tones played, and he worked through the processional schedule in his mind, trying to sort through how many more individuals would walk through that arch before Julia. It had to be soon, her mother and bridesmaids having already made the slow walk. His palms sweated as he stared at the space, waited for her to appear. A small blonde appeared, Catalina, his niece, throwing petals into the air with happy abandon, a small tuxedoed boy at her side. The presence of Catalina reminded him that Julia was next, rose petals an indication of her pending arrival.
The music changed, familiar notes beginning, the announcement of the bride. The audience turned as one, a hushed silence falling over the room. He attempted to breathe slowly, attempted a calm veneer, but couldn’t stop his mouth, grinning widely. This was one of those moments that defined—one of the few moments in his life where he was certain he was in the right place, at the right time.
The music continued, the audience waited. Waited. Strands floating through the air, the rise and fall of notes sweet and perfect in their promise. There was uneasy movement through the audience, heads turning, voices whispering. Then the notes ended, silence fell, the doorway remained empty, and Brad’s world ended.
Silence. It was often the worst and loudest sound in the world.
♦♦♦
The time at which my body chose to wake was an unfortunate one. Or very fortunate, however you chose to view it. It’s said that when your brain reawakens, its initial moments are perfectly clear, superhuman in their speed of thought, the brain pure before it is again bogged down by thoughts, worries, and unnecessary details. I awoke to the sound of a zipper, my legs spread, my lower body naked in a cold room. I opened my eyes, looking at a stained tile ceiling and bright fluorescent lights. I felt a hand, the palm calloused and rough, grip my thigh, felt something brush against my mound and I tensed in response, my mind shuddering through recent events as understanding of my situation suddenly came into focus.
I did not move, I did not scream. I waited, my eyes closing, and tried to ignore the events happening below my waist. My mind shuffled the cards of Ben’s training, picking up and discarding different defensive strategies. I listened, trying to figure out if anyone else was in the room. But all I could hear was one, his hard breaths, the slick sounds of his hand as he prepared himself for entrance. He seemed to be in a hurry and suddenly reached up, leaning forward as he pulled my shirt up, over my breasts, his free hand roughly gripping a breast in one hand. The change in position, the hand suddenly within my grasp, changed everything, my mind focusing on the golden opportunity that was suddenly presented.
