Beautiful Addictions (29 page)

The silence enveloped them and the interior of the car felt like it was shrinking.
The outside world flew by in a blur of cars and buildings. Tristan’s muscles ached
from the intensity. He needed to be there now.

They parked a block away on a residential street. Tristan placed his own gun in the
waistband of his jeans and turned to Monica.

“Thank you,” he said. “For everything you did for her.”

Monica shook her head, freeing the tears she’d been holding back.

“And thank you,” Tristan said, turning to Alex. “You took care of her. No matter what
happens, know that Josie cares about you both.”

“Stop that,” Monica cried. “This isn’t good-bye.”

“‘Don’t be dismayed at good-byes. A farewell is necessary before you can meet again,’”
Tristan quoted. “Richard Bach.”

“‘Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better.
It’s not,’” Monica said, giving him a half smile. “Dr. Seuss.”

Tristan crawled out of the car. Alex followed. Before shutting the door, Tristan stuck
his head back in.

“Stay here. If we’re not back in an hour, take my car and find the police.”

Tristan dangled his keys in front of her and she took them without meeting his eyes.

“Be careful,” she said.

Both doors slammed closed and Monica jumped at the sound. She felt entombed as she
watched the two men jog off down the street. She followed their progress through the
dark, each becoming more like a transparent shadow, until they turned the corner and
were out of sight.

*   *   *

The smell was grease and metal and stale air. She could hear the tugboats as they
passed, so she knew they were close to the river. In a dark warehouse, Josie sat tightly
bound to a metal chair. Her arms and shoulders cramped from the pull of the ropes
even though she had given up her struggle long ago. Just in case she survived, she
took in everything about her surroundings. She counted the number of skylights high
above her head. She tried to make out the printed words on the hundreds of boxes and
cartons stacked around her. Her mind raced with so many questions and not enough answers.

The stacked pallets obscured her view, but she could hear murmured conversation and
approaching footsteps. Josie fought to keep her breathing under control while her
racing heart created a countdown tempo against her chest. She couldn’t help but feel
robbed by this. After finding Tristan and the first inkling of happiness, she was
going to lose it all.

Jarred from her reflection, she felt a hand grip her shoulder. Four men stood before
her, including her kidnapper. She looked them over carefully, trying to assess which
one of them would do the job. Her mind was shutting down and laughter almost bubbled
out of her as she took in the sight before her. It was a scene straight out of a mobster
movie, complete with damsel in distress.

“McKenzi Delaune, it’s so good to see you again. Welcome home,” the man dressed all
in black taunted as he began to circle her. “Please excuse our lack of fanfare.”

Josie followed him with her eyes for as long as possible, memorizing the scowl on
his face and the venomous words that dripped from his thin lips. He was short, with
a wide chest and a shirt that didn’t fit his muscled arms. His skin was pale, sickly
almost, and stood out beneath his black hair and beard. Icy blue eyes glared at her.
His voice carried so much hate and contempt she felt as though his words alone could
cause damage.

He had that dominant, soul-crushing air about him. This had to be Dean Moloney. When
he was standing directly in front of her again, he grabbed her chin and roughly turned
her face toward the overhead light.

“So beautiful,” Moloney sneered. “You do look just like Earl, though.”

Josie bit down on her lip to keep from screaming. She wanted to tell him to keep her
father’s name out of his evil mouth.

“Why am I still alive?” she asked.

“Because you’re the grand finale,” Moloney answered.

“What did I ever do to you?”

“Your father shut down my operation for six months.”

Josie’s gaze flickered over to the other men. They all seemed bored and unaffected
by his dramatics.

“He’s dead. How much more punishment could you need?”

“His punishment was the loss of your mother. Though it did look like an accident.
Right, Barry?” Moloney asked.

“Very unfortunate, sir,” Barry answered.

Moloney’s face held a devious smirk that, had her hands been free, Josie would have
slapped clear off. The anger and hurt expanded in her until she felt like she would
burst from it.

“You killed my mother,” she whispered, dropping her head to hide her tears.

“Of course,” Moloney answered. “Your father thought he could outrun me. I found out
he was talking to the feds. That is why Earl is dead. He couldn’t keep his mouth shut.”

Tears blurred Josie’s vision but did not diminish the hateful glare she had on him.
This man was the reason for everything tragic and wounding that had ever happened
to her. She felt sick just being in his presence.

“Why me? Why now?”

“You know too much,” he answered. “You watched as we tortured truths from your father.
You begged us to stop. You cried when we killed him. And then you escaped, making
a fool of me and my men.”

“I have amnesia! I don’t remember anything before being sent to a home in California.
I don’t know anything! You killed my fucking family and now you want me? Well, do
it, you coward! Do it!”

Moloney laughed, his wicked cackle rising up through the building and echoing off
the metal walls. Her tale of amnesia was humorous yet inventive, a smart attempt at
self-preservation.

“As you wish,” Moloney said, smiling. “Barry.”

The oldest man nodded and pulled his pistol from its holster, raising it toward Josie.
Her eyes searched his face for any sort of hesitation and found none. This was it
for her. Resigned to her destiny, Josie took a deep breath and closed her eyes, waiting
for the end to come.

“I love you, Tristan,” she whispered, her lips barely moving as she spoke her final
words.

“Drop the fucking gun,” Tristan shouted.

He appeared behind Rob and Barry, his piece pointed at Moloney. He stepped forward,
making his intentions clear. If Josie dies, so does Moloney.

“Right on time, Tristan,” Moloney said.

Frank reached for his gun, only to feel the press of metal to his temple.

“Don’t think so,
cabrón,
” Alex growled.

Josie, shocked by Alex and Tristan’s presence, sat speechless as she watched the triangle
of guns before her—Tristan at Moloney, Alex at Frank, and Barry still focused on her.
Her eyes darted from one to another, finally staying on Tristan. The sight of him,
no matter the circumstance, was comforting. Her eyes raked over his intense face and
she willed him to look at her.

“I said to drop the gun or Moloney eats this fucking bullet,” Tristan shouted at Barry,
but the man did not flinch.

Fearless, Moloney spun to face Tristan, a Cheshire cat grin plastered on his face.
He assessed the boy and the passion in his eyes. His plan had worked perfectly.

“Tristan, what an entrance. Still trying to play hero? Of course, I knew you would
come. You’ll never make it out alive,” Moloney said.

“I don’t care, as long as she does.”

Tristan finally glanced at Josie and his heart broke. He’d avoided eye contact so
that he could remain focused, but now he was a mess. The love of his life sat at the
end of a cold, impassive piece of steel.

“Barry, drop your goddamned gun,” Tristan repeated.

Moloney shook his head and the standoff continued.

Rob stood motionless, watching the situation play out before him. He knew he could
draw his gun and take one of them out before anyone knew what happened. The problem
was, he wasn’t sure where his allegiances lay now. The tiny bit of compassion that
remained inside him was fixed on Tristan. Rob imagined Monica on the end of that gun
and he almost crumpled from the vision. Still, if he betrayed Moloney, he wouldn’t
get any of the money. He wasn’t willing to risk that just yet.

“What do we do now? You want to trade your life for hers?” Moloney asked.

“No!” Josie shouted, somehow finding her voice.

“Be quiet, Josie,” Tristan told her, avoiding her pleading eyes.

She fought hard against the metal chair, thrashing about to keep their attention on
her. She would not tolerate them taking Tristan from this world.

“No, you can’t do that! Kill me, you fucking pussy! Me! Do it, please,” she screamed,
tears soaking her face.

“Josie, shut up!” Tristan shouted back at her, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“You’re not in a position to offer deals, Moloney. I’ve got the upper hand.”

“You’ve got nothing.”

Moloney grinned and whistled through his teeth. The sound shot across the building,
but nothing happened. Everyone looked around and listened for approaching danger,
but silence and empty space surrounded them. Confused, Moloney whistled again, his
eyes searching the darkness.

“Expecting someone?” Alex asked.

Moloney turned to Barry expectantly.

“They were in place when I came in,” Barry answered.

“Like I said, upper hand,” Tristan said. “Now drop it.”

“Not anymore, Fallbrook,” Rob said softly, raising his gun to the back of Tristan’s
head. “I need this money too bad for you to screw this up.”

Although Rob did not possess the ability to end Josie’s life, Tristan’s would not
be an issue. He had no feelings for the boy and frankly believed he’d be saving Fallbrook
from a torturous death at the hands of Moloney.

“Rob?” Monica’s voice shouted as she emerged from between two stacks of boxes. “Why?
I don’t … What are you doing here?”

“Rob?” Tristan and Josie said in unison, turning their attention to the blond man
now holding all the cards.

Monica had obeyed Tristan’s command to stay in the car for almost a full five minutes.
She’d worked her way down the block, checking each building before finding the right
one. From her hiding place, Monica had been listening to the men’s conversation, waiting
for an opportunity to make her move. Sure, she was unarmed, but she had the element
of surprise.

Unable to see everything, the sound of Rob’s voice had shaken her and she didn’t even
think before emerging to investigate. Her mind reeled with the scene before her, and
she fought to understand her lover’s place among these men.

“Monica? What are you doing here?” Rob screeched.

“Do we have a problem, Mort?” Moloney asked.

“You’re Mort? The Mort who’s been hunting Josie?” Tristan asked.

“No! It’s not true!” Monica screamed. Her hands flew to her head, pulling at her hair
as her eyes scanned his impassive face. “Rob, tell them it’s not true!”

“Get out of here, this has nothing to do with you,” Rob said firmly, his trembling
gun still pointed at Tristan. “Fallbrook, drop the gun. You too, big man,” he demanded,
nodding toward Alex.

“Damn!” Alex sneered.

Monica watched in disbelief as Alex relented first. He surrendered, not wanting to
be responsible for the death of Tristan, especially in front of Josie. He knew she
would never survive that kind of heartbreak even if she did escape this mess. Tristan
dropped his gun, the clanking sound of it hitting the concrete floor marking the extinction
of hope.

“Now that that is all squared away,” Moloney said, rubbing his hands together in victory,
“you three, join the girl.”

Alex and Monica took their places next to Josie. Tristan rushed to her, running his
hands over her hair and whispering apologies.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Josie said.

“Enough!” Moloney shouted. “I’ll do it myself.”

He pulled his 9mm from his waistband and pointed it directly at Josie. A shot rang
out, a deafening break in the otherwise silent building. Barry dove for cover, disappearing
from view. Josie squeezed her eyes tight and prepared for the hurt, but it never came.

Josie opened her eyes to find Monica on the floor before her. She had taken the bullet
meant for Josie. She was small, but she was fast. Her tiny body lay still at Josie’s
feet, crimson spreading out around her like ink saturating paper.

Tristan jumped Moloney, wrestling his gun away. Frank raised his gun and fired once
before Alex took him out with a bullet to the temple.

“Monica!” Josie screamed, her voice a haunting and agonizing cry.

“No! No, no, no, no! Monica!” Rob shouted, running to her side and dropping to his
knees. “Why did you do that? You stupid woman!”

“I had to. I saved her,” she barely got out before her throat flooded with blood.

The blood soaked into the knees of his jeans as he pulled her into his lap. Rob wailed
as her breaths became shallow and her eyes fixed onto his, his howling pleas for a
miracle falling on helpless ears. Monica’s body arched as a cough forced crimson rivers
from the corners of her mouth.

“Button. I love you,” he whispered, pushing her hair back from her face.

She managed a smile, exhaled a stuttered breath and faded away from this world.

Everyone who had been watching the scene now looked on helplessly as Rob jumped up
and hurled himself toward Moloney. What began as excruciating sadness morphed into
something malevolent and irate. Tristan let go of the man and stepped aside as Rob
raised his gun and emptied the entire magazine. But each blast from his gun offered
no redemption, no satisfaction. Even when Moloney lay dead at his feet, Rob wanted
to crush him, to pound him into the earth with his own fists. He wanted to bathe in
his blood, but he knew that wouldn’t resurrect his love.

Rob dropped his smoking gun to the floor and disappeared into the shadows. A few seconds
later, the sound of the door slamming closed jarred everyone from their daze.