BORDEN 2 (23 page)

“I’m a wanted man, Emma,” he replied slowly. “It’s why Hector is in charge.”

“What are you wanted for?”

“Murder.”

“You can’t fight it?” I was surprised by my immediate question. I was totally unfazed by this murder charge. Was I just numb from Borden’s disappearance and Graeme’s death, or was I really that desensitized?

He laughed scornfully. “I already did.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was sentenced to thirty years without parole. Thanks to Borden, I served one year and escaped. I had to commit to some…painful things in the process.” He idly stared down at his mangled hand. “My escape had to look like it wasn’t successful. When Borden came to pick me up, he blew my finger off and cut up parts of my hand. He scattered them around the place to make it look like I’d been ravaged by animals. He made me bleed out all over my jumpsuit before I took it off and left it behind. He tore that apart too. I almost bled to death. Hector paid him a fucking fortune for it, and then Borden offered me a job with him until the heat died down and I could come back, though I couldn’t fucking see how I ever could. I’m supposed to be dead.”

I stared at Hawke in disbelief, and like a slap in the face, I recalled the words of creepy prison fetish Joel during our disastrous date forever ago. He’d spoken of the New Raven Prison, and how a man had escaped four years ago.

They found him ten kilometers out. He died of dehydration, and the only reason they found him was because of all the crows circling overhead. They’d eaten almost all of him up and could only identify him with a few body parts, like fingers and such.

“That was you,” I said quietly. “You’re that escapee that everyone thought died.”

He just shrugged and took another massive bite out of his pizza.

“And it was all Borden.” My brain went haywire with this information. “I don’t get it, though. Why would Borden even want to do that? He returned with so much money.”

Hawke paused, appearing conflicted as he replied, “No, he didn’t.”

“What?”

Hawke chucked his crust down on the box. “Borden…He didn’t come back as rich as everyone thought he was. Did he even tell you what he did?”

“He was a smuggler.”

“Yeah, and he worked his way up fast for some very rich buyers. He smuggled artefacts in.”

“What kind of artefacts?”

“Anything he could get his hands on. Jewellery, paintings, pretty much anything that wasn’t nailed down in fucking Baghdad and other places they sent him to, and they sent to some seriously fucked up areas. Places he had to blend in.”

“How did he do it?”

“Any way he could. Sometimes he trucked it to a shipping yard, and they transported it through logistic contractor containers. Other times he went directly to the buyer if he was within the country. But it was these shipping yards he realized the power behind owning a port. He meddled with the black market the entire time he was gone and he made a lot of connections. Connections he uses even today to bring shit over.

“Anyway, he came back richer, but he still needed way more cash injection. He bought up a couple businesses the Warlords were selling on the side for some hard cash, and once Hector learned about his travels and skills, he asked to help out with my situation. There was too much heat on the club around that time and he needed an outside source as soon as possible. They didn’t know how long I had left. I killed a very bad man, and I was in a prison filled with his men. I was going to die some way or another, so I needed out. Borden did that, got paid, and then offered me a job alongside him. We made our money any way we could in the beginning, though most of it came from cash loans, debt collecting, and shady shipments. Once the other businesses around the city were bought and bringing in the money, we no longer needed to do the dirty on the side.”

“He stopped?”

“For most of it, yeah. There are still jobs here and there we take, some shipments that come through under the table. It’s a great way earning money without a paper trail. But ultimately, Borden wanted us to be more legit than we were criminal. It’s why the cops can’t fucking touch us.”

“But he’s made it so that everybody’s terrified of him. He’s always put a target on himself.”

“Because he wanted to be the one at the top. You have to remember with Kate gone he didn’t care about anything but power. He wanted to destroy every gang in New Raven because they reminded him of the scums that killed her.” He paused, recollecting something before adding, “Sometimes the idea of a bad man will scare even those worse than him into obedience. He was right. Fuck, Borden was a capable man.”

Was.

I swallowed hard. “He’s still alive, Hawke.”

Hawke didn’t respond. His face went clear, expertly hiding his emotions, but his eyes were distant. He was hurting. I knew he was.

“He told me what Mulligan is like,” I continued. “How sick he is. That he’ll most likely torture a person first. Don’t you think with Borden, somebody that’s killed this guy’s stepsons, he’d stretch it out and take his time?”

Though the thought terrified me, it also relieved me too. Because if Mulligan had him and he was doing that, it meant Borden was still breathing with me right now.

“Yeah,” Hawke mumbled, faintly. “I just honestly don’t know, Emma.”

I set my plate down. I was shaking everywhere. “I can’t live without him, Hawke. If he’s gone…I’m gone too.”

“If he’s gone, I’ll take care of you. I’ll make sure nobody ever touches you again, and I’ll bury Mulligan. I’ll fucking destroy that man until there’s nothing left of him, and you’ll be the one to put the last bullet in his head.”

Borden

They grabbed him just outside the customs office. One bike on either side of his car, tapping on his window, gun pointed in his face. Touché, motherfuckers. The one time he was alone, the one time they would have had the tiniest opportunity to take him, and they did it. They fucking did it. It was done swiftly. He stepped out of his car and slid straight into another black Mercedes where he was given a glass of water in the backseat by another man that had a gun to his face.

“Drink it,” the young man had told him. “All of it.”

Borden sighed and stared down at the glass of water. Fucking hell, this day was never going to end.

“Poison?” he asked. “Might as well tell me, right?”

The young man hesitated but didn’t respond, not that Borden needed one. Of course it wasn’t poison. Mulligan wouldn’t take him down that fast. Borden took his time studying his surroundings, at the wanna-be tough guy in the front seat with a wavering gun to his face, and at the men that slowly began surrounding the car, offering him absolutely zero chance of escape.

“Alright,” Borden said, calmly. “I’ll fucking drink your shit, but I want you fucks to look at me very carefully as I do it. Look at the man that’s going to fucking kill you after I kill your boss first.”

He took a giant gulp of the powdery tasting shit and didn’t wait very long for the effects to start kicking in. In just minutes, his mind clouded and his eyes were harder to keep open. He shook his head, fighting against the inevitable. He knew he was losing control and that any second he would black out. It was only near the end he thought of Emma and how exposed she was without all his men at the club with her. His chest constricted at the thought of something happening to her.

Blinking rapidly, he angrily grabbed the shirt of the man in the front seat and pulled him closer. He stared at the young eyes of a delinquent no older than eighteen, and he saw the pool of fear that suddenly surfaced. The gun shook in the kid’s grip and the tip smacked against Borden’s forehead. Borden knew straight away the coward wouldn’t pull the trigger.

“You’re just a fucking kid,” Borden slurred.

Losing control of his movements, the glass fell from his other hand, and he reluctantly closed his eyes. The last thing he saw was the boy’s trembling lips.

*

He awoke to a bucket of ice cold water poured over his head. His eyes shot open, and he could hardly breathe as another bucket immediately soaked through him again. His entire body shuddered. It felt like a thousand daggers plunged into every surface area of his body, and no amount of twisting offered him peace. Men laughed and mocked him, one of them punched him across the face, remarking, “Who is the tough guy now, Borden?”

Borden’s body roared to life and he zeroed in on the face before him. “Is that really what you call a punch, you pussy little bitch? Try harder next time.”

The man’s expression dropped and he punched Borden again, harder than before. Borden felt a mild pain, but he laughed anyway. If these fucks thought they could break him, they were wrong. What was some cold water and a weak little fist going to do?

“You fucking idiot,” he laughed, tasting blood in his mouth.

The guy shook in anger and raised his fist again, but he didn’t punch him. He refrained, like something was stopping him. Instead, he spat at Borden and stomped out of the room with all the other guys. The heavy door shut harshly, and Borden was all alone. He shook his head at the residual cloudiness slowly going away and looked around the room. It was pitch black. He couldn’t see anything and he couldn’t move. He was bound to a chair in a dark, damp room, and as he struggled to break free, he realized it was futile. The fucks had cuffed him well.

With a long sigh, he said out loud, “Why don’t you just fucking show yourself? Hiding in shadows and playing games is starting to get old, Mulligan.”

There was a moment of silence before he heard something shuffle behind him. It was eerily close. Small footsteps rounded his chair, and then it was quiet again. Borden stared in the direction it was coming from, waiting. He could feel the man’s presence feet away.

“You know where you are?” said a deep voice. “You’re in a cellar right now in the middle of nowhere. You’re going to become very acquainted with this room, and you might even feel connected to the whore my boys killed. After all, this is where she took her last breaths.”

Kate.
Borden tensed and his heart picked up.

“Nobody will hear your screams, Borden, except me. I’m going to take my time with you.”

The footsteps moved to the door and it opened. Borden squinted his eyes, staring at the tall, thick frame of Terry Mulligan in the dim light of the hallway.

“And,” the sick bastard added, turning his red bearded face to him, “as you reflect on the loss of your first whore, you shall mourn the loss of your second.”

He stepped out and the door shut again, leaving Borden in complete darkness.

*

He was left alone for hours. He tried pulling apart the cuffs, but they dug sharply into his wrists like knives. He didn’t mind the pain, but he couldn’t keep wasting his energy on an impossible task. He was completely immobile, and all he could do was try and relax his body.

If he couldn’t move, he would need to rest. Staying awake and stressing himself out would leave him drained by the time the feral shits returned. He shut his eyes and dropped his chin to his chest. His mind wandered, and he thought of Kate. She had been here, where he was. Had they tied her down too? But he didn’t remember seeing marks on her wrists. She’d been choked to death, the coroner had said.

I’m sorry, Kate.

He’d spent so long trying to keep her memory alive in him. Buying his place over the river was his first mistake. It had tormented him, that fucking river, every single night, and he’d depended on that pain to drive him forward.

Mulligan’s trying to fuck with you, and it’s working. You’re thinking of her and you’re hurting. You’re letting him win.

Borden exhaled and shook his head again. Instead of Kate, he thought of Emma. Sweet, feisty Emma with that saucy little mouth. He imagined those lips wrapped around his thick cock, and he chuckled in spite of everything. Only she could get him hard while he was tied to a chair and frozen solid.

We’ll move.
He promised himself, like getting out of this cesspool was a given.
I’ll take her somewhere else. Somewhere nice. Away from that river. Away from the past. She’ll take my name and it’ll just be us.

He took deep breaths, and rested easy with these promises, and then he continued to imagine her lips around his cock with a tired smile on his face.

*

Another bucket of ice cold water splashed over his head, and this time he opened his mouth and took gulps of it. The same five men were in the room, and one by one they struck his face and upper body, and he laughed at them, telling them how much of a weak pussy they each were. They’d usually sneak a few strikes in, pissed at his mockery, then they’d leave the room and he’d face more lonely hours before they did it again… and again.

Ice water.

Punch.

Laugh.

Repeat.

Borden knew they were trying to weaken him, and with the hunger gnawing within him, they were succeeding. He just didn’t want to make it easy. After the fourth round, they returned and stripped him of his clothes until he was in nothing but his briefs. They splashed four buckets of ice cold water over his bare body, chilling him in place and then they brought two other buckets half filled with water in. They lit a lamp in one corner of the room and dumped bags of ice in each bucket. They dragged the two buckets over to where he was and forced his foot in each. The jolt he felt was sharp and acute, traveling up his legs and through his body like lightning bolts.

“We won’t punch you anymore, Borden,” one of the men said. “We’ll just fuck with you in different ways.”

“F-fuck with me in different ways?” Borden repeated, fighting the clatter of his teeth. “Didn’t know you loved the dick so much, gentleman. But then again, you’re fucking pussies, so –”

Another punch landed across his face and Borden just laughed, spitting out a glob of blood in the process. Unprofessional little fucks couldn’t even stick to their word the second they got angry. It was going to make killing them that much easier.

They left him alone with the lamp still lit in the corner of the small cellar. He stared around the stone walls, trying to get his mind off the excruciating chill radiating up his legs. His toes were quickly becoming numb, and he found himself breathing faster, harder. His lips formed an o as he sucked the air in and out. The cold water was fucking with him physically, making every muscle in his body tense and then grow tired.

This was bad. This was very fucking bad.

He was so exposed, his skin slick with cold water in an already chilly room. Was he going to freeze to death? No, that wouldn’t be a fit ending that a sadist like Mulligan would have in store. However, it was a step in that direction.

“Fuck,” he cursed angrily under his breath, panting through the icy feeling. He tried to move his legs around, but they were too pinned in place. This was torture. Absolutely fucking torture, and it was almost too much.

He thought of Emma again. He had to be strong for her. He couldn’t die. No other dick would fulfil his little alley cat. Poor fuck would have a lifetime of work cut out for him, living in Borden’s shadow. And just the thought of another man touching her gave him that anger he needed to push through.

He would survive, just for her.