Life Before Damaged, Vol. 9: The Ferro Family (4 page)

T
he door closes behind Ricky
, and I’m left alone with a half-dozen men who want nothing more than to rip my clothes off and take me one after the other--or worse, all at the same time. Erin tried to warn me. Hell, so did Pete, but I didn’t believe either of them. I never thought he was this messed up! Guys like Zeke should clue a girl in. The BFF is basically a reflection of Phillip. Why didn’t I see it?

I need a plan. I’m small and greatly outnumbered. If I try to fight them off, it’ll just encourage them to be even more forceful with me.

Philip kisses down my neck, still groping my chest in front of a pack of drooling assholes. My pulse quickens, but it's not from arousal. Fear is slowly seizing me. Every muscle in my body cords up tight, wanting to fight or freeze.

I scan the room, searching, trying to find the quickest escape route. I could run, but they’d catch up with me before I got to the car and then they'd beat the crap out of me. The restroom door doesn't lock, so that's a no-go. Ricky’s office door is close enough that if I distract them, I could lock myself up in there and call the cops. Provided these guys don't know the combination on the keypad to Ricky's office, once inside, I could be safe.

Phil’s wandering hands busy themselves, trying to unfasten my jeans while I struggle to remember the code to Ricky's office door. I try to pry Philip's hands off as gently as I can without it coming off as a struggle. I need a distraction. It probably won’t be enough to stop him, but hopefully it’ll be enough to slow him down. For this to work, I need him to lower his guard which means I need to swallow my vomit and play along.

I force a seductive smile toward Philip and lean in to whisper in his ear. "Are you sure you want to share me with your friends? You must know why I came here tonight. I'm miserable without you. I miss you. I wasn't planning on being this forward, but I want you to be my lover, Philip. Just you. I want to be yours and only yours. I told you I don't love Pete. Just think. Together, we can take down the Ferros, if that's what you want. I hate them, too, and I want to see them suffer for what they did to me, especially Pete." My voice is shaky. It doesn't sound convincing at all. I just hope that lust fogs up his perception, and he can't see my terror.

His smile quirks up. The hunger in his eyes goes from predatory to possessive. He never breaks eye contact with me when he addresses the group. "Guys, change of plans." I try not to sag in relief. It worked. "Gina's mine. Except for tonight. She needs to prove her loyalty. I get her first, and then you all get a turn," his eyes rest on each man sitting expectantly around the table, "once." His eyes meet mine again. "Deal?"

I nod and take a deep breath before leaning forward to kiss him. His kiss is nothing like I remember. Instead of being gentle and sweet, he presses his mouth forcefully against mine. The way he pushes his tongue inside my mouth feels like he's trying to stuff a turkey. His hands cling to my face, holding me locked into place. He's being too forceful, and I gag. I breathe through my nose, trying to stop the spasms that threaten to take over. Now would be the worst possible time to blow chunks. I try to block everything out and focus on my escape route. I need to loosen his grasp so I can get away from him. Placing my hands over his, I push them down, making him believe I want him to touch me lower. He takes the bait. His grip on my face loosens, and his fingers start to trail down my throat. He allows me to rise a bit in his lap to gain better access. He says a few crude things as his hands travel up the insides of my thighs.

I don’t know if I can do this. My heart is beating so hard, slamming against my ribs, and it’s all I can do to swallow my screams. I’m standing gingerly on the balls of my feet with my head tipped backward, as Phillip grabs my crotch and gropes my ass through my jeans. He’s laughing and he never sees it coming.

I lift up my knee and bring it down right on Phil’s crotch. The movement looks innocent at first. It isn’t until his ungodly shriek fills the room that they realize what I did. Phil releases me, screaming, and folds in half while I jump off his lap and run. I don't look back. There are yells and feet pounding behind me. Someone is screaming and I’m not sure if it’s me. I make it to the door and start to key in the code. The footfalls are closer. The angry words get louder. I gasp for air, as panic strangles me. If this doesn’t work…

The keypad makes a high-pitched beeping sound, and a green light blinks. The door is unlocked. I turn the handle and push the door open, shoving into the office.

I’m frozen in place, startled. The office isn't empty. Two men are sitting at Ricky’s desk. I let out a sigh of relief when I see Congressman Gambino, Philip’s dad, sitting there. He’ll help me, he's one of the good guys. Both men look up in surprise. Mr. Gambino stands up quickly. The other man tenses in his seat, instinctively reaching for the inner pocket of his leather jacket.

Bodies press up against my back. Phil and his asshat friends. They’ve caught up with me, but it's okay. I have Mr. Gambino to help me. He walks up to me and places his hands on my forearms, his eyes scanning over me, questioningly. “Regina? What are you doing here?”

“Mr. Gambino. Your son. His friends. Help me. Please.” I’m breathless, unable to string more than two words together at a time, but I need to tell him so he can stop them.

Mr. Gambino looks to the men behind me. “Boys. I’m disappointed in you. You involved Granz’s daughter in this? He's a friend of the family. This is sloppy.”

Sloppy? Involved? What the hell? I take in my surroundings and notice things I didn’t notice when I first stepped in. There are stacks of money on the desk, a small mirror with a fine line of white powder, a plastic bag with even more white powder, and that blonde-haired man, the one sitting with Mr. Gambino. He has an open briefcase in front of him with stacks of money and more clear plastic bags, some filled with powder, some filled with dried leaves.

No. Oh my god. I want to cry. I rushed into a drug deal.

“Ferro needed to learn his place, Dad.” Phil says from behind me. Mr. Gambino pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, shaking his head as if his son is giving him a headache.

The other man stands up and takes his hand out of his jacket, luckily, not holding anything. I was half expecting him to pull out a gun. The guys behind me are breathing down my neck, and I try to squirm away from them, but there’s no place to go.

“Mr. Gambino, please, let me go. I swear I won’t say anything to anyone. Please.” I hate feeling weak, but I’m caught. There’s no way out now.

Mr. Gambino starts to speak, but the other man talks over him in a raspy voice. “Of course, sweetheart. You!” The man singles out one of Philip’s friends who steps in closer. “Take her home.” The way he says it makes me want to puke. I’m not going home. No one is ever going to see me again.

“Yes, sir,” the young man says walking up behind me, pressing a hand to my back to make me walk.

Zeke starts to whoop and cheer, pointing at Philip.

Before he can speak, the dealer says, “No one is fucking her. She’s going home. Immediately.” He stands up and walks slowly to me. The man is tall. Under his jacket, he wears a deep v-neck tee, emphasizing his muscular frame. His gaze travels up and down my body, assessing me.

His mouth lifts to one side, making the jagged scar on his cheek more obvious. “You say she’s involved with one of the Ferro boys? You guys are fucking idiots. Get her out of here and come back when you're done. And I swear to God, if the cops find any of your DNA on her corpse, I’ll personally break into your jail cell and cut your dick off myself.”

There’s a pause, a breath of silence as I mutter the word. "Corpse? I thought you were taking me home?" My voice is way too high and trembles as I speak.

The man with the scar turns to me, his eyes sweeping over my body. “It’s a damn shame to waste a piece of ass like yours, but business is business. And in this field, home is your final resting place. Get her out of here.”

The world around me spins out of control as the air is sucked from my lungs. My knees buckle. The last thing I see before blackness consumes me is a faint golden glimmer coming from drug guy's mouth as he sneers.

S
moke
.

I’m trapped in my nightmare once more. I try to wake up, but I can’t. I have to wait for the dream to run its course. The toxic fumes surround me, dancing around like a ghost, an intense heat wafts off of the flames, caressing my bare arms and face. I wait for the image to come into focus, expecting the flames to morph into people that try to pull me down.

The images never come. Awareness slowly settles in, lifting the dream. I feel myself waking up, regaining control of my body once more, but the nightmare goes on. The smell of burning plastic and wood is more prominent as the seconds slowly pass. I try to breathe through my nose, but it burns. I open my mouth to take in a breath, but I can’t. There’s something over my mouth, keeping it shut. I move my arms to reach up, to take it off, but my hands won’t move. They are bound behind my back, making my shoulders burn with every tug. I open my eyes, but my right eyelid won’t cooperate. It’s heavy and feels thick. My left eye sees perfectly, though, causing me to panic.

I see tall beams of ancient wood reach high into the air. They’re sided with old boards, weathered with age. The floor is a mixture of dirt, sawdust, and animal droppings. There are bails of hay stacked opposite me. There’s an old green tractor parked next to the door, a fuel container tipped to its side next to it. The flames are stronger in that spot, as if the fuel was used to get the fire started, creating a wall of fire across the door. I can’t escape.

Philip. He and his friends did this. They were ordered to get rid of me. 'Corpse,' the blonde man had said. They want me dead and this time, there’s no saving me. I’m tied to a chair, my hands behind my back and my ankles bound together. I can’t breathe through my mouth because it’s been taped closed.

I can feel myself hyperventilating, the tape sucking into my mouth with every breath. I try to push it off with my tongue, but it doesn’t work. I thrash my head left and right with no success. I let out a muffled scream, hoping someone, anyone, will hear me. I jump, but my chair catches in the dirt and wobbles, almost toppling me over. If I fall over, there is no way I’ll be able to get back up.

There’s nothing left to do.

Five months ago, my biggest remorse was that I hadn’t claimed my life for my own, that I hadn’t done anything worthwhile. I cling to memories I'm proud of--swing dancing, making new friends, living on my own for a brief moment, skydiving, getting a tattoo, riding on the back of a motorcycle, and Peter.

Tears fill my eyes, thinking of him. He’s my only regret. I never got to tell him I love him. Right or wrong, he poured his heart out to me, and when he asked me to follow him, I turned away, too crippled by fear to act.

Now, he’ll never know he was loved, too.

Flames lick the boards behind me, climbing higher and higher. The heat is becoming unbearable, and it’s like trying to breathe tar through my nose. I can’t get enough air no matter how hard I try. The flames dance around me, merging into one another, caressing the walls. It’s only a matter of time before they reach the rafters above me, and cause the gables to come crashing down. I wonder what will kill me first, the smoke or the roof.

A sudden crash and the sound of breaking glass startles me. It’s so hot that any glass in here will explode. The noise comes from behind me. I can’t turn around to see what was decimated.

“Gina? Gina, are you in there? Please answer me. Gina?” Peter’s voice is coming from a window behind me. I scream through the tape. The resulting sound is weak and muffled. There's no way he can hear me. He'll think I’m not here, and he'll leave.

I hobble on the chair, trying to turn around, but the chair sticks to the floor. I come crashing down, slamming my left shoulder on the ground and hitting my head on the dirt floor. The air is much cooler down here and easier to get into my lungs. Fresher air is coming through the broken window. The breeze is welcoming except that the flames seem to be feeding off the new source of oxygen. They're spreading more rapidly than before.

Facing the window, I manage to see Peter peering inside. When our eyes meet, his face is horror-struck. He wraps his fist with his jacket and knocks out the remaining jagged pieces of glass clinging to the frame. He climbs inside through the opening and drops down to the floor, crouched down close to the ground.

Another voice calls out. “Is she there?” It’s Erin. She’s outside, just beyond the open window. Pete turns to the window and says, “Yeah, she’s here. Stay where you are. I'll get her out.”

Peter runs to me and kneels in the dirt, brushing hair away from my face. “What did they do to you? I need to get you out of here. You’re safe now.” I nod, turning my head to look up at the ceiling with my bad eye. Flames flicker at the corner of my limited line of sight. Peter’s forehead beads with sweat, but his hands work fast. They tear at the tape on my ankles. He moves to the back of the chair. “This is going to hurt. I’m so sorry.” He rips the tape off of my wrists. I scream into my gag. If I have any skin left on my wrists, it’ll be a miracle.

I’m finally free of the chair, and Pete helps me up. The old barn creaks and cracks, making me jump. We both look up and then back at each other. I rip the tape off of my mouth myself and let out a mother of a scream. Pete grabs my arm and pulls me toward the window. It's too high for me to reach it on my own, so he lifts me up and pushes me through.

Erin is on the other side, waiting to help me out. When both my feet are safely on the ground, she takes me into a tight hug, yelling in my ear, “You stupid, idiotic, foolish, dimwitted, lying, irresponsible,--”

“I love you too, Erin.”

We wait for Pete to make his way out of the barn. I turn to look through the window. Pete takes a couple of steps back. He’s getting ready to run and jump out, but the sound of metal torquing followed by a huge crack shakes the ground as the ceiling falls. Pete vanishes from sight.

Erin and I both scream and run toward the window. Pete’s on his back on the ground, unconscious, a broken beam next to him.