Mackenzie Legacy, The (18 page)

~

Chapter Twenty Two

DIE BY THE SWORD

~

Layla was forced into a room she had seen in many pictures but had never dared step foot in. A large brass bed sat opposite a dresser with a two way mirror positioned over it, one she knew concealed many hidden cameras.

“I won’t do anything,” she gasped, still panting from the fight. “You can’t make me.”

“Shut up,” Mark said, holding onto her tight.

Max came in, opening the dresser to produce a set of handcuffs, threading them onto the brass rail of the headboard. With Mark’s help he clamped them onto her wrists, forcing her to face the wall. He placed the key on the dresser, polishing the mirror with the cuff of his shirt before turning to leave.

Max paused at the door, lifting his sunglass to glower at her. “Oh Layla… Mess this one up and I’ll kill your brother.”

She held her head high, trying her best to be stoic. She’d spent most of her life confined in a room, but this was an entirely different situation. She crouched by the headboard, doing her best to face the door. The sooner she could make eye contact with the man the sooner she could put an end to all this.

The minutes dragged on like hours, and she started to feel a new kind of hopelessness. Ever since she’d attempted to run away she’d been kept on a shorter leash than ever, and now even her shopping privileges had been revoked. Her hopes for a normal life had disappeared along with the money she’d been squirreling away. She was slowly encased in a black cloud of despair.

Not only had her escape attempt failed, but she’d hurt her only two friends in the world. She remembered how badly Max and his men had beaten Calvin and felt terribly guilty; she knew that Caledonia would never forgive her for it. She thought about what Cali had said about a curse, looking down at her manacled wrists. She certainly felt cursed.

Tears she was unable to resist spilled down her cheeks, and she wiped her eyes on her shoulders, mascara smearing black streaks onto her pristine blouse. She thought about Cali, trying to imagine how brave and fierce she’d be in this situation, and it gave her a tiny flicker of courage. It shouldn’t be too difficult to disable an old man, she told herself; she was a master of the art.

Like Andromeda chained to a rock, she settled down to await her fate, knowing full well that there would be no brave hero coming to her rescue. She was going to have to do this all by herself.

~

Senator Blackwell dropped his wife at their hotel, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek. “Sweetheart, I need to meet privately with a major donor,” he told her, “But I promise I’ll be back in time for a nightcap.”

He handed the driver Max’s card, tension building up within him as the limo climbed higher and higher into the hills that looked down upon the sprawling city. He felt good, lucky that a new pimp had materialized just when he was in need of some serious tension relief.

He remembered how the red-haired girl had tried to hide from him, so sweetly shy, her fine silk blouse clinging to her exquisitely delicate collarbones. He imagined red palm-prints rising on her pale freckled skin, and that old familiar tingle raced up his leg to settle in his groin.

He was looking forward to the biggest thrill he’d had in years.

Max stood waiting in the circular driveway, greeting the long black limo with a friendly wave. The senator’s uniformed driver got out and opened the door, standing aside to watch the senator climb out, still clad in his tuxedo.

He barked out orders to his driver, “Wait right here. Don’t move. This shouldn’t take long.”

The driver took a seat behind the wheel, watching as the senator passed through the imposing double doors of the Spanish style estate. He almost jumped out of his skin when a skinny redheaded boy suddenly materialized in the window and started banging against the glass, his eyes full of panic as he waited for it to scroll down.

“You gotta get the senator out of there right now!” The boy was desperate, wild. “It’s a set-up…These guys are going to blackmail him!”

“Goddamnit!” the driver slammed both hands down on the steering wheel and started cursing. The horny old bastard had fooled him again, and the little boss-man would
not
be happy about it. He pulled out a phone and dialed, watching as the boy paced in agitation outside of the car. “You’re not gonna believe this,” he said, describing where they were. “But… but… He said it was a fundraiser for
Christsakes
!
You
try keeping an eye on the stupid old goat!”

When he stepped out of the car his face was grim.

“There’s gonna be holy hell to pay for this one. Listen kid… Make yourself scarce. If I were you, I wouldn’t want to be here when the boys show up– Comprende?”

~

Max ushered Senator Blackwell into a lounge area and offered him a drink, but the man was in no mood to socialize with a low-life pimp. He looked around the bar suspiciously.

“Where is she?” he asked Max, “The girl. The redhead… not the blonde.”

“She’s ready and waiting in the party room,” he gestured with exaggerated elegance. “Follow me.”

The senator peered into the room to see the girl crouched at the head of the bed, her wrists handcuffed onto the brass bars of the headboard. Her smeared make-up and tear-stained face only served to make her look even more vulnerable and helpless, and a shiver of anticipation ran down his spine.

All of his suspicions flew out the window at the tempting sight.

He could see that she was scared, really scared, and not just feigning fear like the last two little whores he had to punish. He was more excited than he’d been in years; this really was his lucky day.

“I’ll leave you two to get better acquainted,” Max said, slipping out the door. It closed behind him with a resounding thud.

“Unlock these and let me go,” Layla pleaded, desperately trying to make eye contact. “Tell him you changed your mind.”

The senator walked to the mirror over the dresser, looking at himself, smoothing his hair back from his distinguished grey temples. He slowly, methodically, untied his bowtie and took off his gold cufflinks. He unbuttoned his shirt, removing it and folding it almost ritually while she watched. Layla could see the bright orange anticipation and deep maroon lust emanating from him; the strength of it shocked her.

“There’s been a mistake…” her voice was high and thin with terror. “Senator Blackwell?”

Shirtless, he turned to face her, his hairy paunch hanging over the waistband of his slacks. He reached to unbuckle his belt, pulling it off with a dramatic gesture.

“Have you been a bad girl?” he asked.

He carefully folded the belt, testing it with a snap on the palm of his hand in an obvious bid to terrify her. Layla could see how excited he was, and the sickly sweet anticipation hung thick in the air all around him. She scrambled back, twisting like a pretzel to try and turn her body around to face him. Now she cried out in real terror, but it wasn’t his excitement or even the belt that horrified her.

He simply wouldn’t look her in the eyes.

“No! You don’t want to do this!”

She realized that he saw her as a thing, and not a person. Still, she kept up her pleas, trying to reason with him but getting increasingly desperate when his eyes would not make contact with hers. She tried to make him see her while at the same time cringing as far away from him as she could possibly get.

“Shut up, you little tramp,” he said.

“Please… You don’t want to do this…” She glanced over to the mirror, debating whether or not to tell him about the set-up, wondering if Max would make good on his threat to hurt her brother.

Max and his two guards watched from their comfortable chairs in the office, smoking cigars and chuckling at the show that was unfolding before them. Max was delighted that his plan had come together so easily, and he joined the senator in failing to have even the tiniest little bit of suspicion about the good fortune that had suddenly come his way.

He poured himself a tumbler of expensive Scotch, predicting, “This is going to make us a fortune.”

The senator raised his arm and Max giggled with glee to see
Layla
scramble to avoid him. She slid her manacled wrists from side to side on the brass bar in a desperate bid to dodge the blows that started raining down on her. She was agile, but she could only move so far, and no matter how urgently she pleaded he refused to stop swinging his belt and look into her eyes.

All at once the alarm system started blaring throughout the house, and everyone froze in place. Max and his guards exchanged a look, stepping out into the hallway to come face to face with a short, thin, and extremely angry man who came barreling towards them. Behind him stood a group of gunmen, weapons raised.

Max was made to shut down the alarm, and then taken back to the office, where he was forced to watch while all of his surveillance systems and the hard drives on his computers were systematically destroyed.

The little man in charge paced before Max and his guards, his voice squeaking with rage, “You think you can just come down here from Frisco and eat
my
lunch? You messed with the
wrong
sonofabitch.”

He turned to leave, nodding to his gunmen, “Do them all.”

The senator was trying to re-attach his cufflinks with trembling hands when Michael burst into the party room. He immediately ran over to his sister’s side, searching her eyes. “Are you okay?”

All at once the little man was in the room with them, a gunman alongside him. “You stupid old bastard!” he screamed at the senator, disgusted. “You just
had
to go off the reservation! Get the hell in the car right now.”

He turned to his companion. “We can’t afford to leave any witnesses. Do them too.”

The senator blanched. “Surely that’s not nec–”

The little man was red-faced with rage. “Look what you’re making me do!” he screamed, storming out. The senator followed him, casting a nervous glance back towards Layla.

Michael and his sister clung together in shock, alone with the last gunman. Layla looked him square in the eye, sending him the most powerful blast of sympathy she’d ever managed.

“Leave us alone, and he’ll never know,” she said firmly, piling on bright yellow confusion as if their lives depended on it, because they did.

Two more gunshots rang out in the house, and then everything fell silent.

~

“My Dad thinks you’re a hypnotist or something,” Calvin laughed, leaning over to kiss Caledonia again.

The two of them had volunteered to watch the house that night, mostly because they really wanted to be alone, but also because Calvin never imagined that anything would happen so soon. They were snuggled together in the front seat of the truck, sharing what was proving to be a peaceful night looking out over the twinkling lights of the city.

“Remember when you showed me the lights for the first time?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he replied, nuzzling her soft cheek. “That was the first night you slept over with me…”

“By accident,” she reminded him. “I fell asleep.”

“What would you have done if I kissed you then?” he asked, his breath warm in her ear.

She shrugged, “I don’t know… Why didn’t you?”

“I was scared.”

“Scared?” she scoffed, “Of what?”

He chuckled, “You.”

She smiled. “Are you still scared of me?”
 

He answered her with a kiss, pulling her on top of him to envelope her in his lusty magenta. He kissed up and down her neck, murmuring into her ear, “You know what? We never did inaugurate this truck...”

“Calvin!” she giggled, squirming in his lap.

A dark sedan screamed up the hill going much too fast, and they both looked up to take notice. The car pulled up in front of Max’s house, triggering alarm bells that rang out for a couple of minutes before stopping.

The two Cals exchanged a look, watching as a series of muzzle flashes blinked in one window, followed by two more in another.

“Did you see that?” Calvin gasped.

“What was it?”

“Gunshots,” he said tersely. “I think someone’s shooting up the place!”

The next minute the black sedan screamed down the hill, followed by a limousine.

“We need to go see what happened!” Cali exclaimed.

Calvin shook his head. “No way. We should call the police.”

Two figures appeared, rushing down the driveway on foot. Even in the dark, their coppery red hair shone in the streetlights.

“It’s them!” Caledonia cried, “Let’s go!”

The truck pulled up to meet them at the base of the driveway, and the look of shock on Layla’s and Michael’s faces was something neither Cal would ever forget.

“They’re all dead,” Michael said, helping his terrified sister into the truck. “We have to get out of here.”

Caledonia hugged a traumatized Layla, and she started crying too hard to speak.

“What happened?” Calvin asked Michael.

“It’s all my fault,” he said grimly.