Staying Dirty (2 page)

The receptionist is seated at the front desk, just like the last time I was here setting up an appointment with her boss I had no intention of keeping. Recognition flickers over her features—probably remembering how I gave her a fake name and number. I walk past her without hesitation.

“Sir,” she calls after me. “You can’t go back there without an appointment.”

I ignore her, searching the doors until I read Anthony’s name on a nameplate. Everything else fades. My vision tunnels, zeroing in on the letters—so simple and innocent—and I lose it.

I lose myself.

The door bursts inward, crashing into the wall with an earsplitting crack. I step inside, peering around the empty room.

“I’m calling the police,” the receptionist says. Her words tremble through her lips, having little effect on me.

I turn my head slowly, glaring at her over my shoulder. My fingers ache from fisting them so tightly. The newspaper crinkles audibly. I try to inhale a calming breath, but my chest feels to tight—my lungs constricted with bitterness.

“Where is he?” I seethe.

She gapes at me, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. She shakes her head, unsure how to answer.

“It’s okay, Amy,” a man says. My gaze shifts, locating the voice. Anthony stands a few feet behind her, holding out placating hands. His eyes lower to my hands, then back up to meet my stare. “It’s okay,” he says again, his voice lowering to a whisper, and I don’t think he’s talking to her anymore.

“Should—should I call the police?” Amy stutters.

“NO. No,” Anthony says, his gaze flicking from me to Amy and back again. “Everything is fine. I’m just going to step out for a little while. Cancel my appointments for the day.”

Amy hesitates, unconvinced I’m not a threat. It sobers my anger just enough for a clear thought to make its way through my head. I shouldn’t be doing this here. There are witnesses. People who can report me.
Stop
me.

“Outside,” I snarl.

Anthony’s eyes scan the paper in my hand again. He nods stiffly, turning on his heel. I follow him down the hall and out into the reception area. Amy watches me as she stands behind her desk. I’m sure to her I look like a maniac, coming in here and kicking in her boss’s door.

If she only knew what her boss really is—what he did. If she knew what I witnessed—what I lost—she wouldn’t look at me this way.

I’m not the bad guy
.

I’m what’s left over after the bad guy is finished.

Anthony pauses just before the door. I understand his hesitance. He has no idea what fate awaits him once he steps outside. I find some satisfaction in his fear, but not nearly enough. He will never know the terror Livie faced. The horror I went through.

With this last thought, I decide exactly where I want to take him. The only place that could ever make him feel a minuscule of the agony I faced.

I’m taking Anthony back to his own home. With his wife and daughter.

Four

Rocky

Lea pulls away before I’m able to shut the car door. It slams closed on its own as she floors it out of the parking lot. I’m still looking at her taillights when I hear Link’s familiar voice.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

I turn, coming face to face with a dark-haired man, his eyes wide, his forehead beaded with perspiration. Just behind him, Link glares at me with more anger than I thought he was capable of.

“We followed you.”

The man in front of Link gulps loudly, his Adam’s apple bulging as if he’s swallowing a rock.

“We?” Link asks, his gaze darting around the lot.

“Lea dropped me off.”

My eyes move back to the man. I recognize him from Link’s picture. I know he’s one of the men who hurt him. No, this is one of the guys who tried to
kill
him. Who
did
kill Olivia—
after he raped her
.

Now that I’m here and can see Link with my own eyes—see he’s okay, I finally start to comprehend the danger he tried to warn me about. It spikes my pulse, making my heart thud against my ribs.

But I’m not afraid. Not really. Not like I probably should be. I don’t know if it’s because Link is right here and I know he’d never let this man do anything to harm me or if it’s because I’m determined to protect Link in the same way. Or maybe it’s because this man doesn’t look like a cold-blooded murderer. He looks weak. Tired.
Scared
.

And though he looks terrified, he’s not being held in any way. There’s a good foot of space between the two men. There’s no gun being held to his back. No knife in sight. It’s almost as if he’s choosing to stay. To face his fate.

“She dropped you off?” Link utters. “She just left you here?”

“She doesn’t want to be involved.”

“
You
shouldn’t be involved either.”

“I already am.”

I hold his stare, refusing to waiver. I’ve already come this far. And the cowboy is after me too. I have just as much to lose in this situation as he does. But I know he isn’t going to see it that way.

If he wants to treat me like a defenseless woman, then I’ll act like one.

“I’m safer with you, Link. The cowboy’s still out there. Don’t leave me alone again.”

Link shakes his head, his eyes narrowing as if he’s disgusted  with me. “Get in the fucking car.” He pulls his keys out of his pocket and tosses them to me. “You can drive,” he adds.

I get in and buckle up without a word, but as I try to find the right key, I can’t help wondering if I’ve just made myself an accomplice to a soon-to-be murder.

“Get in, Anthony.”

“Where are we going?” Anthony croaks.

“Get. In.”

I watch in the rearview mirror as they both slide into the backseat. Link meets my eyes in the mirror.

“Take a left. At the second light, go right.”

I do as he says, but my gaze repeatedly returns to the mirror, watching both men.

“Where are we going?” Anthony asks again. Link doesn’t answer. Instead, he glowers at him with barely controlled fury.

Without taking his eyes off of the man beside him, Link orders me to take the next left. With this last direction, Anthony must finally understand where we’re going, because he begins to weep loudly.

“Please. No. Please.”

“Shut up,” Link growls. Then to me, “Pull into the driveway with the chalk drawings.”

“NO. Please. I’ll go wherever you want. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t do this in front of my family.”

I gasp as I realize he’s talking to me. Our gazes lock in the mirror, and I read the terror etched into his features.

“Please. My daughter—” Anthony throws his upper half over the seat, reaching for the steering wheel. He jerks it to the side, causing us to veer onto the sidewalk and graze a row of bushes.

Link yanks Anthony back by his shirt, smashing a fist into his cheek. I correct the car, swerving back onto the street just as all hell breaks loose in the backseat. I pull to a stop, throwing the gear into park.

The Anthony who quietly complied before is gone, now replaced with a man aggressively fighting to defend his family. There’s a blur of wild punches and flying elbows. Both men attack each other with a relentless ferocity I’ve never witnessed before.

What fear can do to a person is chilling.

Anthony lands a hit on Link that knocks his head into the window. I watch the glass splinter into a large, spider web crack. He looks dazed as he places his arms on either side of Anthony, almost as if he’s hugging him.

Anthony breaks out of the hold, reversing it, and pinning Link’s arms instead. I reach over the seat, trying to break the two men apart as they continue to cling to each other, both preventing the other from landing a hit.

“Not here,” Anthony says. “You’re not going near my family.” He gets a hand free, shoving Link’s head back at an odd angle, as if he’s trying to push his face into the cracked glass.

“STOP,” I scream, pushing on Anthony’s shoulders. I curl my hands into fists and begin hitting him in the back. I claw at his neck. Link’s face grows red as he pushes back against him. It’s like two walls trying to knock each other down.

Link releases Anthony, reaching into his pocket. Taking advantage, Anthony’s able to get another hit in. His fist whacks into Link’s jaw, sending his face right into the window.

It takes me a moment to understand why Link isn’t fighting back. Why he’s allowing his blood to be spilled so easily. What’s so important in his pocket.

The image from the other night of his knife falling from his pants just a beat before the picture had floated slowly to the ground fills my mind’s eye.

I hook my fingers into Anthony’s hair, and then I twist at the same time I yank, jerking his head back and buying Link the last second he needs to tug the knife free.

I have one moment of horrifying clarity, hoping Link doesn’t actually use the knife.

Anthony stops struggling as the audible click of the blade sounds in the small confines of the car.

Link wraps his fingers around Anthony’s throat, nodding for me to let go of his hair.

“I’m going to give you the choice you never gave me,” Link says coldly. “Cooperate, and you and your family will walk away unscathed. Continue to fight me, and I will not hesitate to kill you and
everyone
you love.”

Five

Link

Rocky is huddled into my back as we wait for Anthony to unlock his door. He pushes it open slowly, calling out immediately for his wife. His voice cracks with dread over every syllable.

I can’t help feeling slightly relieved when there’s no reply.

No matter how much I want him to fear for his family’s life—no matter how much I want him to feel that unyielding terror—I would never do anything to harm an innocent woman or child.

“Where are they?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” He tries to turn around, but I grab his shoulder, squeezing tightly, warning him to keep going.

“Please. Don’t bring my family into this. They have nothing to do with my past. Emma’s only three. She’s innocent in all of this.”

I shove him forward. I know what he’s doing. Humanizing himself—his family. It’s all in vain. He didn’t give a shit about Liv’s innocence. I’ll never see him as anything but a murdering monster.

I begin to walk him through the house, peering into each room to verify we’re definitely alone. Rocky stays at my back the entire time, quietly following.

In the hallway, just before we come to the last two doors, Anthony shoves back against me, trying to throw me off balance.

One of the first rules in boxing—always keep a strong core balance.

His effort is in vain. I swing him into the wall, raising my knife to his face. I watch him weigh his options, trying to determine whether he can get the knife away from me before I have time to use it. I feel him tense, his muscles tightening in anticipation of whatever move he’s about to make. I press the tip of the knife into the skin just below his eye.

“I wouldn’t,” I warn. “I won’t hesitate next time. And I won’t remind you again. Next time you pull a stunt like that, I’ll fucking stick this blade into your chest and watch you bleed out.”

He doesn’t reply and I don’t expect him too. Rocky peeks into the last two rooms, giving the all clear, and I guide Anthony back through the hall, the blade tight against his throat.

We come to the kitchen last, and I figure this is as good a place as any.

Directing Anthony to the table, I kick out a chair and he sits, resting his head in his hands. His fingers tremble as he clamps them into his hair. I can hear his feet tapping out a quick, anxious beat on the tile floor. Probably counting the seconds until his wife comes home.

I drag the chair out opposite him. Rocky chooses to stay back, leaning into the wall. I prefer her there. I hate that she’s even here. That she is witnessing this. Witnessing me
do this
.

I have no idea what she thinks of me in this moment, but I hope she understands why I’m doing what I’m doing. I hope she understands I would never hurt his wife and daughter.

“You’ve made a nice life for yourself,” I say casually, glancing around the room. Colorful drawings align his refrigerator held up with tourist magnets. It appears Anthony traveled well over the years. Canada, Mexico, and a lot of states in-between.

I grab an apple from the bowl of fruit centered on the large wooden table and roll it in my hands.

“You appear to be doing well. You have a beautiful wife and an adorable daughter.”

Anthony’s head snaps up. His gaze meets mine, eyes wide with alarm. I can feel the cruel smile tugging on the corners of my mouth. This is what I wanted. This right here. The agonizing realization that there’s no way out. All he can do is wonder what I’ll do to him and the family he loves so much.

I lean my elbows on the table, pressing my chest into the edge. “How surprised do you think your wife will be when she comes home?”

He flinches with each of my spitted words as if every single one beats him down more and more.

I slam my fist down, hard, causing him to jump. “This should have been MINE.”

I shove the chair back, knocking it into the wall. “This should be my house.” I kick the chair, sending it crashing to the floor on its side. I bend over and pick it up, flinging it back toward the table.

“This should be my fucking chair. My fucking table. MY FUCKING LIFE.”

I point to the fridge as more and more rage coils around my heart. “You don’t deserve those pictures—colored with so much adoration for a murderer.”

I step back up to the table and place my hands flat against the smooth, cool surface. Because if I don’t, I know I’ll wrap my fingers around his throat, squeezing until the life seeps out of him.

“You took everything from me,” I breathe. “
Everything
.”

“I’m sorry,” Anthony utters. And fuck if he doesn’t sound sincere. I can hear the tumultuous regret in his voice. But what good does his regret do for me now? It doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t bring her back or erase the past four years.