Page 8 of Mine to Love
“Mommy, I’m scared,” Delilah says then as her face contorts with fear and tears well in her eyes.
“I know, sweetie. But Mommy is going to take care of you. Okay, sweet girl? Just try to be quiet.” As we reach the abandoned bus, I drop Delilah to the ground and use all my strength to pry open the rusty door. It lets out a terrible screech that has me thankful for the rain. Hopefully, no one heard. Not that there’s anyone around to hear.
“Alright, up.” I grab Delilah and place her on the first step. She climbs the rest of them, and I follow behind her, all before the headlights of the suspicious vehicle spot us. Though, as I turn and face the aisle of the bus, my heart sinks to my stomach, my eyes widen in horror, and my entire body begins to shake.
“Well, look what the rain washed in. My, my, you sure are pretty.” An old man who smells worse than Bourbon Streetwith tanned, wrinkled skin and a scraggly salt-and-pepper beard approaches Delilah.
“You always did like ‘em young. I much prefer it when they’re strong enough to put up a fight.” It’s then that my eyes move behind the old man to find he’s not the only one occupying this bus. I spot at least two others amidst the rubbish. One of them lights a cigarette as he looks me up and down. The small flame draws my attention to the seat behind him. It’s there that I see a woman—naked, bloody, and bruised. Despite her upright position, the vacant expression in her open eyes tells me she’s no longer with us. Yet, as the man with the cigarette stands and kisses her blue lips, I see she’s still of service to him.
Fear courses through my veins like it never has before. As the men in the back exchange looks, the one closest to us reaches for Delilah. “No!” I quickly yank her away from the man and maneuver her behind me. She cries out, perhaps in fear, perhaps in pain. I’m not sure which. All I can focus on is getting her as far away from these men as possible. “Run!” I yell as I nudge her toward the steps.
“Bitch!” As I do, the old man grabs me by the scoop neckline of my dress and pulls me toward him with an all-too-familiar sense of force.
“Run!” I scream once more as the man shoves me onto the nearest bus seat. I’m not able to see if Delilah does as she’s told before the large, grotesque man digs his fingers into my throat and applies so much pressure I can barely breathe. What oxygen I can inhale is tainted by his putrid breath and aroma as he hovers over me.
“I’ll be back for you,” he snarls as he releases my throat. He takes a step back and looks toward the front of the bus. I know he plans to go after Delilah. And I know no matter what happens to me, I can’t give him that chance. As I catch my breath, bringing my hand to my throat, I kick him in the balls to keephis attention on me. He wails and lowers his hands to his groin. Once more, he lifts his eyes to mine. An evil hunger replaces the look of lust I once found. As he reaches for me, I brace for impact. “You’re going to pay for that, you stupid slut.”
I scream as he pulls me by my legs onto the dirty aisle of the bus. Quickly, he positions me so that my feet rest on seats on opposite sides of the aisle. The other men join in and hold me in place by my ankles as the old man fumbles with his zipper. Within seconds, he has it undone and lifts the skirt of my dress, leaving me sprawled out and ready for insertion. I ran out of clean underwear a while ago. As reality weighs heavily on me, I break.
This is it. It won’t be the first time I’ve been raped, but it’ll be the last. His expression and the knife in his hand, glinting in the moonlight, tell me so. Though, considering the corpse among us, perhaps it won’t be the last, just the last I’ll have to endure. But Delilah—God, please keep her safe. Please don’t force her to watch as these men torment what’s left of me.
“Please, please!” I beg as tears rip from me and my body shakes. As I do, I’m not sure if I plead to God or to the men over top of me. It’s the only thing I know how to say, even though I know it doesn’t matter what words escape me. This man is going to rape me, kill me, and there’s nothing I—or anyone—can do to stop him. “Please.” This time, my voice is nothing but a whisper as he brings the knife to my throat.
“I wonder how many thrusts you’ll feel before you bleed out?”
8
Milo trackedDarcy and Delilah from the French Quarter through most of the Marigny by tapping into city surveillance cameras. Thankfully, where their coverage ended, ours picked up. Some of these warehouses are owned by the Amatos and were part of our drug operations, so we keep a close eye on them. Or, at least, we used to. Among them, I could only think of one place Darcy would head—the women’s shelter. The moment I realized where they were going, I broke every traffic law known to man to get here as quickly as possible. This shelter is always full. Which they would’ve painstakingly discovered if they made it to their destination alive. New Orleans is many things.Safeis not one of them, especially for a woman at night.
As my headlights cast a glow upon Darcy’s blonde hair and pale skin, it seems she’s found what I feared to be true. Though her quick movements tell me her greatest fear is still prevalent. At the sight of my car, she moves quickly and disappears into the darkness surrounding the shelter. I speed up, doing my best to close the distance before she can get too far. Though, as I turn in the direction she and Delilah ran, I find nothing, nothing except their backpacks discarded on the sidewalk.
I grip my steering wheel tighter. My eyes darken and narrow as I search the shadows for signs of movement. But there’s still no sight of them. She’s smart. Unaware of who was behind the wheel, she hid. At least, that’s what I tell myself instead of thinking of the alternative. Surely, no one snatched them that quicklyandthat close to the shelter. I shake my head and bite the inside of my jaw. Just as I rev my engine and reach for my phone to call Milo for an assist, Delilah bolts in front of me.
My body slams against my seat as I throw on my brakes. Delilah turns and stares straight into the beams of my headlights as if they don’t phase her at all. She’s paralyzed by fear, shock, horror—perhaps all three. Quickly, I tear off my seatbelt, grab the gun from my passenger’s seat, and push open the car door. As I do, I am immediately met with the reason for Delilah’s tortured expression. Darcy’s screams fill the dark night as the school bus next to us moves and creaks in symphony with her struggle.
I pause for only a moment as I process what’s happening. My heart rate quickens. My eyes widen. A shallow breath escapes me as I feel myself losing the spark of light I only just discovered. And then, everything slows—my heart rate, my breathing. Instead of adrenaline pumping through my veins, I find myself calm. Perhaps, because I know that’s the only way I—we—will survive this.
Snapping into action, I holster my gun and move to Delilah. I pick her up and place her safely in my car within seconds. “Close your eyes,” I tell her before closing the door and locking it behind me. She won’t be able to hear the gunshots with the silencer attached to my weapon, or her mother’s screams, or anything else that’s about to happen. But the gun powder will create certain flashes that I’d rather her not remember, despite witnessing far too much already.
She does as I say and with Delilah safe, I draw my weapon and run toward the bus as the vicious rain finally subsides. I climb the steps two at a time, finding Darcy at the mercy of three men. The sight of her has me wishing for the rain to last a little while longer to cleanse us of the memories of this night.
Just as the prime offender presses himself and a blade against Darcy, I put a bullet between his eyes. It rips through his skull, taking half his head with it. Blood and brain matter splatters against the seats of the wretched bus. Darcy lets out a shrill scream as the predator, now dead, falls on top of her. But removing him will have to wait as I turn my attention to the other two.
One, like the coward he is, runs toward the back of the bus. I shoot him in the back, severing his spine. He falls face down, left to bleed out next to the woman who I highly doubt was his first victim. The second fires off a shot of his own before I can train my weapon on him. The bullet grazes my arm, ripping through the sleeve of my dress shirt and searing my skin as it flies past me. It breaks the glass of the window behind me, and I fire the bullet that takes the gun-wielding man’s life—one to the chest and one to the head, for good measure.
I scan the rest of the bus. Finding no other threats, I quickly step over the seats so that I can lift the sadistic waste of a man off Darcy. Standing over them, I holster my gun and pull him off her. The strain on my muscles makes the wound on my arm burn hotter, but I ignore it. Finally, free from her assailant, Darcy comes into view. She lies on her back with her eyes closed, shaking, and covered in the old man’s blood. Her lips quiver and her cheeks are taunt with fear as tears slip from behind her closed eyelids. Her dress still hiked up to her waist, I kneel between her legs and gently pull it down for her. As I do, I respectfully avoid eye contact with her most sacred area.
When I pulled the man off her, it was obvious he didn’t have a chance to insert himself, but that hardly matters. What happened here tonight, what she’s just endured—andDelilah—is unspeakably traumatic. And now, I have to pull her out of it, out of her own head.
“Darcy.” I hover over her and caress her cheek with my hand. She shakes her head at the unwelcome touch. But I don’t know how else to comfort her and coax her back to the present. “Darcy, it’s okay. You’re safe. You can open your eyes,” I say as I use my fingers to wipe away the blood and tears from her pain-stricken face. While some of her facial features relax at the sound of my voice, her body still shakes. “Darcy.” She’s either still in shock or trapped somewhere just as horrific amongst her memories. Though I hope that isn’t the case, she came to—ran away to—New Orleans for a reason.
Sensing the issue might be with her vulnerable position, I stand and pick her up. Finding the least disgusting seat, I settle in with her wrapped tightly in my arms. With my hand on her head, my fingers interwoven with her hair, I pull her against my chest. She’s cold, drenched to the bone by the rain. Despite my own rain-soaked clothes, my Italian blood runs hot. Perhaps my warmth will help soothe her. Regardless, I’ll hold her as long as she needs me to—with pleasure and tender care.
“It’s okay, Darcy. Take all the time you need. Delilah and I will be here waiting for you as you find your way back to us.”
Despite the unfortunate events of the evening, I can’t ignore how good she feels in my arms, how her soft body molds perfectly to my rigid frame. In the quiet stillness of the night, I take a moment to savor it,her. I know her awakening will come with distance and closed-off-ness. It’s understandable, given not only what she’s been through but my role in it.
How will I explain my presence here tonight? And, while I’m sure the sheer fact that I own a gun—hundreds, if I’mbeing honest—will scare her, my use of one tonight will elicit questions I can’t answer and even more fear than before. How do I convince her to come with me now? How can I help her when she’s so afraid of me? At a loss, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I suppose none of those things truly matter. What matters is she’s safe. The rest will sort itself out.
