Resurrection of the Heart: A Sovereign Sons Novel Read online

  “Check the window,” the big one says to the wiry man as he reaches into his pocket to pull out what I realize is a switchblade.

  “Painted shut,” the other man confirms.

  “Get me another zip tie,” the one with the knife says as he walks toward me. “You, get up.”

  I stand and turn, assuming he’s going to cut the ties. But he grips my arm above the elbow and holds the knife to my throat. With a slight shifting of his hand, I feel the slicing of skin, the warm trickle of blood.

  Tears burn my eyes as I try to stand perfectly still.

  “You try anything, any fucking thing, and I’ll slit your throat ear to fucking ear, you got it?”

  "Yes,” I manage, terrified.

  “Your asshole brother fucked up,” he says, roughly taking one arm as he slices through the zip tie.

  The other man walks in with another zip tie as I wipe my neck with the back of my hand. It comes away smeared with blood, but it’s not bad. He barely cut me. A warning. I look down at my bloody wrists, the skin rubbed away.

  “It hurts, please,” I start, but the man with the knife wipes my blood off his knife on the bedsheet and signals to the wiry one to rebind my wrists in front of me. But at least they’re in front.

  I hear the click of the switchblade as the big one closes it, and they both walk out the door.

  “When is the doctor coming?” I ask before they close it.

  “Not soon enough.” The door closes.

  The first thing I do is try the window, which I know won’t open. Both Abel and the other guy couldn’t get it open, so I doubt I’ll be able to. I could probably break the glass with the nightstand, but they’d be in here before I could climb out, not to mention I’d have to contend with the shards of glass.

  I go into the bathroom and switch on the light. It blinks twice, then goes on with a buzz. It’s fluorescent, and I think about the lighting at the manor. How dim it is. How subdued and soft. I think about Santiago and wonder what he thinks has happened. If he’s looking for me. He must be. I don’t even know where I am. I think we drove for a good hour from the safe house, but I can’t be sure. How will he find me? And if he does, will he be in time?

  A feeling of loss overwhelms me suddenly. This need to be home. To be safe.

  Home. Home in Santiago’s house. In my bedroom even though it’s felt more like a prison than anything else.

  He must be so angry. I ran away from him. I took his baby from him. I tried to kill myself even if I did change my mind. I knew what could happen when I took all that aspirin. It wasn’t a conscious choice, though. I was desperate. But desperate for what?

  For his attention.

  For him.

  And now we’re farther apart than ever.

  My throat feels tight as I turn on the water and wash my hands and face. I run cool water over my burning wrists. It only makes it worse, though, so I dry my hands on my pants—the towel looks nasty—and return to the bedroom.

  My stomach rumbles at the smell of the food. I haven’t eaten in so long, so I open the bag and take out the cheeseburger. I unwrap it and take a bite, then another, and before I know it, I’ve finished it. I look inside the bag for more, but it’s empty, and I get up and go back into the bathroom to drink water from the tap.

  That’s when I hear commotion outside. A car door slamming. Voices in the living room.

  This is it. He must be here. The doctor.

  I hurry back into the bedroom just as the door opens, and the big guy walks in, followed by a thirty-something man in a suit. He looks shabby in the worn-out suit, and the bag he’s carrying is tired-looking. His dark hair is oiled back and curling behind his ears like he needs a cut, and overall, he gives me the creeps.

  “You must be Ivy,” he says, his smile making my skin crawl. “Your brother said you have a little problem you’d like to be rid of. Why don’t you come lie down on the bed, and we’ll take a look-see.”

  “No, my brother was wrong. I don’t want to get rid of the baby. This is a mistake. I just want to go home,” I plead, holding out my arms in appeal, almost forgetting my wrists are bound because for a moment I think I have a chance. A choice. He’s a doctor. He won’t force this. He can’t.

  He smiles as the big man closes the door and moves toward me.

  “Your brother told me you were confused. Now let’s get this done,” the doctor says, setting his bag down on the nightstand and noticing the empty bag of food. He picks it up, looks inside, and turns on the man. “When did she eat?”

  He shrugs. “Now?”

  “You idiots. That changes things.”

  When he opens his bag, I make a run for it, but the big man grabs me.

  I scream as he drags me toward the bed, lifting me off the floor when I struggle.

  “Gentle now,” the doctor says when I’m slammed anything but gently onto the bed.

  My gaze flicks to his just in time to see him pushing the air out of a syringe. They’ll knock me out and abort the baby. And I won’t be able to do a thing about it.

  “Just something to relax you. Can't give you what I would have since you’ve eaten,” he says, eyes on the syringe. “You shouldn't feel a thing.”

  “Please!” I scream and kick as the giant keeps my shoulders pinned and traps my wrists under one knee. “Please! I don’t want this. Help me. Help!” I scream and scream, flailing, kicking all to no avail as I smell the alcohol of the swab then feel the coolness of it as he cleans the area before plunging the needle into my arm, emptying the contents, my body beginning to go limp before he even pulls the needle out.

  5

  Santiago

  Marco hands over the yellow envelope with a strained expression on his face and watches me open it. Inside, there is a handwritten note.

  Want your wife back? Come and get her.

  Beneath that is the address. Whoever dropped this at the front gate either wants me to know where Ivy is, or they want to lure me out. I’m erring on the second option. An obvious power play. Marco seems to confirm those thoughts when he trails me as I head for the car.

  "Boss, I have men on the way there now. They can get her out if she's really there—"

  "I'm going, Marco."

  "That might be exactly what they want," he mutters. "We still don't know who tried to kill you the first time. And then the poisoning. I just think—"

  "Are you driving, or am I?"

  I yank open the driver's side door, and he sighs.

  "Get in. I'll drive."

  I walk around the car and slip into the passenger seat as he fires up the engine. While Marco drives, I study the paper, looking for any clues. I don't recognize the handwriting, not that I would. That is perhaps the one thing about Abel I haven't examined closely.

  “Abel could be trying to lure you straight into his trap,” Marco says, eyes focused on the road.

  “Possibly,” I admit. But it doesn’t feel like that. “Or it’s someone else.”

  He glances at me briefly. “You’re thinking one of his men?”

  “I don’t see Abel coming anywhere near The Manor. He knows he’d be caught. So either they delivered the message for him, or they have their own motives.”

  “He must be getting desperate to go to these lengths,” Marco says. “These men wouldn’t be working for him if there wasn’t something in it for them.”

  “Power,” I mutter. “It’s always about power. The little dogs always want to destroy the big dogs. Clearly, Abel has failed to do this one simple thing. Perhaps his men are growing tired of waiting. Knowing him, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s made them all sorts of outlandish promises. But you can only borrow so much loyalty with unfulfilled assurances.”

  “Could be.” Marco nods, but he doesn’t look any less concerned.

  I google the address on the note and find that it's just an average house in a suburb about two hours away. The journey passes far too slowly for my liking. I'm on edge, my foot tapping against the floorboard as scener
y flashes outside.

  Every text that comes through on Marco's phone has me checking it like a fiend. He handed it over after the first three times I demanded to know exactly what the updates were.

  His men aren't there yet. We are all traveling from different locations, and I don't know who will arrive first. But when we finally turn down the street, another text comes through. There is one team waiting outside for us.

  I type a response and tell them to hang back, and within a minute, Marco is pulling up behind them. I'm out of the car and barking out orders before he can even shift it into park.

  "You two go in the front," I tell them. "I'm going in the back."

  "Here, boss." Marco hands me a pistol and a knife. Following me around the side of the house, he pushes a path through the overgrown shrubbery.

  The backyard is small, and the old door is wood, which works in my favor. Marco uses his giant frame as a battering ram, blowing it wide open with one grunt.

  Chaos ensues within seconds. A shot rings out, and then a series of curses as Marco's men push their way through the front and take on two men I don't recognize. One of Marco's guys takes a bullet in the shoulder, and he repays the favor by shooting the asshole between the eyes.

  Another man in the living room fires off several more shots as he dives behind a coffee table, pulling it up against him for cover. The sound of glass shattering and gun blasts ringing out pierce my ears, but I can't focus on any of it.

  I move toward the hall, Marco at my side as we begin to check the rooms. The first bedroom we stop at has a guy scrambling to try to crawl out the window. Marco raises his weapon and shoots him in the head. His body slumps to the floor, blood pooling beneath him as we clear the space. When we don't find anyone else, we move along to the next room.

  A strange sound is coming from the other side of the closed door. It’s a rustling and grunting as though someone is trying to move a piece of furniture, presumably to barricade themselves in.

  I look at Marco, and he nods, slamming his body into the door. It breaks open, sending splintered wood everywhere as we spill into the room.

  There's a moment when I stop to take everything in. From the corner of my eye, I can see a figure charging at Marco. But it's the mess of dark hair on the bed that has my attention. It's the first sign of life, and relief fills my chest, only to be drowned out by the man lurking above her. A doctor?

  He discards the instrument in his hand and turns to face me at the same time Ivy stirs from a hazy state, trying to open her heavy eyes. My wife. My beautiful fucking wife.

  She blinks, murmuring something unintelligible as her hand twitches. For a split second, our gazes lock, and then her eyes are shuddering closed again. She fights it but falls into stillness, her chest rising and falling slowly.

  The man above her pivots toward me carefully, holding up his hands.

  "What did you give her?" I growl.

  He whips his head in the direction of the other man. The one Marco now has in a chokehold on his knees. Clearly, he expects that man to save him.

  "Want me to break his neck, boss?" Marco nods to the guy in his grasp.

  "Save him for me," I answer coldly.

  My eyes never leave the doctor, and when I stalk toward him, he cowers back, slowly reaching into his pocket for something. He’s still fumbling around for it, only to drop the pen as soon as he produces it because his hands are shaking so badly.

  "I don't want any trouble," the doctor says. "I just came here to do a job. That's it. I swear."

  "And what exactly was that job?" I cock my head to the side, studying him like a pest.

  "It was... an abortion," he croaks. "The woman didn't want the baby. That's all I know."

  All the pent-up rage that's been breeding inside me boils over as I grab him by the throat and lift him off his feet.

  "That woman is my wife," I snarl. “And that is my baby inside her.”

  "I didn't know," he gasps, feet kicking as he fights for air. "Please."

  "Tell the devil I said hello." I produce the knife and stab him in the gut three times, dropping him to the floor. "I'll see you again in hell."

  He's choking on his own blood when I kneel on his chest and grab him by the hair, slashing the blade across his throat. Blood sprays across my face, and I wipe it from my eyes before turning my murderous gaze on the other man.

  Marco's got him locked down so tight, he's half-dead already. It's more than he deserves to die so quickly, but I don't have the luxury of time to torture him.

  Marco releases him, and he drags in a long breath as I grab him by the collar and haul him up onto his feet.

  "Where is Abel?" I demand.

  "I don't know," he answers, his voice almost too hoarse to understand. "He took off and said he had some business to handle."

  "What business?" I dig the tip of my knife into his forehead.

  "Fuck, I don't know," he wheezes. "He doesn't tell us anything."

  I drag the knife down and to the right, carving an F into his flesh. Blood gushes from the wound, and he nearly collapses again. Sensing a need, Marco comes to hold him upright for me.

  "I can do this all night." I stare at him.

  It isn't exactly true. The sirens in the distance are getting closer. Someone undoubtedly heard the gunshots, and I need to get my wife out of here. But the last thing I want to do is drag this piece of shit back to the compound to finish him off.

  "He's gone off the rails," the guy tells me. "I don't know where he's been. But he was supposed to handle this shit, and he left it for us."

  I carve a U into his forehead next, and he starts talking faster, spewing whatever he thinks will save him as I move onto the C.

  "He said you'd be looking for him, and he couldn't let you find him. He was getting too paranoid, so he wouldn't tell us anything. But we knew the gig was up. Abel was going completely insane. That’s why one of my guys delivered the note to you. So you could come get her."

  “Purely out of the kindness of your heart?” I muse, slashing the blade to complete the K.

  “Look, we fucked up, okay? I know that!” he screeches. “We just wanted some respect. You can’t blame us for that.”

  “Respect is earned,” I remind him. "Now tell me what the doctor did to my wife."

  "All he did was give her the sedative," he pants. "Come on, man. You're carving me up like a fucking pig."

  "It's the least of what you deserve." I move onto the Y and O as blood pours down his face, blinding him.

  "I'll help you find Abel. I swear it. Just give me a chance."

  "Your chance was up the moment you decided to fuck with my wife." I finish off the U with a flourish, stepping back to admire my handiwork. "Which one of you left the bruise on her face?"

  He swallows, and I know it was him before he even conjures up a half-ass denial.

  "Boss." Marco glances at me from behind, signaling I need to hurry things along.

  I nod and then look at the piece of shit in front of me one last time. "Did you touch her anywhere else?"

  "What?" He shakes his head in disgust. "No way. Abel wouldn't let us do that."

  "You're lucky I'm in a forgiving mood," I tell him.

  "Really?" He perks up, blinking his bloody eyelids hopefully.

  "Yes," I answer flatly as I drag the tip of the knife to the pulsing vein in his throat. "I forgive you for being so fucking ignorant. You didn't know not to touch what belongs to me."

  I stab him in the throat. Once. Twice. Three times, until his blood flows in rivers down my arms and the gurgling noise in his mouth fades to nothingness. When I drop him to the floor, Marco kicks him in the face for good measure.

  "Just checking." He shrugs when I look at him. "We gotta go."

  I pivot toward my wife, pausing briefly to untangle the hair from her face. Blood smears over her cheek when I stroke it, and warmth fills my chest when I pick her up and cradle her limp body in my arms.

  "Time to go home." I whisper the w
ords against her ear, finishing them with a kiss. "Where you belong."

  6

  Ivy

  I feel heavy. Arms and legs like lead. But he lifts me without effort, and when my arm falls away, he carefully adjusts his hold, tucking that arm over my belly. I realize the zip ties are gone and try to open my eyes, but I can’t. I only get glimpses as we hurry through the small house and what I see is a massacre. Blood. Death.

  I groan, and he hugs me closer, and when I’m alert again, I feel the vibration of the moving car beneath me, and panic sets in. They’re moving me again. I’m on the floor of that car again.

  “Shh. You’re safe. I’m here.”

  Santiago.

  He pets my hair, fingers gentle, and I take in the scent of him. It’s not those men. I’m not on the floor of the car. I’m lying on leather, and my head is on his lap, his hands gentle. He wasn’t gentle a little while ago. Not with that doctor. Not with the man.

  “Shh,” he repeats, telling me over and over again that he’s here, and that I’m safe.

  I’m quiet again. Heavy. When I stop fighting it, I feel myself relax so completely it’s tempting to give over to it.

  I’m safe.

  Santiago is here. I am safe.

  The baby, though. Our baby. I try to concentrate, to mentally scan my body. I’d feel if they’d done it, wouldn’t I? If they'd taken the baby. Does Santiago know what they did? Did he arrive in time to stop it?

  An immense sadness tugs me back into a reality I can’t quite join yet as the drug continues to leave me paralyzed.

  “Shh,” Santiago starts again, repeating those same reassuring words again and again and again. I want to ask him about the baby. I need to know. But my mind is as fuzzy as my limbs are heavy, and I drift off again to the soothing sound of his voice.

  * * *

  I hear lowered voices as I begin to wake. I turn my head and breathe in a familiar scent. The pillow I’m lying on is soft and warm. His. One of the voices I hear is Santiago’s. He’s talking to another man, but I don’t recognize the other voice, and I can’t make out their words.