Darkness Before Dawn Page 2

  Alex gives me a long thoughtful look before he shakes his head slowly and looks at his feet. He doesn't apologize, but he makes me feel it. The washer timer goes off and I force myself to get up and tend to it.

  "I'm leaving. Watch her 'round the clock. I don't care what you gotta do outside of here, cancel. Tell Jamie you got something else to do and let someone else handle it for you," Alex says before walking away.

  "Got it," Dean replies with a nod.

  The next morning, I'm awakened by the sound of clattering dishes nearby. I sit up, startled, when I see Dean standing in my room holding a tray. I'm surprised that he changed into a pair of jeans and a black leather jacket. I don't know where I figured he would be staying, but since he's supposed to watch me around the clock, I didn't think he would go home. For some reason the thought of him going home in the middle of the night bothers me.

  "Sorry, chick. I knocked and called out for you, but you never answered. Brought you food," he says as he puts the tray down on the floor beside me. I nod in appreciation and am once again thankful, when I watch his eyes trail down my body, that they provide me with clothes that fully cover me.

  He clears his throat. "Not much to do here, huh?" he asks, averting his eyes to survey the empty room. The only thing here is the mattress and a tiny television that sits on the floor across from me. It gets three channels and I stopped watching it when the news came on, showing a picture of me and Cole last Christmas. The reporter said the authorities were losing hope in the search for my body, as if they assumed I was dead. After that, I decided that I'd rather not know when they were calling off the search. It's not like they would ever find me here anyway. Not that I know where I am, but I know it's not easy to find. That much is obvious from all of the illegal drug activity going on right outside this door.

  I shrug before placing the tray on my lap. "Guess not."

  I can feel Dean watching me as I eat and my chewing begins to slow. I put my fork town and wipe my clammy hand over my sweats, my eyes searching the eggs and eyeing the orange juice.

  "What's wrong?" he asks, his face scrunched in confusion when I look at him.

  "Why are you looking at me?" I ask, irritated.

  His eyes widen, registering my insinuation. "You think I put something in your food?" he asks incredulously.

  "You say that like it's impossible," I scoff with an eye roll.

  His scowl deepens and he shakes his head slowly. "I can't believe you still don't trust me."

  My jaw unhinges. "I can't believe you expect me to!"

  He draws an O with his lips as he lets out a slow breath. "I guess I can't, but I would never put something in your food."

  "So why are you staring at me?" I ask, picking up my fork to play with the eggs that I so badly want to finish eating.

  The side of his mouth turns upward. "Just trying to figure something out."

  I inhale and exhale a breath before I continue eating. I groan when I find that he's still staring at me.

  "Well, figure it out and stop looking at me!" I snap.

  He laughs a little and I glower at him, refusing to share his amusement over my annoyance.

  "Oh, chick. You're actually pretty cute when you're upset."

  I roll my eyes and take a sip of juice. "Why are you even here? With these people?" I ask in a whisper and watch his eyes widen in surprise.

  Dean doesn't seem like he belongs with Benny or Alex or even any of the men that work outside my door every day. He just seems like a regular guy. He's oddly mysterious, but he still seems like a regular guy that I would see around school. I just don't get it.

  "I..." He clears his throat. "They're family," he replies with a casual shrug.

  My lips twist in disgust. "My condolences."

  His answering grin makes his face light up and I catch myself staring at it before I remind myself who he is and snap the hell out of it. He may be nice to me, but I don't know what he's capable of. I know he's capable of stalking me, and I know he was okay with Alex and Benny taking me before he found out "who I was"—whatever that means.

  "They're not all bad," he says after a couple of seconds of us looking at each other. "Benny and Alex are just more fucked up than the rest of them."

  "Well, you kidnapped me," I retort with a raised eyebrow.

  "No, I didn't. I watched you, I didn't actually take you," he replies slowly.

  My mind drifts back to that day. I was in the park enjoying the spring breeze while reading Cole's letter. Text messaging Cole and getting his response before getting up and walking away without a care in the world, then hearing gunshots at a distance and people screaming.

  "Did you kill my bodyguard?" I ask quietly. Every time I replay what happened in my head, I wonder what the hell happened to him. Those shots I heard must have been aimed at him.

  Dean exhales and shakes his head. "Bruce? Contrary to what you probably think of me, I don't kill for anybody."

  I avert my eyes from his and let his words saunter in my head for a while before I look at him again.

  "How do you know his name?" I ask quietly.

  "I know everybody in your life, Blake," he replies slowly.

  I'm not really surprised by that. He did follow me around, after all. He was bound to see me with everyone I was around, but I wonder just how much he knows about me that he's not letting out. He may know more about me than I do. In fact, I know he does, and although that scares me, I think I'm more terrified of finding out more information about myself. That's what got me here in the first place, my constant need to solve this puzzle. I decide to steer this subject in his direction instead.

  "Are you like...a mobster?" I ask, my eyebrows knitting together.

  His laugh answers my question. "I...oh shit, I don't even know how to...you don't want me to answer that," he says in between laughs.

  His carefree laugh makes my blood boil and the fact that I keep staring at his mouth while he does it makes me even angrier.

  "Who's Sarah?" I ask, cutting his laughter short. He narrows his eyes at me and leans forward. I instinctively clutch on to the sheets under me and rock my body back. He looks from my hands to my face and shakes his head, his eyes full of remorse.

  "I would never hit you, chick. I swear I won't. Sarah's...she's just an ex-girlfriend of mine. Long story," he says quietly before leaning back.

  "Forget I asked," I mumble. It's not like I want to make small talk with this criminal.

  "It's cool. Like I said...you really shouldn't be here, but I don't know how to get you out. Shit is really fucking complicated around here, in case you haven't figured that out yet."

  "Why can't you...can't you sneak me out while he's away?" I ask, trying not to sound as hopeful as I feel.

  "Hell no. I wanna help you, not get myself killed!" he scoffs.

  I blink at him. "They'd kill you? But you just said they're your family!"

  A bitter laugh escapes him before he says, "Yeah...family. Family means everything and nothing to people like Benny. These people have your back until you fuck up, chick. It's an eye for an eye out there. You cross them—you die."

  I get lost in a trance, pondering his words. I wonder who has the vendetta against my supposed family. Is it Alex or is it Benny? And who's ultimately in charge of my fate in all of this? I know that if Benny is the one in charge, I am royally screwed because he clearly hates me beyond anything I've ever seen before. He acts as though I killed his dog or something. Alex doesn't like me either, he'd rather not look at me at all. It just doesn't seem fair that I would have to pay for something that people I don't even know did to them over twenty years ago. Not only that, they seem convinced that my father, who is supposedly alive, and his people, are going to want me back. But why would he? Why would any of them want me back? If they did, wouldn't they have looked for me years ago? I mull over these thoughts as I drift to sleep, hoping I'm wrong and that they do want me and do believe I'm alive. Because the only thing I know without a doubt is that whoever th
ey are, they're the only ones keeping me alive. Just like Cole is the only one keeping me sane.

  I rub my eyes and stretch with a yawn, rolling over to look for Cole until I feel the cold of the sheets beside me. When I open my eyes I realize I'm not home but still trapped in this hell. The voices coming from outside the door confirm it. The light that seeps in from under the door is the only thing brightening the room a little. Sitting up, I try to listen closely, hoping to make out who's here before heading to the bathroom. I step into the bathroom and close the door, locking the dread behind me before leaning against it and sliding down to the floor. My eyes jump from one tiny white tile to the other and I look around at the bathroom that has become my sanctuary. I examine my arms and notice that the bruises are slowly disappearing. Thanks to Dean's daily visits, Benny hasn't been able to lay a hand on me. I finally gather the strength to pick up my lethargic body and head straight to the shower, peeling off my clothes on the way. I stand below the water before it gets too cold, not that it's warm to begin with. As I lather my hair, my mind drifts to my loved ones, as it always does. I wonder what Cole is doing today, how he's coping. How Aubry's doing and whether Becky and Greg have gone to visit them. So many questions that I don't have the answers to, and the longer I'm here, the less likely that I will.

  Sitting under the shower head, I bring my knees up to my chest and let the water prickle my back as I watch it drain away the soap and tears. I close my eyes and think of Maggie and Aunt Shelley, the women I leaned on during the most important years of my life. I haven't let myself think of either one of them in a long time, not wanting to experience the pain of losing them again, but I can't help it as I wonder what they would do in this situation, what kind of advice they would provide me with. They were so caring, so patient, so resilient. Even in her last days, Aunt Shelley never let me see her break down, not once.

  Loud pounding on the bathroom door breaks me from my daydream, and I get up quickly to turn off the water and get out of the shower. The pounding on the door continues until I yell out that I'm almost done. Once I'm dressed, I take a deep breath and decide that I will not let them break me; I won't let my family down. I open the door and see Dean on the other side, wearing a plaid blue button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, jeans, and black boots. His dark hair is perfectly styled, and even the shadow of a beard looks pretty good on him. My eyes trail down his slim body and stay glued to the tattoos I see on his left forearm, until his chuckle brings me to meet his twinkling hazel eyes.

  "Well, this is a change," he says, the side of his mouth forming in a slight smile.

  "What is?" I ask, crinkling my eyebrows.

  "You. Checking me out instead of glaring at me," he says as a slow smile spreads on his face.

  My mouth pops open for a moment before I recover my thoughts. "I was not checking you out! I was trying to figure out what your tattoo is. There's a difference. Besides, you're not in your uniform today. It's weird to see you wearing grown up clothes." He doesn't really wear a uniform, but most of the time he's dressed in jeans, a white T-shirt and a leather jacket.

  He shakes his head. "If you say so." I can hear the disbelief in his voice and it makes me want to throw something at him.

  I roll my eyes. "Do you have another magazine for me?"

  He's been bringing me magazines to help my boredom. I have to hide them whenever Alex comes to check up on me just in case, but that's a small price to pay for entertainment. I may not know what's going on in the world, but I know which celebrity couples are together and what the latest trend fashion is. So far, Drew Barrymore got married and Jessica Simpson had a baby. Maybe if I had kept up with gossip before, this would be exciting for me to know, but frankly, I don't give a damn. I sigh dreamily at my own thoughts as I daze off thinking of Gerald O'Hara. God, I need to get the fuck out of here! You know it's bad when you're daydreaming of an old dead guy.

  "You're such a pain in the ass," Dean says with a laugh, and then suddenly stops when he sees me wipe my tears. "Shit. I was kidding, chick, you didn't have to go and cry about it." I bury my face in my hands before more sobs can escape. How pathetic am I that I can't be called a pain in the ass without crying? Once I calm down, I wipe my face again and bring the tray onto my lap, avoiding his gaze.

  "So, you don't like being called a pain in the ass?" he asks quietly. I know he's trying to keep the conversation light, but I'm not in the mood for any of it.

  "No," I grumble before taking a bite of toast. "I don't like being called anything."

  He sits in front of me and watches me eat in silence. When I finish, I get up and head to the bathroom, leaving him sitting on the floor by my bed.

  I sit up on the counter and begin to draw circles over the green bruises on my calf. That's all I am these days, cuts and bruises—inside and out. I snap back to reality and hop off the counter, picking up my hair in a messy ponytail as I open the door, hoping to walk into an empty room, but Dean is still there flipping through my magazine.

  "You gonna sit here and read old gossip all day or you gonna try to help me out?"

  He raises an eyebrow. "This is new gossip and I am trying to help you out."

  As he walks over to me, I notice our difference in height. For some reason I've never noticed the way he towers over me. Probably because I'm always looking at the ground, unless I'm sitting on it. He's definitely not as tall as Cole, nothing about his physical appearance is like Cole's. Cole is tall and muscular, Dean is tall and lean. Cole has more of a playboy face, whereas Dean is more of a rugged pretty boy. The only thing they have in common is that swagger, or spark that some guys have. The one that draws you to them, even though you know in the back of your mind that you will get burned once you get too close. When he leans close to me, I take in his scent of nicotine and cinnamon before he hands me the magazine, making me flinch a little.

  He holds my stare as we both grip either side of the magazine. "Chill out, I'm not gonna hurt you, chick."

  "You are hurting me," I whisper as I sit down on the bed and look down at the magazine. It looks blurry through my eyes, so I can't make out who's on the cover of this one. He cups his hand under my chin and lifts my face to look at him, but I turn out of his hold. "Don't touch me, please."

  He exhales heavily. "I'm sorry about your sucky situation, and I'm sorry you're the one that has to deal with the mess others have made."

  "I just wish I knew why this was happening to me," I say quietly as I stare at my chipped red nail polish.

  "I dunno the whole story, but from what I've heard your dad screwed Benny over. Alex's beef with your dad is personal though," he says quietly.

  I take a deep shaky breath. "How did my 'dad' screw them over?" I ask, emphasizing the word that's so unfamiliar to me, just like the man himself.

  "Well, from what I've heard-"

  "Dean! I've been calling you, where's your goddamn phone?" Alex shouts as he stomps over to my room. I hide the magazines under my pillow and bring my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around myself. Dean gives me a grateful look before picking up the tray and standing.

  "I came down to bring her food," he replies to Alex, who is now standing in the threshold looking at me. I try my best not to squirm or look away from his stare.

  "Good. You can go," Alex says in a gruff voice. I close my eyes, grab a handful of the sheets beside me, and pray Dean stays a little while longer.

  "I'll see you, chick," Dean says, looking at me with regret in his eyes. I nod in response and watch him walk out, leaving me alone with Alex.

  Alex looks at me for a long time, his eyes drifting all over my face until they settle on my eyes.

  I take a fourth gulp of whiskey and welcome the burn in the back of my throat, praying that numbness engulfs my pain soon. The camera flashes that bolt through the windows remind me that four drinks isn't going to be enough to hold me off tonight. I can't believe I agreed to come to this shit; the last thing I wanted to do was fly out of Chicago, but attending a
social event takes the freaking cake. People would've understood if I would've skipped out on the event, but Greg was acting like a little bitch, begging me to come with him because Becky couldn't make it. After two years of trying and failing, she got some in-vitro treatment done and finally got pregnant. Unfortunately, she's been having a rough first trimester, and Blake's kidnapping hasn't helped her stress level.

  I put down the glass and run my hands over my buzz cut and rough beard, before picking it back up and drinking what's left. To say that I'm going fucking crazy without her would be the understatement of the century. I went back to work two weeks after she disappeared thinking that I could use the distraction, but I couldn't. I had to take a leave of absence and I don't know if I ever want to go back. I don't know if I can.

  "Yo, what's up?" Greg asks, stirring me out of my angry daze. He's holding a beer bottle, pointing at my hand with his pinky.

  I look down and growl when I realize that I shattered the glass in my hand. I clean up, tossing the broken glass into the tiny ass garbage can next to me, before getting napkins and wiping the blood from my hands.

  "Shit. Does it hurt?" Greg asks as he examines my hand.

  I shrug. "Not enough." He exhales and shakes his head. "You ready?" I ask before he says anything else.

  He nods once and takes a deep breath, stretching his neck the way he does before he goes on the field. I know he's mentally preparing himself to deal with my wrath in public. I heard him on the phone with Becky last night and from what I gathered, she was coaching him on how to handle me. As if I'm some kind of wild animal or something.

  As soon as we step out of the limo, the camera lights start flashing. Greg turns to me. "You know you don't have to talk about anything, right? If they ask you questions, just ignore them, or let me handle it."

  I shake my head. "Let them ask. Maybe it'll help." The authorities are calling Blake's kidnapping a disappearance, as in she left without leaving a trace. They're saying there were no eyewitnesses around that saw her being taken. They even had the audacity to ask me if maybe she was involved with somebody else and doesn't want to be found. At least the news reporters are still talking about it and speculating that it was a kidnapping, which I'm getting tired of confirming. It doesn't help that Bruce has no recollection of anything that happened that day, so at this point, I'll take any help I can get. Maybe keeping my face in the news is the right step.