Hate like honey, p.21
Hate Like Honey, page 21
The captain’s tone turns hard. Stern. “Do you want them to arrest you too?”
I still at that. They easily can. For obstruction of justice or whatever flimsy reason they’ll concoct. Whatever it’ll be, they won’t dare to be as bold as to plant fucking drugs on me.
“Take her away,” Lavigne instructs his men. To me, he says, “You know where to find her. If charges are filed, you’ll need bail money.”
Sabella glances at me from over her shoulder, her eyes round and panicked as they push her toward the exit. The wind barrels inside when one of the men opens the door. She’s dressed in a sweater and leggings, for Christ’s sake. She’ll freeze out there.
I reach for her, but the captain grabs my bicep and holds me back.
“Wait,” I say, shaking off the captain’s hand and suppressing the urge to bash the men’s heads in. “She needs a jacket.”
The bastards ignore me, dragging her into the cold night farther away from me. Violence pushes up inside me as I go after them. At the bridge, the captain fists a hand in my shirt, all but tearing it in his effort to stop me.
“You can’t get her back like this,” he says in a calm voice. “Not with violence. Think with your head.”
His reasonable tone gets through to me. He’s right. There’s only one way of getting her out, and that’s not by pulling their limbs from their bodies. Sadly.
The rail is cold under my palms where I grip it as I watch them handcuff her, fucking handcuff her, before pushing her into the back of a branded police car. I’m like a grenade about to explode as the driver starts the engine and the vehicle pulls off.
“Get my phone,” I tell the captain, unwilling to look away from the car. “I left it in the cabin.”
He runs to execute the order.
I stare at the red taillights of the car as it speeds down the road with a blaring siren before turning the corner. Then, there’s only darkness. Me. Sabella gone. And I find that I can’t stand it. I can’t stand the sudden emptiness of the winter night or the anguish that eats a hole in my gut.
“Here,” the captain says, returning with my phone.
I take it without moving my gaze from the road where the second vehicle pulls off with screeching tires. I keep looking at the spot on the marina where my wife stood only a few seconds ago while dialing my lawyer with a voice command. He’ll pick up, no matter the hour. He’s in Marseille. It shouldn’t take him long to get to the station.
When the line connects, I’m already stalking to the cabin for my keys and coat, my hand shaking with rage.
Those motherfuckers. They know Sabella is out of her depth. They’re not taking her in for questioning about a complaint or for concern about her welfare. They’re taking her in to press her for information on me. And I don’t know how long she’ll last before they break her.
Chapter
Thirty-One
Sabella
* * *
The police station is a cold and miserable place with lime-green doorframes and yellowed tiles. The interrogation room is freezing cold. I’m sure it’s on purpose. So is the humiliating full body search that a female officer executes with surgical gloves and probing fingers.
She asks me to open my mouth before pushing down my tongue. Then she instructs me to bend over and touch my toes. I die a thousand deaths as she does a thorough feel-around in all my private places.
I’m shivering from cold and embarrassment when she’s done. She tells me in a neutral tone to get dressed, watching me as I do so. Her gaze slides over me until I’ve tied my laces, her expression giving nothing away. No words are exchanged and no explanations offered. She simply grabs my arm and escorts me to another room with a metal table and two chairs. A camera that sits in the corner of the ceiling is pointed toward the table. One-sided glass forms a window in the back wall.
A guard enters and handcuffs me to the table. After securing my ankles with chains, they leave and shut the door.
For a long time, nothing happens. I’m alone, shivering with cold. I’m hurting both inside and outside. The hard seat of the wooden chair doesn’t help. I breathe in and out, trying to still my violent trembling and to simply exist without thinking, but as I’m filling my lungs with the stale air that smells of urine and bleach, the time ticks by slowly, and nobody comes.
I know what they’re doing. I know why they stripped me and searched me so thoroughly. I know why they’re letting me sit here in the cold, chained to a table and the floor. They want to break me. They’re hoping I’ll cooperate when they finally come back for me, and I understand why.
The answer is Angelo Russo.
That’s why they planted the drugs on me. I’ve been an idiot to give them my coat. It’s a hard lesson, but one I learned well. I won’t make the same stupid mistake again.
After what feels like hours, the door finally opens and the man who brought me here enters with a file in his hands. I watch him closely as he crosses the floor and takes a seat. His sympathetic look doesn’t fool me. Underneath the surface, I sense his excitement.
He opens the file and studies the piece of paper that lies on top. “Mrs. Russo.” He looks up from the paper and catches my gaze. “My name is Lieutenant Lavigne. I just got the report from the officer who searched you.” He watches me with a penetrating stare. “The report states signs of abuse.”
Not making it easy for him, I raise an eyebrow and wait.
“Marks on your body that indicate a beating,” he says after a couple of seconds.
I tilt my head. “We’ve just been married.”
“Exactly.” He drops the paper and folds his hands on the table. “That doesn’t seem very romantic.”
“Yes, well, each to his own. We have different sexual preferences, if you know what I mean. Have you never tried spanking in the bedroom?” I shrug. “I suppose that’s not your taste.”
He stares at me for a long moment before speaking again. “I’m not a fool, Mrs. Russo. I know who Angelo Russo is and where he comes from.” He leans back with a self-satisfied grin. “I also did a little search on you and where you are from. You come from a prestigious family with ties in high places. It seems very unlikely for someone of your standing to marry a person like Mr. Russo out of your own free will.”
My laugh is nervous despite the confidence I’m striving for. “I don’t think it’s your job to make assumptions. Isn’t your job gathering facts?”
He continues as if he hasn’t heard me. “I’m going to offer you a way out. Give me information on Angelo Russo, any evidence that will help me to put him away, and all your problems will be solved. When he’s behind bars, you can divorce him and go home.”
Wow. I didn’t expect him to be so direct. I suppose he has limited time. He must know Angelo is most probably trying to bail me out as we speak. Not because my husband cares about me. He just wants to make sure I don’t talk.
He crosses his arms. “It’s something to consider—your freedom.”
If only he knew. I don’t dare open my mouth. Ever. It won’t bear well for Ryan or my family who are accomplices in murder. No, I’m stuck. I’m in this marriage for better or worse, for as long as I live, and judging by the way it’s going, it’s leaning toward the worse end of the scale.
“Mrs. Russo.” He sighs. “I’m going to put Angelo Russo behind bars if it’s the last thing I do. There are only two sides in this war. You better make sure you choose the right one. Silence makes you guilty too. When the time comes to lock him away for life, you don’t want to share that sentence.”
“Is that why you planted the drugs on me?” I ask, looking straight at the camera. “So that you could drag me down here to offer me a deal?”
He only smiles. “Take a little time to think about it.” Leaning forward, he says in a tone soft enough not to be caught on the recording, “I’ll be back for you.”
The threat hangs between us, our breaths making white puffs as the words dissipate into the frigid air. The promise feels like a noose around my neck, and the rope is in Lieutenant Lavigne’s hands. Is he bluffing? I can’t get a read on him. There’s no way of telling.
Taking a business card from the pocket of his padded jacket, he pins it with a finger on the table and slides it toward me. “That’s my number. Memorize it. You can call me when you have an answer or information.” He adds in a dark tone, “Or anytime you need my help.”
I look from the card to his face. “Your help? After what you just did, what makes you think I’ll ever trust you?”
“Your husband has a reputation. Let’s just say he has an appetite for violence. You may need me sooner than you think.”
I swallow at that, because he may be right. Only, I can never turn to him for help. I can’t turn to anyone for that matter.
The door opens with a squeak. We both turn our heads that way. A tall man in a three-piece suit carrying a briefcase in his hand enters. His dark-blond hair and pale blue eyes remind me of Colin. My chest tightens at the thought of my friend and how I left him. I hope he’s all right. I wish I could check on him. I wish I could call Ryan and make sure they’re fine.
The newcomer glances briefly at me before settling his gaze on the lieutenant. “I’m Gervais Laurent, Mr. Russo’s lawyer. I’ll be representing Mrs. Russo. What are the charges?”
Lieutenant Lavigne faces me squarely, his signature smile curving his lips. “No charges.” He adds with emphasis, “This time.”
Mr. Laurent’s manner is business-like. “Unlock her hands and feet. If Mrs. Russo has been maltreated, you’ll hear from me again.”
“Oh, she has,” the lieutenant says. “But not by us.”
Mr. Laurent ignores the comment. He waits for Lieutenant Lavigne to uncuff me and to remove the chains from my ankles. When I’m free, Mr. Laurent takes my arm and helps me to stand. I’m grateful for the support. My body is stiff after sitting for so long, and my legs are uncooperative. I feel cold and brittle from the lack of blood circulation, and by the time the lawyer guides me into the lobby of the station, my teeth are chattering.
The space is crowed with people, but Angelo immediately draws my gaze. He’s a head taller than everyone, his black hair shining under the flickering lights. Even if he didn’t stand out because of his height, the fury rolling off him in waves would’ve caught my attention. Quiet violence glimmers in the depths of his dark eyes.
The people clear a path as he comes toward me with long, powerful strides. He carries my coat in one hand and a travel mug in the other. His gaze drills into mine, a thousand turbulent emotions transmitted as he hands Mr. Laurent the mug and helps me to pull on the coat, but not a word is said. Not here. I understand that.
Angelo holds my gaze as he buttons up the coat. I don’t make sense of all those emotions. I do however register the questions burning in his eyes.
Did I talk?
Did I break?
Did I betray him?
These questions are the only explanation for the cold, silent anger that pulsates around him.
He drapes an arm around my shoulders and pulls me into the warmth and protection of his body. Shielding me against him, he leads me outside as fast as my feet allow.
He stops on the pavement, takes the mug from Mr. Laurent, and puts it in my hand. “Chamomile tea with honey. It’s warm.”
I’m grateful for his foresight as I drink the hot, sweet tea. It warms my stomach, helping to dispel some of the cold. I’m thirsty and my throat is still sore. The relief when I swallow is instantaneous. Even though my pride doesn’t want me to take any comfort from him, I’m too exhausted and frozen to argue with myself or to refuse.
I take small sips, trying to make the treat last as Angelo walks me to a waiting car. He opens the backdoor and helps me inside. The interior is warm. The engine is running, and the heater is on. A driver turns in his seat and greets me in French. I don’t manage more than a nod.
Angelo shuts the door. He exchanges a few words with Mr. Laurent before coming around the car and getting in beside me. Once he’s buckled first my safety belt and then his, the driver takes off.
I lean my head on the backrest and turn my face toward the window, noting the lights that blur into a continuous line as we speed toward the city, but I don’t take in the sight. Not really.
“Sabella.” Angelo grips my face, the fingers of his large hand splayed over my cheeks as he forces me to look at him. “Did you tell them anything?”
“You can relax.” I sag deeper into the seat, exhaustion stealing over me. “You’re safe.”
The muscles in his jaw bunch, creating hollows under his high cheekbones in the shadows that play over his handsome features under the fast-shifting lights. Such a beautiful face. An angel’s face. I can never forget he has the heart of a devil.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he says, brushing a thumb over my jaw. “I had no idea Lavigne was going to play that dirty.”
“It’s over.”
I tremble when I think about the lie. It’ll never be over. Not for me. Lieutenant Lavigne and Angelo have one thing in common. They’re both determined. Neither of them is going to let me go. This is only the beginning. I try to pull free, but Angelo doesn’t let me escape his touch or his piercing gaze.
Holding fast, he stares into my eyes. Too deeply. Seeing too much. “I should kill him.” Then softer, more seriously, “I will.”
Stiffening at the sound of that word on his lips, that single, small word that can decide a man’s fate, I glance in the driver’s direction. Angelo throws that threat around as if he’s a god, as if it’s his right to say who lives and who dies.
“Don’t worry.” Angelo finally sets me free. “He’s on my payroll.”
The driver, he means.
My face burns where his fingers branded me. “Nothing happened.” I finish the last of the tea and stare through the window again. “Just let it go.”
“Nothing?” Anger slips into his voice. “You call what happened to you nothing?”
“Please.” I turn my face to him with a beseeching look. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
A muscle ticks in his temple, but he drops the subject. For now, at least.
We carry on driving deeper into the city. I can’t even bring myself to ask him where we’re going. At this point, it doesn’t really matter. Anyway, I can change my destination as little as I can change my fate. What’s waiting for me can’t be worse than how my wedding day started and ended. My wedding night must be the worst night of my life, excluding that fatal early winter evening when Angelo killed my dad. But I can’t think about that now. If I do, I’ll break down, and I need to hold on to my strength, even if only for appearances. I don’t want to show Angelo how shaken I am. He’ll only exploit my weakness.
The driver pulls up in front of a luxury hotel. Angelo gets out and opens my door. He extends his hand, but I ignore the offer of assistance. Does he take no for an answer? Never. Not Angelo. That word doesn’t exist in his vocabulary. Locking his fingers around my wrist, he helps me from the car whether I want him to or not.
A memory of the day we met flashes through my mind, how his eyes had flared when I’d said no to him. I should’ve known then, but I was young and inexperienced. Falling in love. Falling for the wrong man. That man took my heart, and he never returned it. There’s no hope of ever getting it back, because the man I gave my love to is an illusion. The man who holds my affections in a beautiful prison constructed of never-ending pain is nothing but a pretty pretense. He’s like a character from a book, and I’m the fool who bought into the story. I can never get back what I gave him, not my virtue and not my innocence. None of my firsts. Least of all my love. I gave that to a man who doesn’t exist, and that’s a bitter pill to swallow.
As I don’t have a say, I simply let it happen, let things unfold. My control is limited, and the war stretches a lifetime ahead of me. I have to choose my battles wisely.
The coat he provided is warm, but I can’t stop shivering. The frost inside me refuses to melt. While the driver takes two travel bags from the trunk, Angelo removes his own coat and hangs it over my shoulders too. His smell wraps around me like a favorite memory, cedar and citrus bringing me comfort despite myself. I cling to the false sense of safety, clutching the edges of the coat together as if I’m hanging on to it for dear life.
Angelo guides me inside, holding me under the hollow of his arm while the driver carries the bags. We bypass the reception and walk straight to the elevators. Angelo must’ve already checked in.
As we wait for the elevator, he smiles down at me and tilts his head toward the mug in my hand. His tone is uncharacteristically soft. “Finished?”
I nod.
He takes the mug and pulls me inside when the doors open. The driver follows with the bags. Angelo obviously doesn’t trust the hotel staff with his luggage. After what just happened, I can’t blame him.
We get out on the top floor. He unlocks the first door with a keycard and holds onto me as he brings me inside a spacious lounge. The room is richly decorated in beige and gold. The style is baroque. The driver drops the bags in the adjoining room and leaves. Only when we’re alone does Angelo drop his arm and give me space.
Stepping sideways, I hug myself. He watches me, never moving his gaze from my face as he takes off his jacket and throws it over a chair.
I tense when he walks to me. He reaches out carefully but with determination. Going about it slowly, he brushes his coat from my shoulders. He catches it over his arm, searching my eyes as he lays it over his jacket before removing the coat he gave me, which fits me surprisingly well.
I stand quietly, allowing him to strip off the coat, but when he cups my face between his palms, I duck and put distance between us.
My voice is shaky. “I need a shower.” I need to wash what’s happened away.
“Of course,” he says, standing with his empty palms raised for a second before lowering his arms to his sides.
I’m glad he doesn’t ask why. I’m relieved that he gives me quiet understanding as he takes my hand and leads me through a large bedroom into a bathroom where he turns on the water in the shower.
