Filthy Savage: Chapter 11

I pour myself a glass of bourbon, leaning into the leather chair in the underground casino we run. When I toss it back, the liquid burns down my throat, not alleviating the rage, which grows with each damn day.

My little rabbit has been gone for three weeks. I swear not being able to find her is going to kill me. And every fucking day, I lose even more of my sanity.

But I know I’m gonna find her. No matter how long it takes.

She will be mine.

There’s a knock on the door, and I know it’s one of my men here to bring a gift. A gift I can take all my aggression out on. Who better on than the guy selling crack in my casino?

“Come in.”

The door opens, and my two guys are dragging a beaten-up, sorry son of a bitch, blood dripping from his mouth.

“Ah, finally.”

They drop him on the ground while I start undoing my cuffs.

“So…” I drag my sleeves up, kneeling before the whimpering, pathetic asshole. “You thought you could come to our club and sell here?”

“I—I’m sorry, man. I made a mistake. I—I—I didn’t know it was Mob territory.”

Cracking my neck, I let out a long sigh, heading toward the closet behind the desk. When I return with a black case and drop it on the floor beside him, he cries.

My body jerks with a dry chuckle. “I’m gonna spend the next hour teaching you not to shit where we eat.”

When I remove a hammer, he tries to get to his feet, but my men push him back down.

“Now, are you a righty or a lefty?”

I swing the hammer in my grasp, seeing her face in my head. Those gorgeous eyes I’ve been dying to get lost in for the past twenty-one fucking days.

But she left. She fucking left, and I can’t seem to find her.

With a roar, I swing the hammer down, crushing his right hand. His scream only feeds my fury.

“P-p-p-please, no-no more!” he wails.

While he begs, I drop the hammer on the floor and remove a knife from my desk, running a hand through my hair.

My eyes shut, and I see her, the way she lay in my arms that night as I held her.

Reaching into my pocket, I squeeze her panties. I carry them with me at all times like a damn lunatic. I ball my hand, heart hammering.

Fuck, I need to kill something.

“Pry his mouth open.”

My men do as they’re told while he fights them, both of his eyes so bruised, I’m surprised he can see at all. When the men have him held down, I grip his tongue and slice it off.

Blood. So much of it, yet all I want is more.

Need to hurt someone else.

That woman has fucking ruined me!

And until I find her, this is what I’ve become: a madman riddled with an obsession he can’t escape.

AMARA

“You should go home,” Kerry, my boss at the café, says as I head out from the restroom.

The nausea hit me out of nowhere today, and I can’t seem to stop hurling into the toilet.

But I can’t go home. I have to work. We need the money, and I have to pay Emily back for the plane ticket. I refuse to use the money Fionn left me. It’s only for real emergencies, and this isn’t one.

“No, I’m fine.” I clear my throat, but as soon as I do, I rush into the bathroom again.

“You’re going home, and that’s final,” I hear her say. “And take tomorrow off too.”

Great. I probably picked up a virus.

Washing my face, I head for my locker to grab my handbag, seeing a missed text from Emily.

Ten minutes later, and I’m in her car, her eyes assessing me with pity.

“You look like shit, and I mean that in the nicest way possible.”

“Thanks so much.” I throw my head back. “I don’t know what’s going on with me.”

“Maybe we should go to a clinic to check for the flu or something. It’s going around.”

“I don’t feel like I have the flu.”

She accelerates her BMW, a new car her parents got her, turning a corner as she glances at me for a second. “You never know. I’d rather you be careful.”

“I think I just need sleep.”

She huffs. “You need a doctor. Not gonna have you dying on me.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Really? Need I remind you how Sierra died? Hmm?”

“No,” I mutter.

But not everyone’s flu develops into pneumonia, which then kills them. Her best friend from childhood, whom I never met, is why she has become paranoid when people get sick, so I’m willing to go just to appease her. She’s been a great friend. My only friend. I don’t have a way to pay her back for all the times she’s helped me, but I can do this.

“Fine, I’ll go. But only because I love you.”

She grins, her brown hair swinging in her short ponytail.

I hope there’s no copay for this. But of course there will be. I can use Fionn’s money for that, though.

“If you feel better tomorrow, maybe we can do dinner.”

I really don’t want to. I don’t have money to throw away like that, and I don’t want her paying for me like she usually does.

“There are a few new people from school I wanted to introduce you to,” she continues, ignorant to my inner turmoil.

“Why?”

She’s in college, making friends, while I’m here working a shitty job, knowing I’ll never get the opportunity to do the same. I realized long ago that no matter what, my mother would find a way to keep me from going to college.

“Why?” She glares at me like I’ve grown two heads. “What do you mean, why? Because I want us all to be friends.”

“I have you. I don’t need anyone else.”

She rolls her eyes. “Stop your shit. Whenever you feel better, I’ll plan something. You’ll love Lilith and Patricia. They’re cool.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so.” She smacks my knee playfully, blowing a big breath, her expression crestfallen.

“What is it, Em?” I sit up straighter.

“I just…I just hate this for you, you know? You should’ve been in college with me.” She scoffs. “Your mother ruined it all.”

She ruined a lot of things.

Pain hits my chest when I think about Max. He’s still nowhere to be found. We’ve looked at every shelter. Asked every person we can. But there’s still no word.

Tears burn my eyes, but I push them away. I’ll never stop looking for him, but every day, the hope dwindles away.

She pulls up at a clinic, heading in with me. Someone at the front desk checks us in, and we settle in the waiting area. My foot bounces the entire twenty minutes until they’re calling me inside.

“Ms. Edwards,” a nurse greets me. “What brought you here today?”

“I’m nauseous and have been throwing up all day.”

“When did it start?” She types on her tablet, glancing up at me.

“Today. I’m sure I’m fine. Maybe I ate something bad.”

“Can you check her for the flu or strep?” Emily intercepts.

“My throat doesn’t even hurt.” I stare at her, mouthing shut up while she rolls her eyes at me.

The nurse laughs. “I’ll let the doctor decide that. She’ll be in to see you in just a moment.”

Once she leaves, I look over at Em. “Seriously? Strep?”

She shrugs. “Better safe than sorry.”

The door opens again, and a woman no older than my mother walks in, the same nurse behind her.

“Hello. I’m Doctor Evans. I’ve heard we haven’t been feeling well.” She looks over at the notes on the screen of her own tablet.

“Yes. Maybe some anti-nausea meds will help.”

“Well, let’s run some tests to get to the root of the problem first.”

“Thank you!” Emily scoffs in that I told you so way, and I roll my eyes at her.

The doctor checks my ears and throat, then makes sure my breathing is good before she makes more notes. “Let’s take a urine sample and do a throat and nose swab to rule out the flu, strep, or COVID.”

The nurse proceeds with that and sends me to the restroom with a cup. After I’m done, I place it in the designated slot and return to the office.

“We’ll wait for urine and the other test results and be back,” the doctor tells us while I grow more irritated.

This is a waste of time. I’m not sick.

“What’s the urine for?” I wonder.

“Oh, we just want to make sure you’re not pregnant.”

A laugh swells. “I’m definitely not pregnant. There was always protection.”

“Well, that’s not always a guarantee, so we want to make sure.” They start to head out. “We’ll return in a bit.”

Once they’re both out, I snap my head to Emily.

“Pregnant?” I whisper. “Are they serious?”

“Well, when is your period due?”

I scan my brain, forgetting when the last one was. I’m not that great at keeping track, and sometimes my cycle is all over the place.

“Crap. I don’t know. But I used a condom with Xander.”

“And Fionn?” She raises a brow.

“Him too.”

She pulls out her phone, typing something before looking up. “According to Doctor Google, condoms are ninety-eight percent effective at preventing pregnancy when used correctly, whatever the fuck that means, but for most people, it says it’s eighty-five percent effective.”

My shoulders sag. “Fan-fucking-tastic.”

If I’m pregnant, there’s no way I can keep it. I can barely feed myself, let alone a child. Not like Xander will want anything to do with it.

It could be Fionn’s.

Oh my God. It could be Fionn’s.

Okay, I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m definitely not pregnant. Just have a stomach bug, that’s all.

The doctor returns, and my pulse slams in my ears. Once I notice her serious expression though, nausea hits me again.

Oh, no.

“Well, it looks like you are pregnant.”

“What! No. The test has to be wrong. I used a condom. I always use a condom.”

“Well, they don’t protect from pregnancy one hundred percent.”

“Oh God.” My face falls into my palms.

“It’s gonna be okay.” Emily curls her arms around me.

“We’ll leave you to it,” the doctor says. “Take your time. But I do suggest making an appointment with your gynecologist.”

“She will. Thanks, Doc.” Emily tightens her arms around me while tears fill my eyes.

I can’t have a baby. I’m not cut out to be a mother. I’ve never had one to show me what to do or how to be one. I took care of myself.

On top of that, if I keep this baby, I’ll have to move. How will I afford that?

But there’s no other option. I won’t raise my baby with my mother. I won’t allow her to grow up the way I did. That’s nonnegotiable.

She will have more.

AGE 8

“Mommy, I’m hungry.”

She laughs with her new boyfriend. He pours white powder on the table and sniffs it.

“Mommy!” I shout, my stomach growling again.

I had a few slices of bread yesterday and some cookies I found where she keeps her snacks.

“What?!” she shouts, grabbing her boyfriend by the back of the neck and kissing him. When she pulls away, she stares at me. “So go eat! What the fuck do you want from me?”

“We don’t have anything in the fridge.”

“So go make something! My God, do I have to do everything?”

You do nothing.

I don’t say that. I just walk back to the kitchen and figure out what to eat. Opening some cupboards, I find a box of ziti.

I’ve never made pasta before, but how hard can it be? She’s done it.

There are pots under the oven, so I grab one and fill it with some water, then pour the pasta into it. Carefully turning on the stove, I wait ten minutes like the box says, watching the water bubble.

If I can cook, maybe they’ll let me live by myself. What do I need her for?

When I hear them making noises, those kinds of noises, I rush to my room down the hall and grab my earplugs. At least they work.

When the food is done, I grab a fork and throw some pasta on a paper plate, eating on the floor in silence.

It would be nice to have a table. But Mom sold ours.