Chapter 14
The door swung open to reveal a scene straight from a nightmare.
The room was dimly lit, concrete walls bare except for metal hooks drilled into the ceiling. From one of these hooks hung a man–suspended upside down by his ankles, arms dangling uselessly toward the floor.
Beneath him sat Jules on a simple wooden chair, his pristine white shirt now splattered with crimson droplets. A metal pipe rested casually across his lap. The man hanging had a burlap sack over his head, but I could hear his muffled whimpers even from the doorway.
Jules looked up, his expression brightening when he saw me. “Hey Monica, you’re here.” He gestured around the room with an apologetic smile. “Sorry for the gore. Hope you don’t mind.”
I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “What’s going on here?”
Jules stood, running a hand through his hair. “I promised you’d know more about me as days pass. That you’d know everything about me.” He tapped the metal pipe against the hanging man’s shoulder, causing him to flinch violently. “And eventually if me saving you was a coincidence or not. Well, this right here-” he pointed the pipe at the hanging figure “-this right here is a part of me.”
I remained silent, studying the scene before me. Strange as it was, this wasn’t entirely new territory. My father, Bill Wells, had deep connections to the underworld. I’d always suspected, always known on some level, but never witnessed it firsthand.
Jules was clearly part of that world too. Maybe even Mafia. It would explain how he’d killed multiple people without consequences, how doors opened for him everywhere, how he commanded such respect and fear. A normal person could never get away with what he did.
Instead of running, I walked toward him. “Who is this?”
Jules chuckled, his eyes gleaming with something like admiration. “You’d know. Although I’m very impressed that you’re composed even after seeing this.”
I shrugged, trying to appear more nonchalant than I felt. “It isn’t a surprise when I’ve seen you shoot people.” I moved toward the hanging person, my hand,reaching for the edge of the sack. “May I?”
Jules nodded, watching me intently as I pulled the burlap away.
I stumbled back, not at the identity of the man–I’d half–expected it to be Hank–but at the condition of his face. It was so badly beaten that it barely resembled the man I’d spent six years with. His features were swollen beyond recognition, one eye blackened shut, the other wild with terror and pain. Blood matted his hair and crusted around his split lips.
Through his one functioning eye, Hank saw me. Recognition dawned in that bloodshot orb, and he began to thrash against his restraints.
“Monica!” His voice was garbled through broken teeth. “Please! Help me! Make him stop!”
I felt nothing. No pity, no remorse, no satisfaction. Just emptiness where my love for him had once been.
I turned to Jules, who was watching my reaction carefully.
4eaving my life behind I became the Mofe Quee
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“I’ll do whatever you want me to do to him,” Jules said softly. “I’ve gotten my pent–up anger out
I’m at peace now.”
I considered the broken man hanging before me. “Where’s Lola?”
“I only kidnapped him,” Jules replied. “She’s been calling his phone non–stop for the past hour.”
An idea formed in my mind. “Where’s his phone?”
Jules nodded toward a small table against the wall. I walked over and picked up Hank’s phone, noting the dozens of missed calls from Lola.
I turned back to Hank. “What’s your password?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Lola,” he croaked.
A bitter laugh escaped me as I typed in her name. The phone unlocked immediately, revealing their text conversation. My finger hovered over the camera icon.
“Don’t-” Hank began, but I was already positioning myself beside his hanging form.
I snapped a selfie, making sure to capture my smiling face alongside his brutalized one. Then I sent it to Lola with the caption: *Hope you’re proud of your man now.*
It felt like sweet revenge–petty, perhaps, but satisfying. I watched as the message delivered, imagining her horror when she opened it.
Hank began to sob. “Monica, please. I’m sorry. Tell him to let me go.”
I studied him for a long moment. This pathetic, hanging man had once been my world. He’d shared my bed, my home, my dreams. And he’d thrown it all away for Lola, then had the audacity to call me a “used whore” in public.
But I was done with him. Done with the anger, the hurt, the desire for revenge. I just wanted him gone from my life.
“Let him go,” I said to Jules.
Jules raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”
I nodded. “I’m sure.”
Jules snapped his fingers, and two men entered from a side door I hadn’t noticed. They began working on the ropes binding Hank’s ankles.
stepped close to Hank’s face. “Never interfere with my life again. Understand?”
He nodded frantically, tears and blood mingling on his swollen cheeks.
Jules placed his hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward the exit as his men took care of Hank. We walked in silence through the abandoned school and back to the waiting car. Once inside, I crossed my arms and pouted. “Thank you again. I wonder when I’ll hear that from
you.”
Jules chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Thank you for being this beautiful.”
felt heat rise to my cheeks and playfully hit his arm. The tension of the moment broke, replaced by something lighter, sweeter.
Looking at him now–this dangerous, powerful man who had beaten my ex–boyfriend to a pulp yet could make me blush with a simple compliment–I realized how quickly he’d become mportant to me. How in just a few days, he’d gone from stranger to protector to something
Chapter 14
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much more.
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“Hmm,” I said, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between us.
“I might have started to really like you.”
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