Delivered (The Monster Trilogy Book 3) (3 page)

Monster (Twenty-three Years Earlier)

A squeak caught
the boy’s attention.

A squeak? Nothing in his room made a noise like that. His ears strained as he looked up from the book he was reading—Robinson Crusoe—his eyes slightly narrowed as he concentrated.

There it was again! Definitely a squeak, followed by a scurry of little feet over by his dresser. Wildlife wasn’t something Monster ever saw much of. Did he dare hope something had made it into his room? Only on the rare occasion did he not eat his meals in the room, so, even though his father had women come and clean the room thoroughly once a week while Monster exercised, crumbs were bound to be missed. Where there was spilled food, there were mice.

Monster got to his hands and knees, and peered beneath the dresser. Right at the back, a small brown mouse sat on its hind quarters, using its front paws to wash its face and ears.

A wide smile broke out across Monster’s face.

“Hey, little guy,” he said softly. “You’re cute, aren’t you?”

The mouse paused its washing at the sound of his voice and looked in his direction, its tiny black eyes alive and alert with interest.

“Well, looks like you’ve found some food,” Monster said amiably, noting the half eaten cookie which must have fallen down the back of the dresser. “If you’re going to stay for a while, you’re going to need something to drink as well.”

Monster found the mouse a thimble of water and placed it at the back of the dresser, well out of view. He tore up a sheet of paper into shreds, hoping the little creature could make a bed out of it.

When Monster’s next meal arrived, he dropped some of the potato down the sleeve of his shirt, and later deposited it for the mouse to make a meal of.

Days passed, and he grew used to having the little creature around. He’d never had a pet before—the concept of one had never even occurred to him—but now he found he enjoyed the company. Though the mouse never came too near, Monster found if he was patient, and lay on the floor with his arm out, with whatever scraps of food he’d saved from the day’s meal held between his fingertips, the mouse gradually began to venture closer. Its whiskers quivered, nose twitching as it edged nearer and nearer. When finally the mouse darted forward and snatched the food from his fingers, Monster had to stop himself jumping up and down with joy.

A couple of days later, his father sat with him in his bedroom, running through a history lesson with him. His father appeared in a warmer mood than normal, even offering Monster a hint of a smile, and ruffling the boy’s hair when he got a question right.

But then halfway through a sentence which his father was reading from a textbook, he suddenly stopped and frowned.

Monster froze, knowing exactly what he’d heard.

His father’s eyes narrowed. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what, Father?” he bluffed.

The older man didn’t respond, but sat with his head tilted to one side, like an animal himself, listening.

Please stay quiet,
Monster willed the mouse.
Just a little longer.

But the squeak came again.

His father got to his feet, stalking to the other side of the room. “What the hell are these?” He bent and picked something tiny off the floor. “Ugh. Rodent droppings. How the hell did these get in here?”

He got to his hands and knees and checked beneath the dresser. Monster’s eyes filled with tears, knowing his pet was about to be discovered. He reached beneath, but instead of coming out with the mouse, he held up some bits of bread, and the thimble with water. “What’s this, Monster? Have you been feeding something under here?”

There was no point in lying. “Yes, Father. There was a little mouse. I thought it might be hungry.”

He strode across the room and delivered a stinging blow to Monster’s ears, leaving one side ringing. “You not only keep the presence of rodents a secret, but you actually fed it with food I’ve given you? Just how much do you want to upset me, Monster? If you have one mouse, you’ll soon have hundreds. And I don’t expect to work hard to put food in your belly, only for you to give that food to a god-damned rodent!”

“I’m sorry, Father,” he said, cowering. He was worried about the repercussions of what he had done, but he was also worried about the mouse. Where was he now? He must be somewhere in the room. Monster’s brain whirred, trying to figure out a way he could get the little creature outside, to relative safety. But it was impossible. He couldn’t get himself to safety, never mind a mouse.

“Wait here,” his father snapped, as though Monster had any other choice, and stalked from the room.

Quickly, his heart pounding, he ran around the room, stopping to lie on the floor and peer beneath the furniture, trying to spot his little friend.
Where are you? Where are you?

The bedroom door opened and his father returned with something in his hand. He held it out and Monster’s heart sank.

A trap.

“No, Father. Please, it will hurt him.”

“Hurt him? It’s a god-damned pest, not a
him
!” He shoved the trap against Monster’s chest. “Here, set it up using the food you’ve been giving the damn thing. It’s about time you learned what should happen to filthy little creatures like that.”

Holding back tears, knowing they’d only make his father angrier, Monster used a piece of the saved food and put the trap under the dresser.

He wanted to move the trap, to set it off himself, but what was the use? His father would win. He always did.

Even though Monster slept that night with his hands over his ears, he woke at the sharp snap and the high-pitched squeal which cut through the dead of night. Unable to bring himself to look, he hid beneath the covers and cried himself back to sleep.

Monster (Present Day)

Monster woke to
the movement of hands at his shirt.

Instantly alert, he grabbed the arm of the hand touching him. The wrist was narrow and delicate beneath his fingers. His vision swam—the shape over him blurred—but gradually it took the shape of a woman. The blonde who had met them at the door. Once more, he felt recognition punch him in the chest—the same honey-colored, wavy hair, the same features, the fine line of her nose and jaw. The girl from his childhood would be about his age now, and that part fitted, too.

He released her wrist.

Her other hand slipped beneath his neck, and she lifted him up slightly. She reached out to pick up a glass of water from the silver trolley, and placed it to his lips. He gulped gratefully. Monster felt like he was dry from the inside out, as though his blood had been replaced with sand which grated through his veins, and his throat with paper.

When he’d drunk his fill, she gently lowered him back down and placed the glass on the tray.

Monster glanced down at his shoulder. His shirt had been removed and he was now bare-chested, with the exception of the bandage wrapped across his wound. He was relieved to see the bleeding had stopped.

He jerked his chin toward the bandage. “You did this?”

She nodded. “You were unconscious. I removed the bullet and stopped the bleeding, and stitched you up. Don’t go getting shot again anytime soon. You lost a lot of blood, and I’m not sure you’d make such a good recovery.”

“I’m not planning on it, but I can’t promise anything.”

She was staring at him, her eyes slightly narrowed. “This is going to sound crazy, but I’d swear I know you from somewhere.”

Hesitantly, she reached out and touched the side of his face. He jerked away. No one but Lily touched him with any intimacy.

“I’d be certain,” she said, “but
this
is different.”

He knew she was talking about his birthmark.

“I’m different,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“So it is you?”

He nodded.

She pressed her lips together. “You helped me once, when I was a child. You got in trouble for me so I wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“I never forgot that,” she said softly. “Your father sent me and my mother away afterward. I think my mother might have been in love with your father, for some crazy reason. She was heartbroken when we had to go and live with the Gonzalez family, but it was the best thing to happen to me. He saw I had an education, put me to work as more than just a maid.”

“Is that how you learned to treat gunshot wounds?”

“Yes.”

“Good thing for me, I guess.”

She smiled. “I guess so.”

Monster carefully pushed himself up so he was able to see around the rest of the room. They were alone.

“Where’s the man who brought me here?”

Her eyes flicked upward. “Upstairs, sleeping.” She lowered her voice. “If you’re feeling strong enough, perhaps you should go.”

He sat up fully and winced, ignoring the pain shooting through his body. He swung his legs over the side of the bed so he was sitting upright. Even though she’d worked on the gunshot wound, the area still throbbed, and the rest of his body ached from where he’d been thrown in the plane explosion.

“I can’t. Rodriguez has something of mine. That man is my only connection to getting it back.”

Her head tilted to one side. “A woman, or money?”

“Sorry?”

“Those are the only two things I’ve ever witnessed a man risking his life for.”

“I won’t be risking my life. Rodriguez doesn’t want me dead. He’s proved that much.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“A woman,” he confessed, though for some reason he felt strange admitting it in front of her. Part of his brain was still trying to align this woman—who must have been around his age, in her early thirties—with the young girl he’d fallen so hard for all those years ago. He’d been a child, but that hadn’t meant he’d felt his emotions any less deeply. There had been a period of several months when she’d been the only thing occupying his thoughts. He’d obsessed about her—innocent kisses and fantastical, romantic notions of them running away together. He hadn’t known his father had sent her away, but he was glad. Though he’d never wanted to admit it to himself, or think about things too deeply, part of him had always worried his father had known what had happened and had killed her for it.

“I don’t even know your name,” he said.

“Sophia,” she said with a smile.

“That’s good to know, after all these years.”

Her lips twisted, her gaze shifting away, before it fixed back on him. “I know what your father used to call you back then.”

“Monster,” he confirmed, his cheeks heating. “He used to call me his little Monster.”

“I remember. I assume you don’t go by that now.”

He shook his head. “Only with one person. Others call me Merrick now.”

She smiled. “Merrick. Suits you far better.”

He wasn’t so sure.

“So,” she said, her blue eyes narrowing slightly in contemplation, “what happened to the birthmark? I hope you don’t mind me asking. I mean, it’s still there, of course, but compared to what it looked like when you were a child …”

Subconsciously, he lifted his hand to that side of his face. “It’s a recent thing,” he said. “My father never did anything. The woman I’m looking for is the one who helped me.”

“Where is your father now?”

“Dead.”

“Good.” She seemed to realize what she’d said and cupped her mouth with her hand. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes. Yes, you did. And that’s okay. I feel the same way.” He thought of all the dreams and memories of his childhood that were coming back to him as though someone was drip-feeding his brain. He’d shut out so much of what he’d experienced at his father’s hand, as though he’d been protecting himself, but for some reason now he was starting to remember more and more. Part of him was nervous about what he’d remember next.

She hesitated, her teeth digging into her lower lip as she thought. “This woman who Rodriguez has … she’s the same one who helped your face?”

He nodded. “Yes, she is.”

“Is that the only reason you want her back?”

“What do you mean?”

“I suppose I’m asking what happens to her if you find her. Are you looking to harm her in any way?”

Her question surprised him, making him sit up straighter, despite the aches and pain holding his body hostage. “No. Why would you ask that?”

“I don’t know. I guess the apple tends to not fall far from the tree.”

Had she seen that in him—his capacity for cold-heartedness—even in the few minutes she’d been speaking with him? Or perhaps she’d seen it in him as a child, and worried he’d grown into the name his father had called him. But she’d also seen in him an ability for self-sacrifice, and he hoped she’d remember that now.

“I love her,” he said. “I’m in love with her. I’d rather die myself than let anything happen to her, which is why I need to get her back from Rodriguez. Just the thought of what he might be doing to her makes my blood boil.” Even as he spoke, his anger churned up inside him and he tried to rise from the bed, to get to his feet.

Sophia placed her hand against his chest, gently pushing him back down. The touch of her fingers against his skin made his heart beat harder. “You’re not going anywhere yet,” she told him. “I removed a bullet from you only a couple of hours ago. If you go racing off to try to save this woman, you’ll only bust your stitches and bleed to death on the way.”

He shook his head, and she removed her hand. “You’re exaggerating.”

“No, I’m not.”

“I can’t wait, Sophia. I mean it. I’d rather die trying than not try at all.”

“I’m not asking you to not try at all. Just wait twenty-four hours.”

His lips thinned. “Not going to happen.”

“Twelve, then.”

Slowly, he continued to shake his head.

She expelled a frustrated sigh and put her hands on her hips. “Okay, so explain one thing. How are you even going to find Rodriguez and this woman?”

“I’m thinking of beating the guy upstairs half to death, stealing his gun, and forcing him to take me there.”

“You think you can beat a man half to death when you’ve been unconscious yourself for the past few hours?”

“I plan on trying.”

She shook her head. “You’ll lose.”

“Perhaps.”

She hesitated and then said, “What about if we make a deal?”

His interest was piqued. “What kind of deal?”

“You give yourself twelve hours to rest and heal, and I’ll take you to Rodriguez’s place myself.”

His eyes narrowed. “You know where he’s taken her.”

“I’ve got a pretty good idea. It’s the same place he takes all the new girls he plans on … breaking.”

Monster winced at the word. Perhaps he and Rodriguez weren’t so different. He’d been on that path himself with Flower not so long ago. Hadn’t it been the way he’d gotten her to treat his face without worrying about her burning both his eyes out with the laser? He’d kept her without natural light, human contact, and only the most basic of meals for days in order to break her will. In the end, he’d learned none of those things had worked. He’d never broken her. Lily had helped him because that was who she was. She cared for others, even if those others didn’t necessarily deserve her help.

“Why would you do that for me?” he asked.

She gave a small smile. “You helped me, too, a long time ago. I guess I feel like I should repay that debt.”

“It might get you in trouble.”

“Yes, possibly.” Her gaze went unwavering.

“What reason would you give to Rodriguez for being there?”

“I’m not sure yet. If you agree to twelve hours, I’m sure I’ll be able to think of something in the time.”

Monster lifted his gaze to the ceiling. “What about him?”

“He’s out of it at the moment. He drank half a bottle of brandy while you were unconscious. I don’t think he’ll be making an appearance any time soon, which gives us plenty of time to think about what we’ll do when he does.”

Monster thought about Rodriguez’s men shooting Mason, Evans, and Sean. “I should go up there and kill him in his sleep. He’s responsible for the deaths of several of my men.”

She arched a honey-blonde eyebrow. “And if he wakes and punches you in the shoulder, or manages to grab his gun and shoot you again? Then where will that leave your girl?” Her hand pressed on his chest again, pushing him back so he lay flat on the medical bed. “Just get some more rest. Let yourself heal, and we’ll figure out the details when you wake.”

Monster hated the idea of leaving Flower for one moment more than he needed, but she spoke the truth. He’d only been awake a matter of minutes, and already the drag of exhaustion pulled on his limbs. His eyes were scratchy, his lids heavy. He wanted to be ready to go and fight for Lily, but he had to admit Sophia was right. He wouldn’t be any good to Flower like this. He’d only end up getting himself and probably her and Sophia, too, killed. He needed to remember Lily was an intelligent woman. She’d won him over, and while he couldn’t even stand to explore the idea of her winning Rodriguez’s affections in the same way, he had to have faith she would know he was coming for her, and that she would try to buy herself some time.

“Okay,” he relented, even as his eyes pulled shut. “Twelve hours, but that’s it. Then we go and find Lily.”