Page 5 of His Savage Bride
A car pulls up to the gas pump in front of the SUV, and an older man with a thick white beard steps out and glances over at me. He does an almost comical double-take as he notices the man lying at the rear of the SUV with trails of blood streaming from underneath his body. When the pump’s auto feed cuts off with a loudCLICK,he startles so hard he drops his wallet, then his gaze lands on me as I struggle to get to my feet.
“What…what’s happening, miss? Do you need some help?” White Beard asks as he takes a hesitant step forward.
“My name is Constance Monroe,” I reply in a shaky voice that I barely recognize. “These men tried to kidnap me,” I explain as I hold up my bound hands. “Please call the police.”
“I already have,” says a young man in a stained polo with the gas station logo on it when he sticks his head out of the frontdoor. “I’ve got emergency services on the phone right now. Do you need an ambulance? Are you hurt?”
I can see a flush rise in his cheeks as he realizes the absurdity of the question. I’m soaked in blood from head to toe. Even my hair is plastered to my scalp, and the copper stench clinging to me is making it hard to breathe. “Have them send an ambulance,” I call out. “But not for me,” I add to White Beard.
The old man nods, then digs around in the back of his car and comes out with a towel, which he hands over to me. He glances at the zip-tie on my wrists, then yells over to the employee who is still on the phone, “Do you have a pair of scissors? We need to free this poor girl’s hands.” Turning his attention back to me, he asks, “Are you sure you’re not hurt? That’s more blood than I’ve seen since I was in Iraq!”
“It’s not mine,” I reassure him as I use the proffered towel to clean my face and hands. No blood lost today, thank goodness. Just more bumps and bruises. “There were two of them. The blood is from the one in the back seat.”
White Beard cautiously approaches the rear of the SUV and peeks into the hole where the back window used to be. His face blanches when he sees the body in the back seat with his throat laid open by my knife. He doesn’t bother checking that one, but he does bend down to check the driver’s pulse. “Tell the dispatcher that there are two bodies. I’m fairly sure there’s no saving either of them,” he calls over to the store employee walking towards us holding a phone to his ear and a pair of scissors.
The gas station attendant relays the message, shoves his phone into his back pocket, then approaches me nervously with the scissors held down at his side. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, as though he’s trying to calm a feral animal. “Hold out your hands and I’ll nip that tie off your wrists, okay?”
I realize he’s not trying to be comforting. He’s terrified of me. That’s why he’s trying to be so soothing. I hold out my hands to him and try to force a small smile, so he knows that I’m not going to attack him. He flinches back, and I realize that the smile was probably a bad idea, especially since I can feel a trickle of blood from my hair run down my face. Summoning up his courage, he gingerly reaches forward and snips the tie from my wrists, then immediately retreats backward toward the station’s front door.
“Thank you,” I tell him as I resume wiping at my hair with the already ruined towel.
“Can I…this is going to sound foolish, but can I get you anything?” White Beard asks me as he walks back over to his car and opens the gas hatch. For some reason, the sight of him calmly going about filling up his tank after checking the two dead men strikes me as hilarious, and I burst into hysterical laughter.
White Beard side-eyes me as he begins pumping gas, then calls over to the store employee, “Get her a cup of coffee, will you? I’ll pay for it when I come inside. Miss Constance,” he adds as he turns his attention to me, “I’d offer to let you sit in my car until the police arrive, but I’m afraid you’d ruin the upholstery. Why don’t you step inside the station and get warm? You’re shivering something fierce.”
“I will. Thank you for being so kind. I didn’t mean to laugh at you. You’re just so calm, pumping gas like everything is perfectly normal.”
“This is New York, Miss Constance,” he scoffs. “This isn’t the weirdest thing I’ve seen living here; this isn’t even in the top ten.”
“Then I definitely need to get out of this town,” I reply. “Thank you for your help.” I try to smile again, and White Beard tentatively returns it with a dismissive wave of his hand as I walk towards the door to the gas station.
“I’d want someone to do the same for my daughter if, God forbid, she was ever in a situation like this,” I hear him call after me. “Go get that coffee, and I’ll be with you in a moment. If you don’t mind, I’ll hang around with you until the police arrive.”
I give him a nod of agreement, then step into the station where several customers are gathered near the register, staring at me in shock. I can hear sirens in the distance, and for a moment I consider calling Maximo.
As the store attendant hands me a steaming cup of black coffee, it occurs to me that I haven’t known him long enough to have his number memorized. My kidnappers must have left my purse with my phone back at the restaurant, so I’m just going to have to wait for someone to help me get back in touch with him. I hope he doesn’t do anything rash until I can call him.
3
Maximo
“We receivedan emergency call from a service station about a shooting,” Detective Tillman explains over the phone. “When patrol arrived on the scene, they found two fatally injured men along with Ms. Monroe.”
Jesus Christ. Thank God she’s alive.
“Is she hurt?” I ask him.
“No. Just a little banged up,” he says. “According to witness statements and the surveillance footage we reviewed, Miss Monroe was bound in the rear seat of the vehicle she was kidnapped in earlier today. While one of her assailants was pumping gas, Miss Monroe managed to incapacitate the other with a knife, then used his gun to shoot the driver. The witnesses obviously called us and helped Miss Monroe escape her restraints, then stayed with her until we arrived.”
My heart swells with pride for my firefly, even as a crushing weight lifts from my chest. “It sounds like you already know exactly what happened,” I tell the detective. Even though he’sbringing me blessedly good news, he’s still a cop and I have to speak carefully. “What questions, exactly, do you have that she can’t answer?”
“Well, Mr. Luciani, I’ve sent my partner over to Mount Sinai to speak to Miss Monroe’s friend, a woman who was injured in the initial kidnapping. What we’re trying to piece together is why Miss Monroe was targeted. If I may be blunt, sir, I suspect it has to do with her association with you. Could you tell me a bit about your relationship and whether you have any idea why she may have been targeted?”
“Which precinct are you at, Detective?” I ask, sidestepping his question. “Let me come over and see Constance. Once I know she’s all right, we can discuss any other questions you may have.”
He and I both know that last part is a lie, yet the detective rattles off the address of the 34thprecinct, which I commit to memory. “Are you on your way now, Mr. Luciani?” the detective adds.
“Yes. Please tell Constance I’ll be there shortly,” I confirm. “Thank you for your help, Detective. I’ll see you soon.” Then I disconnect the call before he can reply.
