Tortured Sinner by Tessa James

Johnny - 12

I’m just getting out of the shower when I hear a knock at the door. For a split-second, my mind goes wild, assuming that it’s Franklin or one of his goons, but if history tells me anything, it’s that he doesn’t make house calls.

Franklin has succeeded for as long as he has in his industry because he keeps his hands clean. He hires other people to do his dirty work and uses his various business ventures, like the rundown diner I meet him at, to covertly operate. He’s a wise man, and never makes mistakes. Showing his face at my complex or sending someone here to do it for him would pose too many risks.

The moment I step foot out of here, though—that’s when I really need to worry. He’s not going to let it slide that I lost a delivery. There will be a price to pay, and I’m not sure I’m ready to find out what it is.

Hurriedly, I dry myself off, careful not to agitate my many bumps and bruises. I wipe away the steam from the mirror and am relieved to see the swelling in my face going down. I still look like I was stung by a bee, but I can open my eyes almost all the way, and that alone is a huge plus. They’re bright green against the redness of the busted blood vessels.

The knock could have been Billy, coming to ask me to borrow something or ask for help on his homework.

I throw on a clean T-shirt and jeans, going totally commando in my lack of effort. It was enough that I got up to take a shower, what more could the world ask from me in this condition?

I peek through the blinds covering the window, but no one is there. Slowly, I crack open the door and peer out. Not a soul in sight. My gaze trails downward onto the ground where a takeout bag and a cup sit.

Bram isn’t really a home-delivery type person and I’ve never told him the access code to get in, so unless he followed someone into the complex, it couldn’t have been him. Plus, he probably would have banged on my door until I answered, not dropped off food and left.

I’ve severed ties with pretty much all of my friends since I started this new business venture, mostly to protect them. They all hate my guts now, meaning it couldn’t have been one of them. Not that they were ever that kind of friend anyway.

The only other explanation seems highly unlikely, too.

My stomach growls, telling me that I need to eat something to soak up the random booze I’ve been nursing all day for the pain.

I reluctantly grab the offering and go inside, dropping them on the counter and opening the bag. Instantly, I’m greeted with a heavenly aroma. I must be hungrier than I thought if food smells this good.

I pop the lid off the cup and sniff at the contents. If I didn’t know better, I’d assume this was my regular order, but if Bram didn’t deliver it, there’s no way someone could have guessed such a random combination. I take a sip to test my theory, swallowing down the cinnamon warmth.

How the hell did she know how I take my coffee?

* * *

Idon’t go to class all week. It’s not that I care so little about my education, it’s just that I’m not really prepared to handle this Franklin situation quite yet. Not to mention answer questions about why my face is fucked up.

I spend most of the time sleeping, staring at the ceiling, and wondering how the fuck I’m going to get myself out of this mess. I barely have an appetite, but I end up forcing down a frozen meal or a bowl of cereal here or there.

I even fill my time doing something I shouldn’t—watching out the window for her.

Her routine has become a bit predictable. She leaves her place and lingers around the courtyard for a little while before heading to what I assume is her first class of the day. Between courses, she returns to study at the corner table, tucked away from everything else. Once she’s in for the evening, she bounces between staying inside and at her chosen courtyard hideaway.

Part of me wishes that I were invisible, making it possible to be near her. To give her company and let her know that she’s not alone. She seems sad, like something is bothering her, besides the obvious asshole that lives in her building. I long to bring her a moment of peace. Which is entirely strange considering I still don’t know her name.

Maybe those types of formalities don’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Maybe you can be drawn to someone without really knowing them.

A door opens down the hall in the direction of her place and I freeze, still stealthily peering from inside my house.

She appears in my line of sight, and I swear it’s like my heart is going to pound out of my chest and leap through the door at her.

I hold my breath, desperate not to alert her to my watchfulness.

The stunning girl pauses right outside.

I study the rise and fall of her shoulders with each bit of air that enters her lungs. Her V-neck charcoal gray tee and dark denim skinny jeans hug her body in the best way. Her chocolate brown hair is tied off to the left side in a low ponytail.

She raises her fist to my door, but nothing happens. Her hand lingers in the air and stays there.

I could move—I could rush to open it, to finally greet her properly and say something to redeem myself for being such a shitty person, but I don’t do anything. I stand there, completely and utterly mesmerized by her beauty and the fact that such a being simply exists.

Slowly, she lowers her arm to her side and walks away, disappearing from my vision and taking a piece of me with her.

“It’s better this way,” I tell myself.

It’s a reality that I have to force if I’m going to protect her from me and my world. I’m already messing up left and right, I can’t afford to bring her down with me.

Even being her friend is a risk I’m not willing to take.

I can’t. I won’t.

And I will keep reminding myself that until I’m blue in the face.

I will be the bad guy if it means sheltering her from harm’s way.

A phone rings, but it’s not mine. I drag my attention back through the blinds.

She’s still out there, standing against the railing of the stairs. She holds the device in her hand, her body tense as she studies it over.

I crack the window open to get a better vantage point.

“Hello,” she says, a hint of something I can’t quite pick up in her tone. Annoyance, maybe?

A loud voice vibrates through the other end but I can’t quite make it out.

She shifts her weight. “Now’s not a good time.”

The person manages to get even noisier.

“I know I said I wanted to talk, but I’ve been busy. I don’t want to get into it right now.” She’s much calmer than the other person.

The person must yell at her for a solid minute before taking a breath.

She wipes at her cheek, and it’s everything I can do to stand here and watch this unfold. She doesn’t deserve to be treated like this. No one does. But if I intervene, she might not continue to see me as the bad guy, and I can’t let that happen. Still, it pains me to hear someone mistreat her. Like my heart is being ripped open alongside hers.

I can’t imagine she, the girl who hauled a complete stranger from a dingy alley and brought them soup the next day, would ever warrant this type of behavior from anyone.

I raise my hand to the cold glass.

“Why are you this way?” she asks the pissed-off person.

There is no response. Radio silence. Which could only mean one thing.

They hung up on her.

The coward got called out on their shitty behavior and that’s how they react? What a fucking loser.

She presses the button on the side of the phone and slides it into her back pocket. She rubs her hands across her face to wipe away the tears and does something I don’t expect; she glances toward my unit.

I nearly trip and fall backward to avoid her catching me. I wince at banging my side against the table and curse at myself under my breath.

My own cell vibrates, reminding me that I can’t hide from my problems forever. If I want to get my mind off this girl, I should focus on cleaning up the mess I’ve created for myself.

I take the thing and do my best to navigate the busted screen. I’ll need to get a replacement, but it’ll have to be another day.

I click the last text that came through.

Unknown:!!!

I scroll down to Josey’s number and type a response.

Me: Tell B I’ll be right there.

Dots appear and my stomach tightens along with them.

Josey: K

I guess it could have been worse. I think if Franklin was going to off me, Josey would give me a little bit of a warning. He’s the only one who’s shown me kindness, and I’d like to assume he wouldn’t let me walk into a complete death trap.

I snatch my keys off the counter and shove them in my pocket, along with my wallet and broken phone.

I leave my place in a hurry, not wanting to draw any attention from…well…her. I’d rather Billy not see me this way, but more so, I'd rather face Franklin than continue to put up the false asshole front to keep this girl hating me.

She clearly has enough douchebags in her life; I hate that I have to be another. Maybe one of these days I'll be able to explain to her why I was the way I was, and in a perfect world, maybe she'll forgive me.

I doubt I’ll live long enough to tell the story, though, not after Franklin is done with me. I knew going into business with him would be the death of me, but I had to be the one to step up and put a stop to what was happening.

You can’t save everyone, a little voice in my head calls out.

“Watch me try,” I tell it.

* * *

Imanage to make it to the alley behind Franklin’s diner without getting the shit knocked out of me again. I kept my head down and avoided eye contact with people that passed me by. It was dark enough that no one seemed overly concerned about my busted face, or maybe they were too focused on their own Friday nights that they weren’t concerned with random people on the street.

“Ouch,” Josey says when I approach. “Your modeling career is definitely a thing of your past.” He holds out a lit cigarette toward me.

“Funny. You should see the other guy.” I take a drag and pass it back. I’m not a smoker, but right now, I’ll take anything to settle the nerves of what’s about to go down.

“Yeah?” Josey’s brows perk up.

I let out a chuckle. “No. There were two of them. Completely caught me off guard. I didn’t stand a chance.”

“Damn, J. You really ought to strap up.” He raises his shirt to expose a gun tucked into his waistband.

“Boss would never let me have one.” Not that I really have the desire to anyway. What would I have done? Shot two people and tell the cops what exactly? That they were trying to steal my illegal contraband? I need to avoid that kind of attention if my master plan is going to succeed. I can’t have the authorities looking my way if any of this is going to work.

Josey shrugs and tosses his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out and lighting another one. “You’re going to end up dead.”

I place my hand on the door's latch and glance at him over my shoulder. "One way or another."

The stench of cigars and Franklin’s overpowering cologne attacks me upon entering the close quarters. Stares melt into me and I clench my already tight jaw even more.

“Johnny…” Franklin begins. “Have a seat.” His cool tone sends a chill down my spine. He flicks his wrist. “Everyone out.”

They do what he says, some of them funneling through the front, some the rear. I claim the chair across from him, keeping my gaze trained on anything but him, and wait for him to continue.

“Listen, we all make mistakes. I get that. I’m not an unreasonable man. I understand why you’re here, the sacrifice you made. But in my line of business, there is minimal room for error. And Johnny, you’ve exceeded the limit.”

I bite at my cheek to avoid giving him any type of response.

“I can’t afford slip-ups like this. You’re well aware of that.” His hand moves forward to clasp onto the glass on the table. He drains the golden contents into his mouth and puts it down.

I don’t mean to, but my gaze trails the motion to meet his glare.

“I’m going to give you an opportunity I don’t offer often. Let’s call it… redemption. You have two weeks to retrieve my lost package. Do so and all will be forgiven, and we go back to doing business as usual. Failure will result in renegotiating our terms.” His dark eyes bore into me. “We both know what that entails.” His last statement pierces through my soul in the very manner he means to.

Everything I’ve done up until this point will have been for nothing if I don’t make things right.

I have to find that package if it’s the last thing I do.