Tortured Sinner by Tessa James

Johnny – 18

Claire leaves my side to meet her friends, and I swear it’s like a chunk of my fucking soul goes with her.

I hate it, the intense desire I have to be near her, if only to keep her safe and out of harm's reach. It's out of my control.

I'm the one she needs to be protected from.

The girl who shoved me last night stares directly at me from across the bar while talking to Claire. “Your boyfriend can join us.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Claire shoots a glare my way.

“JJ!” Josey waves at me from his spot in the corner, hijacking my attention.

“Hey, man.” I shake his hand and take the seat next to him. “Whiskey, neat,” I tell the barkeep when he approaches.

“That your lady?” Josey tips his glass in the direction of Claire.

I shake my head. “No. Farthest thing from it, actually.”

“Sure.” He downs the contents of his drink and pushes it forward for a refill. “Why does she keep looking over here then?”

“Maybe she’s got the hots for you.” I take a sip and let the booze tingle its way into my body. Anything to distract me from turning toward her again.

Josey chuckles. “Doubtful. Five years ago, possibly. I’m an old man now.”

“What are you, like twenty-six?”

“I’ll be thirty in a few months.”

“Damn. You’re nearly a senior citizen.” I gulp down the rest of my whiskey. “I know you didn’t ask me to come here to have small talk.” I tilt my head. “What’s this about?”

“Listen, J, I feel for you. I really do. You’ve always pegged me as a decent dude. I understand why you’re doing what you are, but I think you underestimate how dangerous this world is.” Josey points to my face. “That shit, it’s nothing compared to some of the stuff I’ve seen.”

I scratch at my chin. “Is this an intervention or something? You think I’m unaware of what I signed up for? Are you trying to scare me straight?”

Josey swirls his finger around the rim of his glass. “No. Not at all. I get it. You’re going to keep doing what you are. There’s no backing out for you at this point, not while you’re still figuring out a contingency plan. But I’m not the only one who sees that. And I’m not the person you need to be worried about.”

A loud crash has everyone stunned for a brief second and a server curses about their dropped tray. Just as quick, the room resumes partying.

Josey continues. “Boss treats you like a toy. He won’t stop until you’re begging him for your life. And he’ll stop at nothing to make damn sure that happens.”

I face him. “This isn’t news to me, Josey. I’m fucked. I’m in over my head, and I have no fucking clue how I’m going to get out of this alive. But you and I both know it’s not about me. If it was, I’d never have gotten tied up in this shit to begin with. I’d be out there.” I motion toward the college crowd laughing and drinking and enjoying their Saturday night. “I wouldn’t be failing all my classes, and I’d probably have some lame job at a coffee shop or something, and I’d sure as shit be chasing after that girl over there. I wouldn’t have two black eyes and busted ribs. I’d be normal. I’d be boring. But that life is over. I left it behind the moment I volunteered to be his bitch because it was the only thing I could do at the time. And until I figure something else out, I have no other choice in the matter.”

I raise my hand to get another round.

Josey keeps his voice low. “I don’t want to see you end up dead, J.”

“Me either.” I peer over my shoulder and locate Claire, just to confirm she’s still okay. If I can’t protect myself, at least I can watch over her when I’m around.

“That package…you get any leads yet?”

“Not a damn thing.” And if I don’t find one soon, I really will be a dead man.

Josey shifts his focus around the crowded bar and leans in close. “I can trust you, right?” His dark brown eyes pierce through me with his serious tone.

“Yeah, of course.” I’d never betray Josey, not in a million years.

“I could lose my head for this.”

“I swear, man. What is it? Do you know what was in it?” Because I sure as shit don’t, and the probability of me locating something that I don’t even know what it is could prove to be nearly impossible.

“I overheard some talk. I don’t think I was supposed to, but it didn’t stop me from listening anyway. Especially when I heard your name brought up.”

“Jesus Christ, Josey, tell me already.” The anticipation is going to give me a fucking heart attack.

He lowers his voice even more but maintains eye contact with me. “Sounds like it was an inside job.”

Pieces of the puzzle start to slide into place, making more and more sense of what happened.

I was robbed. But the only thing that was taken was the package. Not my overpriced iPhone, not my wallet, or the hundreds of dollars I had on me. Not the rings on my hand or the chain around my neck. My keys were tossed to the side, and I got my ass kicked. If it was a true robbery, shouldn’t they have taken all of my stuff, or at least some of it?

No, they left it all behind. They knew where I was. They knew which path I’d be taking because Franklin gave me minimal time to get it there, which eliminated the precautions that I normally take.

He forced my hand, and I played right into his stupid fucking game. He knew exactly what would happen and planned it out to a T.

And that’s why he acted composed and cool, and gave me an opportunity to redeem myself. It was a losing battle, and I never stood a chance given the cards were stacked against me all along.

Franklin isn’t dumb, and setting me up for failure like this is his way of making sure his hands are clean of me. He ends up looking like he gave me a chance, and I appear to be the failure everyone assumes I will be. It's a win-win in his book.

Only Franklin didn’t consider one thing: Josey’s loyalty and where it lies.

Josey might be a ruthless pawn in Franklin’s twisted story, but he has a heart, and his eyes are open enough to see that I do, too.

Franklin may have gotten a lot of things right about me, but I’m going to do everything I can to prove him wrong going forward. He thinks I’ll fold, that I’ll cower and submit when I can’t find the package. He couldn’t be further from the truth.

I’ll stop at nothing until I pry it from whoever beat it out of me.

“You good, kid?” Josey snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Your veins are starting to bulge right there.” He pokes the side of my head.

“Yeah.” I blink back to reality. “Tell me everything else.”

Josey opens his mouth but stops, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out his phone. The screen lights up and he exhales. "I've got to run."

Shit. No. This might be our only chance to talk about what happened. Josey is my first and only solid lead, I can’t lose it without getting something else.

Josey unfolds a few bills from his money clip and sets them on the counter.

Anxiety bubbles up through me at the many questions that cross my mind.

“Do you have any idea who it was?” I ask him.

“No, but it was someone young. New recruits. I heard they were bragging about the beating they gave you. Cocky little shits.” Josey glances around. “I don’t need to remind you that this stays between us, right? If he knew I was helping you in any way—”

I hold up my hands. “I swear it, Josey. I wouldn’t say a word.”

"Good." He turns to leave. "I don't want to see something bad happen to you, kid." Josey seems genuinely concerned about my well-being.

“Ay,” I call out. “Thank you. Seriously.”

Josey nods. “Don’t make me regret it.”

I sit for a while, my head in my hands, trying like hell to solve the puzzle that is my life.

The bartender keeps my glass filled, and for that I’m grateful.

I get decent service pretty much everywhere I frequent because I tip well. This place is no different. It’s not that I flaunt my money, but growing up and not having much of it, I tend to give back when I can.

Even making the lower wage that Franklin pays me, I still earn more than I would at any other job and have plenty left in my savings after I pay all the monthly expenses. My cousin covers half the bills with his housing allowance, but he's rarely around. I basically live alone aside from a rare couple of weeks out of the year that he pops in between deployments.

It’s ideal though, considering I prefer solitude. Especially now that I’m wrapped up with what I am.

“So,” a voice breaks through my train of thought. “What’s your story?”

I turn to find that blonde from last night at my side. “I don’t have one.”

“Sure you do," she says plainly. "Everyone does." She attempts to get the bartender's attention, but the guy goes toward another patron.

I raise my hand to signal him.

He stops what he’s doing and comes right over. “Top you off?”

I nod. “Yeah. And whatever she’s having.”

The girl raises her eyebrow. “Whatever?”

“Yep, that’s what I said.”

“Four shots of tequila. Doubles, please.” She extends her hand to me. “I’m Cora.”

“Johnny.”

“Are you here with anyone?” Cora props her elbow on the bar and bats her long eyelashes. She’s decently attractive in conventional ways, but not in a manner that captivates me.

“Nope.” I scan the crowd until I spot the one person I can’t get off my mind. It’s like the whole place is a blur except for her.

My heart stutters when our eyes lock, and I have to force myself to look away.

“Shame.” Cora grabs all of her shots between her fingers. “Thanks for these,” she says over her shoulder while making her way through the people gathered near the bar.

Shit. One of those shots will be for Claire. And if Cora mentions I paid for them, Claire is going to be pissed. She literally just got done demanding that I stop buying her stuff. Whoops. I mean, technically I didn’t know at the time. I was just trying to be nice to her friend. But wasn’t I only doing that to look better in Claire’s eyes?

I run my hand through my unruly hair to get it out of my face. I have to fucking stop caring what this girl thinks of me. I need to stick to being the bad guy, not the random dude who keeps doing good deeds for her.

“Focus,” I tell myself. I let out a breath and take a swig of my drink.

The familiar burn is a welcomed distraction that I accept gratefully.

“Do you have a pen?” I ask a server that walks by.

He snatches one out of his pocket and tosses it to me, continuing on his path to deliver the deep-fried food on his tray.

I swipe the napkin from under my drink and make a list of names that come to mind.

Josey mentioned new recruits. Young ones.

I jot down every person fitting into that category that I’ve come across these past few weeks.

Brandon

Jackson

Black haired guy

Emo kid

Steven…and the other Steve

Eric

The one dude who smells like feet

It’s not much, but it’s a start. And if I cross-reference their stature to what I recall from the beating, maybe I can narrow down someone who might have been in on this and be one step closer to foiling Franklin’s plan to eliminate me.

Earlier today, I thought finding the package might be a lost cause. It’s still a long shot, but feels more possible, and I’ll take every bit of hope I can get.

I empty the rest of my whiskey into my mouth and stand from the stool. I fish in my pocket for cash, tossing it onto the counter and pushing the chair in.

Those recognizable blue eyes latch onto mine from across the room.

She’s not mad nor happy, more curious than anything.

A large part of me wants to stay, to hang back and verify that she’ll be okay. That she won’t drink too much and get herself into trouble the way she did last night. But I know that’s wrong of me. It’s too intrusive. It’s not my place. And I can’t keep putting myself into situations I don’t belong. If she wants me to leave her alone, I need to respect that, even if it’s super fucking difficult.

I need to do what’s best for her, and that means walking away.