Keeping Allie (Breaking Away #3) (7 page)

“A
prom
dress?” Mom asks, incredulous. “He wants her to wear
that
?” 

“And them silver heels. Yep,” Frenchie says. “That’s what El Brujo wants.” He gives Mom a conspirator’s look, as if to say,
Don’t judge me if the evil drug lord has bad taste
. 

“I thought you were transporting her to his mansion,” Mom says, her hands stroking the chiffon fabric. The dress looks like something a virginal girl would wear. It’s not fashionable. If I’d gone to my prom I would have worn something sleeveless and sleek, a rich hunter green or a deep blue. Something form fitting. 

The dress El Brujo sent looks like a fifteen-year-old girl’s celebration gown. Or a junior prom dress.

“We’re taking her there,” Frenchie confirms. “Right after she puts this shit on.” 

“You want her to wear this and ride on the back of a bike?” Mom says the words like Frenchie is the stupidest cockroach on the planet.

He frowns. Clearly, no one here has thought about that. Loogie’s SUV is broken and it sounds like no one else has a car.

“Huh,” he grunts. Then he shrugs, those hard, black eyes on me. “No accounting for taste. Get her in the dress and she can just carry the shoes. Wear something else for the ride.”

“How far is El Brujo’s house?” Mom asks.

“About two hours.”

“Where?” Mom’s question is casual. She’s rearranging makeup on the vanity. I know she’s calculating, though.

Frenchie snorts. “You know I can’t tell you that.”

“Whatever,” Mom replies, and lets it drop.

“Get her in that pile of pink and some boots and we’ll get the hell out of here.” 

“You got a helmet?” Mom demands.

“What?” He looks at her like she’s cuckoo.

Mom challenges him, hands on her hips, feet planted. I know that look. She won’t back down. This is the Mom who took on Jeff on rare occasions. Once she’s like this, you have no hope of winning the argument.

“You have this girl who’s spent days naked and tied to a chair, beaten and starved, and now you want to put her on the back of a bike for a couple of hours? She’ll fall off, you dumbass. You need a helmet for her. I’m sure El Brujo likes his girls alive.”

Frenchie bristles at being called
dumbass
. “Watch that mouth,” he warns her.

“And you watch your attitude, Frenchie. Remember who you’re talking to,” she says pointedly. I guess being Loogie’s old lady gives her some standing. Frenchie stares at her, hard, but turns on his heel.

I look at her with wide eyes. She covers her lips with one finger and shakes her head, willing me to be quiet. He comes back within seconds and throws a helmet at me. It hits me in the gut and folds me in half, making me fall on the ground. My butt bones strike hard tile and my hip screams with pain.

“Here. Now you can be safe,” he says with a dismissive sound. “Safe for El Brujo.”

Chapter Ten

He leaves. Mom reaches down to help me up. My stomach clenches and I start to gag, bile rising in my throat as I stand. Too much pain. Too much uncertainty. My skin feels dry, and my lips stick together, even with the shiny, silky red lipstick Mom had coated them with.

“Here,” she whispers, helping me stand. I lean against her, the soft scent of Mom making me feel like a little kid again. Safe. Warm. Happy.

Just for a second.

“Why did you want that?” I ask, pointing. The word “helmet” eludes me for a minute. I can see the object, but not name it. My brain is deteriorating. Every system in my body is.

And now my mind.

“Because Chase has a plan to get you out of here, and so do I.” She walks to the door and makes sure it is shut, then rushes over to the bed, pulling off her own shirt as she crosses the room.

“What are you doing?”

“I have an idea.” She turns the curling iron back on. “Chase said a blonde guy who looks like him is coming to rescue you. How about a black-haired woman who looks like you gets delivered to El Brujo?”

My mind is scrambled eggs. I don’t understand her.

“What do you mean?”

“Look at us. We’re the same height.” Mom pats her hips. “I have more meat on my bones, but not much. Our hair’s about the same, now that I grew mine long. No one would ever mistake me for a virgin,” she whispers, “but with a helmet on my head and my body covered in that giant gown, Frenchie might think I’m you just long enough to get you the hell out of here.”

I go numb.

“You can’t go to El Brujo!”

“Better me than you, Allie. And besides, El Brujo won’t touch me when he realizes who I am. And by then, Loogie will know, and he’ll come for me with all the Mephists. It’ll be a big fucking mess at El Brujo’s door.”

“Won’t Loogie get mad at you?” She listens to me but is stripped down to bra and panties now, reaching for the dress.

“He’ll understand when I explain it to him.” She slips the dress over her head and wiggles her arms into the arm holes. It is tight, but it fits. Mom has bigger boobs than me.

“He will? Aren’t these biker guys total assholes? Especially the presidents? Galt sure is.”

She stifles a laugh. “Galt is okay when you get to know him. And Loogie loves me so much he’d do anything for me. Including starting a war with El Brujo.” A flicker of uncertainty passes over her face, though. I hope she is right.

Mom holds her shirt out to me. “Here. Take this. Put it on.” 

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t? C’mon, Allie, we have to do it this way.”

“No, I mean my arms don’t work. I really can’t lift my arms up to put it on.”

Panic ripples through her face. Then she calms down. “Okay.” With a loving grace that seems to slow down time, she slides the shirt on me. It scratches. I’ve gone so long without a shirt that it feels foreign against my skin. Alien. 

But warm.

Getting her pants on me is a harder task. She does it, though, all while standing there in the gown. We’re in a freaked-out rush. Frenchie could come back any minute. If he catches us like this, we’re dead.

Mom’s already dead, though.

But not really.

Oh, my head hurts figuring this all out.

She gets me in her shirt and jeans and then turns around. “Zip me up.”

I try to lift my arms. I have to lift one up with the other arm, grasp the top of the dress, and then use a lot of effort to properly zip her. I do it. Magically, I do it.

“There,” she declares, and starts curling her hair like she curled mine.

“Mom, you’re wearing boots with that dress,” I say. If I weren’t about to die or be raped, I’d find this all funny.

“So what? You heard what I said to Frenchie, right? I’ll wear them and carry the sandals.” She looks at my feet. “The problem is, you have no shoes.”

“I think that’s the least of my problems.”

Her face freezes. Her eyes widen. The curling iron is in her hand and curling a long strand of hair. “It’ll be fine. You have to pull together all the strength you have. You’ll find it in the moment, honey. You will.” She lets go of a long curl and starts a new one. If we weren’t in this horror show it would be beautiful. Her ringlet curls match mine right now.

Like when I was little and we’d dress alike. Mother and daughter twins.

“How do you know?” I ask. I’m running out of steam. My energy is gone and I just want to curl up into a ball and sleep for a week or two. I’m starting not to care whether I live. I don’t think I have it in me to do all the stuff Chase and Mom need me to do to get out alive.

She sighs and changes to another long strand of hair, rolling it up in the iron. “When Jeff made me go with El Brujo, I was like a tuning fork on the inside. I couldn’t hear or feel anything but this vibration of panic. It was constant. Nonstop. Twenty-four seven. All I could do was worry about you and Marissa. Worry that Jeff wouldn’t keep his promise.”

“His promise?” I shift my weight from my hip and lean against the bed. It gives a little, and my muscles groan, but at least my knees don’t ache for a minute.

“He promised he wouldn’t hurt you. Or Marissa. Thank God I let her move before he...did this to me. Is she okay?” Hope and eagerness in Mom’s eyes make my chest go tight. 

“I didn’t see her for two years, Mom,” I explain. “I finally saw her when I met Chase. A couple of weeks ago? I don’t know. I’ve lost track of time.”

Mom’s hand is frozen in midair, the curling iron attached to her by a thick layer of hair pulled up a few inches from her head. “Two years? What?”

“Jeff threatened to hurt her. Or worse, if she tried to come get me. She wanted to have me live with her and he wouldn’t let it happen.”

“That fucker.”

“Yeah. So Marissa never came home.”

“You spent two years alone?” she asks, shaking her head. 

Tears come to life in my eyes. “Yeah.”

“Oh, honey. I’m sorry.” She finishes the final curl and grabs a can of hair spray. As she’s spraying her head, the roar of two or three motorcycle engines splits the air.

“Oh, God,” I moan, then vomit on the floor. Except nothing comes out.

I am so empty.

“No! No, no. You are not falling apart. You are strong. We can do this,” Mom hisses. 

Footsteps outside clack down the hall.

“Get under the bed!” Mom snaps.

“What?”

She grabs me and folds me into a flat person, the shirt riding up as she shoves me, hard, under the bed. There is nowhere she touches that isn’t bruised. It feels like she’s hurting me on purpose. I know she’s not, but still. It
hurts
. Maybe it hurts a little bit more because she’s my mom. Mothers aren’t supposed to hurt their kids. 

I see her shove the helmet on her half-done head and grab the strappy high heels just as Frenchie comes thumping in.

“Where’s Jackie?” he asks.

My heart is pounding so hard against the tile floor I’m sure it sounds like someone’s banging it with a hammer. But no.

Hurdle number one has been crossed: he assumes Mom is me.

Mom makes a grunting sound. Frenchie grabs her arm and says, “You got yourself all prettied up for getting the fucking of your life, Girlie Girl. You ready to become a real woman?” His barking laughter makes my heart stop. Just stop. Can it do that? I thought you die if your heart doesn’t beat.

But I don’t die.

And Mom’s boots skitter along the tile floor in front of Frenchie as he forces her out of the room.

I am alone.

Completely alone, in hiding, and my Mom is about to go into El Brujo’s hell.

What have we just done?

Chapter Eleven

I wait. And wait, the cool tile against my cheek and the seconds of aloneness giving me time to take inventory. I could spend hours figuring out all the injuries I have. The worst is the big gash on my hip. Even now, I can feel it bleeding. My skin sticks to the cloth of Mom’s jeans and pulls away, ripping with pain when I move.

My arms are the worst. I can’t even lift them to make a small pillow under my head. They are too weak.

What should I do now? Mom is gone, pretending to be me. I am here, pretending to be Jackie. Who is really Helen. It’s all too much. 

I start to hyperventilate. No one is telling me what to do. No one has me bound. No one is here.

What do I do?

How do I escape?

Boots. The clack of heels. A man runs into the room.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Where the fuck is she?”

His voice sounds like Chase. I look up at his head. He’s wearing a helmet, but blonde hair pokes out underneath. Close enough? Chase told me to go with a man who looks like him. 

I slide out from under the bed. If this is my one chance, I have to try. 

“You Allie?” he asks, pulling the helmet off, his hair standing up on end like a blonde chicken’s. If I weren’t about to die, I’d laugh.

He really does look like Chase. Like they could be brothers.

Chase’s plan is working.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Where’s everyone else?”

“My mom dressed in the outfit El Brujo had for me and they took her.”

He gives me a confused look, eyes barely meeting mine. They’re constantly surveying the room, the window, the door. “Your mom?”

“It turns out she didn’t really die two years ago. My stepdad sold her to El Brujo to pay off a drug debt, and now—”

“Stop!” he orders, a palm up. “I don’t need to know. I just need to get you the hell out of here.”

“Okay,” I say meekly.

“Bottom line—anyone know you’re here right now?”

“No. My mom is disguised as me.”

He’s older than Chase, probably close to a decade older. Same eyes, same hair, but his bones are different. His face is wider, eyes rounder. “Disguised?”

“Long story.”

“Gotcha. So she’s a decoy.”

“Yes.”

Half his mouth goes up in a smile. “Good job. And they think you’re her?”

I look down at her clothes and inhale deeply. They smell like her. “Yes.”

“But one look at your face and we’re screwed.”

I say nothing. He’s calculating everything in his head. “Who are you?” I finally ask.

“Mark. I’m Chase’s brother.”

I nod. We can exchange pleasantries later.

If I survive.

He goes to the door and leaves. I stand there, completely dumbfounded. What am I supposed to do? Mom’s words come into my head: Y
ou have to pull together all the strength you have. You’ll find it in the moment, honey. You will.
 

That’s right. Make good decisions. Be aware. Stay focused and alert.

Mark will get me out. Chase trusts him, so I trust him, too. No matter what, Chase’s plan has gotten this far. I have someone on my side. He’s here to help me get out. Now three people are actively helping me. My odds just improved. 

El Brujo’s odds are even better, though.

More motorcycles roar outside. It sounds like ten or so. I can hear them above my beating heart.

Mark comes back in the room, gesturing frantically. “Put this on,” he insists, handing me a helmet. I shove it on my head, the scab along my hairline tearing open as I shove it on fast. I grit my teeth from the pain, but keep pushing anyhow. I can heal later.