Save Me

Save Me

A novel
by Ashley Monahan

©2014
All Rights Reserved By The Author

THE MIST

Mercy

With no moon to light the way, the darkness was all encompassing.  Add a light mist into the mix and the night felt ominous and foreboding.  Mercy Kendrick should have heeded the feeling in the pit of her stomach warning her something was amiss.

Left, right, left, right.  Mercy’s feet pounded off the pavement in a quick rhythm.  An 11 p.m. run in the country side was just what she needed.  The stresses of life had caught up to her and she needed an escape.  Running had always been that, a retreat. 

As the maid of honor at her overbearing friend’s wedding, Mercy had been entrusted with planning and organizing nearly every function of the happy couple’s joining.  Always a bridesmaid and never a bride.  The fact that she was single was blatantly rubbed in at these events.  Oh well, at least she had her job as the CEO of Lexington Industries, a textile company in rural Bellview, New York.  Her father owned the business, and though she was a shoe in as his daughter, she’d earned the position after slaving away to earn her MBA in business and working her way up the corporate ladder.

It’s the eye of the tiger,

It’s the thrill of the fight,

Rising up to the challenge of our rival,

And the last known survivor,

Stalks his prey in the night,

And he’s watching us all with the eye of the tiger.

The song
Eye of the Tiger
by
Survivor
played loudly in her ear, inspiring her to pick up her quick pace.  The Bellview Marathon was in two weeks, she needed to up her game. 

Headlights flashed in front of her as a car came from a side road cutting the corner.  Mercy didn’t have time to react.

*****

Marc

“You race tonight.”

“Ace, I told you, I’m out of this.”

“You’re out of it when I tell you you’re out of it.  Don’t forget who took care of you when you needed help, bitch.”  Ace pointed his finger into Marc’s solid chest.

“I’ve worked off my debt.  I’m not a gangbanger anymore.”

“Gangbanger?  You seem to have forgotten where you came from asshole.”

“I’m out of this.”  Marc zipped up his leather jacket and turned his back.

“Don’t walk away from me.”  Ace, who was built like Seth Meyers, pushed Marc Foster against the side of a brick building.  “You
can’t
walk away from me.”

Marc pushed him back and fixed the collar of his jacket.

“Watch me.”  Marc walked down the dirty sidewalk away from Ace, but the sound of a round being chambered stopped him in his tracks.

“You don’t walk away from the Tiburons.”

A .45 Glock was centered as his chest when he turned and faced Ace.  Marc had no doubt Ace was capable of pulling the trigger.  He wasn’t known for his kindness. 

“Don’t make me do this, Marc.  You know how this works.  Once a Tiburon, always a Tiburon.  There’s only one way out.”

The streets were abandoned, no witnesses to see the scene.  Marc swallowed hard and walked back to Ace.

“Where?”

“Smart decision.”  Ace lowered the weapon and put it back in his waistband.  “We’re going out of the city.  I’ll text you the address.  Bring the Porsche.  Don’t think about backing out.”

Marc nodded his head, turned and continued down the street toward his apartment.  He’d tried to live a straight life for nearly five years, but the Tiburons wouldn’t let him go.  They occasionally came calling and he had no choice but to answer. 

“Shit,” he mumbled below his breath hating the idea of being pulled in yet again.

Marc opened the door of his new Porche 911 Turbo coupe and the engine revved to life.  Five hundred plus horsepower below the hood made him a formidable opponent on the streets and the Tiburons knew it.

Marc wasn’t the average “gangbanger”.  He’d fallen into the crowd when he was twelve and fifteen years later there he was, still at the Tiburons’ beck and call.  His childhood wasn’t exactly picture perfect on the streets of Brooklyn.  His father was a disabled drug addict, his mother died of an overdose when he was five.  The gang took care of him.  They were his family growing up.

Even though he now lived in Manhattan, he still wasn’t immune to their dealings.  He’d kept his nose low while he was with the Tiburons’ and in the end went to college to support their cause.  A lawyer at their beck and call, for their members often needed legal protection.

Marc didn’t look like a gang member, far from it.  His skin was as white as snow, his hair sandy brown, his features soft, yet rugged.  He looked like a man who could be on the cover of GQ.

Marc pulled into the underground parking garage of his apartment complex and locked the doors of his baby.

“Good evening mister Foster.” 

“Evening John.  How’s the family?”

“Quite well, sir.”

John, the doorman, pushed the elevator button for Marc.

“Have a good night, sir.”

“You too John.”

The elevator took Marc up to the fifteenth floor and he let himself into his upscale apartment.  One day he would run from it all.  From Manhattan, from the Tiburons, from his fucked up life, just not tonight.  At least that’s what he told himself.

Hours later Marc received the text.

Bellview Industrial Park, two hours outside the city, we’ll be at the entrance at 11.

Marc rammed his cell phone into his pocket and said a few choice words.

Two hours later Marc pulled into the Bellview Industrial Park.  Nearly a dozen cars were in the parking lot, a larger crowd would be at the finish line, wherever the hell that was.

“Juan, Jose, Booker, Rames, Marc.”  Trey Parker, the man in charge of the street racing circuit, looked at the five men standing outside their sports cars.  Trey had a scar that ran down the left side of his face from his eye to his chin.  He was a man not to be messed with and his face proved it.

“What’s the circuit Trey?” Rames asked.

“147 Turner Road in Benton, so program that into your little GPS’s boys.  It will be the parking lot of Milton’s Meats.”

“What’s the purse?” Booker, a tall black man with a thick Jamaican
accent, asked.

“Fifty percent of the take.”

“Alright man, let’s get going.  I’m ready to take all your money, bitches.” Jose held his middle finger up at his opponents.

“You talk the talk, but you can’t walk the walk in that piece of shit Beamer,” Juan said to Jose, cutting him a smartass grin.

“You don’t think so, huh.  Why don’t you come here and—”

“Shut the hell up, take it out on the streets,” Trey cut Jose off.  “You guys trash talk like little pussies.”

Marc smiled at that comment, it was true.

“Marc,” Ace walked beside him, “do what it takes to win.”

“Have I ever lost?”  Marc was the contender to beat.

“Make sure you don’t, I’ve got 50 G on you.”

“Jesus Ace.”

“You got this in the bag, don’t screw it up, or, well, just don’t.”

Marc ran his fingers over his short hair.  Ace patted him on the back and walked over to Trey.  Marc shook his head and gathered his thoughts.  Talk about pressure.

“Five minutes,” Trey announced.

Marc’s heartbeat increased.  He sat down in the driver’s seat of the Porsche and gripped the steering wheel.  The five cars lined up beside one another and their engines roared to life.

“No rules boys, whatever it takes to win.”  Trey held up his hand, three fingers raised.  He counted down and then dropped his hand.  The five cars floored it and quickly made their way to the exit.  Marc fell in behind Jose’s BMW.  Booker fell in line behind Marc in his Audi.

Marc and Jose turned onto Route 28; Rames, Booker, and Juan continued straight toward Route 32.  It was a toss-up between which would be a more expeditious route, but Marc knew Route 28 had a higher speed limit and didn’t go through any towns, it was more of an interstate than a highway.

Thirty minutes passed.  Marc stayed behind Jose, the BMW surprisingly giving him a run for his money.

“Move the fuck over.” Marc pulled onto the oncoming lane of traffic and tried to overtake him.  A car approached in the opposite direction forcing Marc to fall back in line behind Jose.  “Shit.”

A sharp corner approached and the GPS’s warning wasn’t accurate.  It wasn’t a corner, it was an intersection.  Jose hit the brakes hard and skidded to the left.  Mark saw an object go over the hood of Jose’s car and tumble across the roadway.  Marc hit his brakes and avoided the object, barely.  Jose jammed his vehicle into park and jumped out.

“What the hell was that?”  The smell of molten brakes flooded the interior of Marc’s car.  Marc jumped out of his vehicle running to Jose’s side.  A woman lay bloodied in the roadway.

“Fuck, shit, ah man.
” Jose looked down at her crumbled body.  “We gotta get outta here.” 

“Call for help!”  Mark crouched down to her side.

“We gotta go Marc, I’m not going to jail for this shit!  Go!”

The woman began to come out of her fog and looked around in panic.

“The race, we gotta—”

“Call for fucking help!”

Jose looked at Marc with terror in his eyes and back stepped.

“I can’t man.  We gotta get outta her now!  Come on Marc!” 

“Jose!” Marc yelled frustrated.

Jose jogged back to his car and took off without taking a second look.

“I can’t…” the woman gasped for breath, “I can’t…breathe…”

Marc looked down upon her.  Obviously out for a run, she wore black compression pants and a reflective neon yellow jacket.  Her head was bloodied, her left leg was contorted and blood spurted out of her ripped pants like a faucet pouring water, her once white sneaker was in the middle of the roadway.

“Please…” her gasping caused Marc alarm.

“I’m going to call for help.”  Marc jogged back to his car and withdrew his cell phone.

“911 what is the address of your emergency?”

“I’m on Route 28, I don’t know where honestly, can’t you get my location from my phone?”

“I believe I have it, sir.”

“A woman’s been struck by a car.  She’s bleeding from her head, her leg is, God, it’s pretty close to being severed.”

“Is she conscious?”

“Yes.”

“Is she breathing?”

“Yes, look, I’m going to go back to her.  You have my location.”

“I have a few questions—”

Marc hung up the phone

“Please…God…please,” the woman whimpered lowly, “I can’t…move…my leg.”  She tried to sit up.

“Don’t move, okay, try to stay still.”  Mark took off his leather jacket and put it underneath her head.  “You’re going to be okay.”

“I can’t…breathe…please…help…me.”

“Help is coming,” Marc assured her.

“I don’t…want to…die.”  She shivered uncontrollably. 

“You’re not going to die.”

She rolled her head over and looked Marc in the eyes.  Her face was battered, her left side covered in road rash.

“I…”

“Shhh, try not to talk.  Take slow breaths.”  Marc could barely make out her features in the darkness, but she had a delicate figure, light brown hair, and high cheekbones, that he could see.

“Who...are you?”

“My name is Marc.  What is yours?”

“Ma...Mercy.”

“Mercy, that’s a unique name.”

“You…you didn’t do…this…to me?”

“No,” Marc pushed her hair from her eyes so she could see.

“Who...who did?”

Marc took a deep breath.

“What matters right now is you.  Nothing else, okay.”

“I can’t…move…my leg…”

She tried again to sit up to look at it, but Marc held her by the shoulders.  The last thing she needed to see at that moment was her leg.  If she wasn’t in shock, that surely would send her into that state.

“Mercy, shhh, lay back.”

“I’m…
scared.”  Her voice was weak and tears trickled down her face.

“It’s going to be okay.”

“Da….don’t lie…”

“I’ll be right back.”  Marc remembered putting a blanket in the trunk of the Porsche.

“Don’t lee…leave me…please…na…no.”

“I’m not leaving you, I’m getting a blanket.  I’ll be right back, I promise.”

“Pa…please.”

“I promise.”

Marc jogged back to his car and retrieved the blanket.  His car was blocking traffic, but no car had come along on the desolate stretch.  Covering her with the blanket, he dropped back to her side.

“Do you have anyone you want me to call?”

“My…parents.”