Chapter 11: The Scorpion Tattoo Men Came For Me.

“Move it,” a croaky voice from the video commanded.

The grainy night vision shot captured muscled men, some shirtless, unloading crates from a shipping container. Black scorpion tattoos rested on their necks and arms.

One pulled out a rifle from one of the crates, inspecting it.

Two other men pulled back a tarp, revealing women and children in another container. Their eyes were wide with fear, and their wrists bound behind their backs.

A chill wave crept up my spine, and my hand drifted to my stomach before I realized it.

I clicked the next thumbnail: a man with a bloodied, battered face knelt on cracked concrete.

Another stood with his back to the camera, having a pistol pointed at the battered man's temple.

“Please,” the man cried, shaking his head frantically.

A muzzle flash followed. His body crumpled before the echo faded.

My breath caught.

The video played on.

Yet another man walked into the frame, patting the shooter’s back as they both stood over the dead man.

Then, the shooter turned in the direction of the camera.

My heart slammed against my ribs. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

Brad.

Brad was the one who just shot an unarmed man in cold blood.

The phone slipped from my hand into the basket of clothes.

I slapped my hand over my mouth to mute my scream.

My heart raced.

It's been two whole years, and finally, I have something concrete enough to bury him.

But what did this really mean for me?

For my baby?

I picked up the phone and checked the time.

Brad would be returning soon.

If he found out I’d seen this…

And he would. It was only a matter of time.

Damn it.

My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

This wasn’t just about survival anymore. Brad wasn’t only a monster behind closed doors.

He was a murderer.

In my hand was proof.

And if I played my cards well, my revenge.

I knew I wouldn't survive blackmailing him under his own roof.

I had to leave now before his car pulled into the driveway.

But, where would I even go tonight?

My original plan had been simple - in two weeks, I'd sail by ferry to Nantucket, then to one of the smaller islands, where I could raise my baby in peace.

Now, that plan was no longer an option. And there was no time to make a new one now.

I had to get out first and find a safe place.

For tonight.

Then, I could think of something.

My hands shook as I pulled out a small bag holding the cash I'd saved so far from behind the washing machine.

Tucking my phone in my pocket, I ran upstairs and grabbed a duffel. I tossed the money, my passport, and two changes of clothes into it.

Outside, darkness had fallen. Every second pulled me closer to the sound of him coming through the front door.

With my heartbeat roaring in my ears, I hurried downstairs.

As soon as I crossed the living room, a sharp sound of splintering wood cracked through the air, and the front door burst open.

I jumped, and the duffel slipped from my hand, hitting the floor.

But it wasn’t Brad.

Three tall men stormed in with heavy boots and mean looks. Two had their guns holstered.

The one that had his gun drawn had a black scorpion tattoo on his arm.

"What the hell?" I blurted.

He smiled at me like I was prey and said, “Hi.”

Without thinking, I dashed into the guest room and slammed the door shut, twisting the lock.

“Get her!” one of them barked.

Then - pfft!

The muffled gunshot shattered the lock. Splinters rained across the floor.

I stumbled back, turned toward the window, and pushed it open. The cold night air rushed in.

My leg was already out when the door burst inward with a thunderous crack.

I jumped.

The impact jarred through me as I hit the gravel, the sound of crunching stone mingling with my gasp of pain.

I scrambled to my feet and ran for dear life.

Another shot zipped past my ear. I ducked, running toward the neighbors’ backyard, toward any shadow that might hide me.

“We need her alive, stupid,” one of them hissed at the shooter while they pursued after me.

The streets were alive with night activities. Neon lights pulsed from clubs and bars.

Chatter and traffic hummed in the cold night. I turned around to see if my pursuers still followed.

It didn't seem like it, but I wasn't stopping.

I blended in with pedestrians, running across the road with no particular destination in mind.

My phone rang in my pocket. It was Brad. No one else ever called me.

I didn't answer, but I slowed down, slipping into a dark alley beside a club, trying to catch my breath. My chest burned.

The ringing started again.

My hands shook as I pulled out the phone.

“Why didn't you answer the first time?” Brad asked once the line connected.

In the frenzy, I'd forgotten he was the bad guy I was leaving.

“Brad- they broke into the house.”

“What are you-”

I didn't let him finish.

“They were shooting. I-”

“Describe them,” he interrupted calmly… too calmly.

My eyes swept the streets while I stuttered. “Uh… three men. Tall.”

I paused for a beat.

Then, “Tattoos! One had a scorpion tattoo.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, the video I'd watched flashed in my mind.

My pulse spiked.

I froze.

The pause that followed was broken with him cursing,

“Damn it!”

Static from his car radio filled the silence between us.

He could be anywhere.

My mind worked fast.

The duffel I'd packed was back at the house. But there was no going back.

“Stay put, I'm coming to get you,” he said, and hung up without letting me answer.

“Never again,” I muttered to myself.

I resumed moving, looking around, and keeping to dark street corners.

My phone rang again.

“I said stay put,” he barked once I answered. “Why the hell do you keep moving?”

I stopped mid-stride.

Wait.

How did he know?

Realization came slowly at first. Then it slammed into me like a door in the dark. All those times, he just happened to know where I was.

The salon, the mall, the late-evening pharmacy run...

It was surveillance. The control freak must have planted a tracker in my phone!

Anger rose fast.

“Elena, answer me,” he snapped.

“You bastard,” I spat.

My voice shook with anger and dread, yet a dark, bitter part of me savored the shock I imagined was on his face.

“You don’t own me. You never did.”

A broken laugh escaped me, tears stinging my eyes. “I found your card, and I’ll expose you. I’m the worst mistake you ever made.”

“You stupid-”

I ended the call and yanked the card out of my phone, tossing it into a dumpster.

With only a few crumpled bills in my pocket, I knew I only had enough for a train ride.

Tonight, I was leaving Lawrence.

I… and my unborn child.