Heartbreaker Short Story

A "Super" Short Story (6 Min Read)

Tasha has made a new man out of me. And I'd die to regret it.

I exit the Bugatti under the radiance of a full moon and spring up the flagstone steps leading to the simple, even cottage-like house compared with the mansion I'd driven from. Modest yet elegant. All attributes drawn from the gentle hands managing the unpretentious property.

The Japanese Maple, sprouting from the red garden mulch, is reviving from the state the previous owner had abandoned it to. Just as I am. If anyone can wash the blood from my hands, from the parked luxury car behind me, the tux on my back, the shiny Rolex on my wrist, and the millions in my bank account, it'll be her. Call me a fool, but I'm turning over a new leaf for the love of one woman.

I mash the doorbell and rock on the heels of my dress shoes. When there's no answer, I try again. A frown pulls on my brows when the front door glides open at my touch. No petite Tasha in a flouncy chiffon dress in sight.

Instincts of mistrust assault me as I edge into the entryway, scan the cozy lamp-lit living space, and enter the kitchen. Various pots steam from the stove top in preparation for our quiet dinner, their uncommon desertion adding to the worms wriggling in my stomach.

"Tasha?" I press through the swinging door, taking in the fancy table setting before I notice the chair at the opposite end. I expel a sigh.

There she is. Only no smile lights her pixie features, and the silver band sealing her mouth jolts me to action. "Tasha!" The ropes are free of her arms, and I am removing the duct tape when a shadow falls over me. A flash of sparks erupts in my vision, and just as I feel the searing pain, all goes black.

A chill seeps through my cheekbone when I gain consciousness, soothing the blaze in my throbbing head. Smooth, gray concrete comes into focus, the musty odor and dust layers indicating that I'm in the basement. My heart lurches at the sight of Tasha across from me, her dress fanned out like crimson rivulets from her limp form, and I struggle to her side.

Her pulse is strong, and she stirs at my touch. "Brad!"

I hold her close, surveying our prison cell in the glare of the suspended fluorescent.

"Who are they? What do they want with us?" Tasha's soft cries rip through me, making eye contact with her tearful blue gaze impossible. I know what this is, all right, being the initiator of similar harassment. These villains were employing cruel scare tactics to achieve whatever end they had in mind, just as those under my leadership had. But that was before Tasha had changed my life.

Spotting a window near the rafters, I help her to her feet. It's tiny, just the size for Tasha, though, and with the assistance of a stray flag pole from under the stairs, I push the grubby glass open. Cool night air flows over me as I beckon Tasha near and hoist her through the aperture.

"Go for the police," I whisper, committing her beautiful, tear-stained features to memory before she vanishes into the darkness.

The silence of the vacant room engulfs me. I doubt I'm any good as a MacGyver, so I decide to try the door at the head of the stairs in the vain hope it had been left unlocked. Just as my hand closes around the knob, the door jerks inward, sending me sprawling inside. Rough hands shuttle me into the living room, where I jerk free and face my captors.

“Greg?” My mouth hangs slack at the young guy in street clothes before I recognize his well-dressed accomplice. Murray only visited to hand out directives from the Chief. “Why are you doing this?”

Greg rubs the stubble on his jaw, avoiding eye contact. “Sorry, boss. I no longer take orders from you.”

The news hits like a punch to the gut. Why was my authority being removed? I seek the hard gaze of Murray as the front door slams open and in waltz one of his hoods, towing a stumbling Tasha. I leap for the guy's throat, knocking the gun from his free hand, when a blunt object crashes into my back. Fiery shock ripples up my spine, and I fall to my knees.

Murray's hazy in my peripheral vision, brandishing the end of his gun, and I moan. “Let her go! Please!” I don't know why I bother with the last part. Begging never softens these guys' hearts, and to be honest, it never succeeded in giving me the slightest pause.

Greg wrenches me to my feet, and Murray jerks my drooping head up, a snarl twisting his features. He forces me to face the terrified questions in Tasha's red-rimmed eyes. “Not the big man now, are you? Care to explain to your little girlfriend over there what you really do for a living, Brad? Or shall we?”

“Tasha, I'm sorry.” This wasn't how things were supposed to turn out. I meant to break it to her gently so that she'd understand my side of the situation. “I'm - I'm more than the usual businessman.”

A shiver travels through Tasha's petite frame, and her large, blue eyes blink in confusion. “What are you saying, Brad?”

“I'm part of an organization...” Oh, how can I tell her of the horrors I've dealt by my own hands! Her fragile heart would break in two. “But I'm done with it. Don't look away, Tasha! You've got to believe me! My attorney has been instructed to go to the police with my written testimony. I've changed! You've changed me from the man I was!”

“He's telling the truth, Tasha,” Murray's low, snake-like voice interrupts me, followed by the whisper of paper unfolding. “See for yourself right here.”

My heart freezes at the document he's holding aloft, the scrawled signature near the page's end reading like a death sentence. The last time I saw that paper, it was being placed in a briefcase and escorted from the house by...

“Unfortunately, George had an accident between here and the police station,” he continues, flicking his gold-embellished lighter open. The glow of the igniting document reflects in his dark eyes as my only hope goes up in flames.

“I believe you, Brad.” Like the ringing of a silver bell, Tasha's voice cuts through the inner turmoil and assures me that though this is the end, at least my heart will go in peace. “You were correct as well, Murray.”

Murray steps forward, and I wince at the gun he jabs into my ribs. “Shall I take care of him, Chief?”

I follow his line of vision to the sylph, the silky red fabric flowing about her legs as she stoops to retrieve the fallen pistol.

“You know treachery of this kind I deal with personally, Murray.” Tasha levels the gun at me. The beautiful blue eyes have transformed into chunks of ice, hard and unforgiving.

“I don't understand, Tasha. What are you doing?” I babble, struggling to make sense of the violence shifting her timid demeanor.

“Murray suspected a weak link. Out of your own mouth, you proved it.” Her black heels click against the glossed wood as she strolls in front of me. I fight to get free, but the two hoods clamp my arms back.

“You were going to spill your guts to the authorities. You know our organization doesn't permit that. I don't permit that, Brad.”

My world is spinning to justify the image of the innocent girl I knew from the one before me. It was all a lie, an elaborate trap? “But I love you, Tasha! Doesn't that mean anything?”

Tasha's sanguine lips curl in a sneer. “What do you know about love? No more than you do about good business, lover-boy.”

Flame belches from the barrel of the pistol, and in that split second, the muzzle flash illumines her ruthless gaze. The eyes I could have sworn belonged to an angel were actually a devil's, in the cunning disguise of a crimson silk dress.

END

I hope you enjoyed my flash fiction. Leave a comment, and tell me what you think!