Garrote part 12
[Starz Power Diego Jimenez X Jazmine Mann (Black!OC)]
Summary: Healy and the Jimenez’ are gearing up for war. Jazmine’s getting antsy waiting for something to go horribly wrong. Previous Masterlist Next
Rating/Warning(s): Mature (+18 or I call the police). post-coitus fluff, swearing, anxiety, time skip, canon typical violence (I think...?), all plot, gringo using google translate Spanish and half remembered high school classes (sorry in advance), mentions of grooming/pedophilia (don’t worry, Porsche’s OK)
Word count: 2.2k words
Author’s Note(s): yeah so I wrote this back in December and just didn’t have the heart to put it out. I wanted to try and finish the other chapters (thinking I’m gonna wrap up at seventeen chapters) and I couldn’t. I have a problem with finishing anything I start, it never feels strong enough. I’m gonna try not to let that stop me though, promise.
Waking up in Diego’s arms, Jazmine never expected to feel so calm. Truth be told she didn't really wake up, but drifted in and out of sweet harmonious consciousness to find Diego, whether he was cradling her or sitting up or rubbing her back. She finally managed to convince herself to get out of bed and by then it was already 2 in the afternoon. Diego had his pants and shoes back on but nothing else, so she relaxed a little.
"You need to eat," he whispered, "come on, get dressed."
Jazmine blinked slowly. "I need a shower. Maybe a wheelchair, too."
She didn't miss the proud smirk that suddenly graced his handsome features. As he put on his shirt, Jazmine glanced past him at the open door of the closet. It was empty inside save for a few hangers, but it left a bad taste in her mouth and a lump in her throat. Diego followed her line of sight and said nothing. He let her shower, never more than five feet away (which is exactly how far the shower curtain is to the bathroom door). They ate somewhere family friendly, a pancake house she barely remembered the name of. Her legs still suffered from tremors and her pelvic region ached, but they were good feelings and she tried to make them last as they put a smile on her face.
~
It's been about a week and Jazmine has seen neither hide nor hair of Haagen and it's starting to worry her.
The only relief she had been able to accrue these past few days had been Healy's announcement that they had made a huge connection and were in the process of setting up task forces to take Haagen down. Alicia was confident that Haagen knew nothing and was continuing on with business as usual (or so she heard through the grapevine), and even Diego seemed to be relaxed about it.
That was another thing that bothered her. Diego, relaxed. Diego doing more hands on business and clubbing at all hours of the night. He'd barely said two words to her after coming to the rescue and fucking her silly in front of Haagen.
Sitting alone in the penthouse, Jazmine scratched at every itch and tugged on every baby hair like her skin was diseased. She didn't want to go outside, she was too afraid of Haagen's next move. She had been texting her mother regularly again just so she wouldn't call and have to explain why she sounded so nervous. It would have taken LaShawn all of ten seconds to realize something was wrong: so why couldn't anybody else see it?
Maybe she was overreacting. Jazmine drew a hot bath in the jacuzzi sized tub and turned the jets on, finding bubble bath solution and a pink rubber ducky to cradle. The bathroom had a dimmer switch she turned down to near zero and let silky smooth R&B from the 90's wash her worries away. Her fingers worked to squeeze the ducky like a stress ball, and a traitorous part of her brain whispered longing thoughts.
I wish Diego was here to massage my back.
She shushed her thoughts: at least the bath is perfectly hot.
She washed her body and spent the better part of the day deep conditioning her hair and shaving her legs just for the hell of it. The music never stopped, it simply rolled from R&B to classic rock and then back again. Miguel checked in only to make sure she ate, and Jazmine managed to convince him to eat with her and play a co-op mobile game for a few hours. She plucked at the listening device in her ear for the thousandth time and decided to just call Healy.
"Hey can't talk right now," were all the words she got out of him on the second call and then an immediate hang up.
Jazmine growled and crossed her arms, suddenly reminded she was still wearing nothing but a bathrobe. She slipped into a pair of jeans and a tank top, and feeling bold, she marched up to Diego’s room and swiped a black button down that smelled like him. She tucked it unbuttoned into her pants and swanned up to the penthouse roof with a bottle of wine and one glass.
She knew she would miss this level of extravagance. Never worrying about paying for rent or for food or selling her time and labor for someone else and next to nothing pay. Jazmine wondered what Diego would say to becoming her sugar daddy after this whole human trafficking business was over, but shook her head and topped her drink off.
Probably overstayed my welcome, she thinks, that’s why Diego’s been distant lately.
~
Jazmine was unnaturally quiet on her end, though Healy recognized the tinkling sound of bottle to glass. Probably on her fourth drink if he was counting correctly. No matter– she was safe for now at Diego’s penthouse suite and there were more pressing matters to attend to at the moment. Brasa was leaning over each and every agent sat in the boardroom as if to intimidate them into obeying her every command. She was a good detective, really she was, she just needed to work on trusting the people who trusted her. Her partner Holbrooke was no help at all– selective mutism was a nasty habit to overcome. Brasa had not breathed a word of thanks in Healy’s direction, but he had expected that. This wasn’t about the praise– it was about justice.
When he could finally break away for coffee and a piss, he sent a text to Alicia. No doubt los hermanos Jimenez would be thrilled with the intel– but what would happen next?
The safest place for Jazmine right now is Diego’s place, he thought, but for how much longer?
~
An address and a transcribed photograph of the documents they came from. Healy had told them that the most likely scenario for Porsche’s whereabouts was ‘adoption’ by people who did not want any adoption documents to surface later on. The family probably has prestige, they may have lost a child recently and are looking to replace it like a goldfish and hope no one notices.
It didn’t stop Diego’s trigger finger from inching closer and closer to his gun at every small pump of the breaks.
“Tranquil, hermano,” Alicia soothed. “We’re almost there. We can kill them after we get la pequena back.”
Diego sniffed and hopped out of the car as soon as it finally parked. Alicia was right behind him, checking her peripherals on the well lit streets of this upscale neighborhood. It was them two and one guard each, a second car bearing two underlings coming in from the back door and four cars with heavily armed back up around the corner in case things went south. Brother and sister climbed the porch steps idly, slipping their guns back into their hidey spots before knocking on the front door…
~
“Fuck.”
Jazmine’s phone battery flashed at 3%. She didn’t remember finishing the bottle, but she did really have to pee so she stood up from the pool’s edge to relieve herself. Miguel was asleep on the white leather couches in the living room, mouth open and drooling with his gun on the table. The woman’s steps were a little unsteady and her vision came in waves, but she felt that fuzzy warm buzz and decided she had better not drive.
She shook the young man awake with a sigh. “Hey, I left something at my apartment. Can you drive me?”
Miguel pursed his lips. “I don’t think jefe would want–”
“Please,” she said, “it’s important.”
Miguel relented, swiping the keys to a Ferrari from the rack by the elevator and handed Jazmine her coat. Just a few more items she couldn't live without. The way Miguel drove meant they were there in no time at all, and every light they passed by in the dark somehow made Jazmine feel lighter, less jittery and anxious. She had Miguel drop her off by the backside of the apartment and climbed the steps alone after insisting she would only be a minute. All of her doors and windows were locked, the place looked exactly as she had left it.
“Thank god.”
She had to search for her charger, a sparkly teal thing with a cat and an alligator charm on it. She found it hiding under her bed, then found her way into the bathroom to check on her face in the mirror. Jazmine fingered the black hickeys on her neck, smiling to herself. She caught sight of something white hanging out of the trash and dug it out: her Chicago shirt. Stuffing it into her back pocket next to her phone charger, Jazmine took one last look at her apartment and blew a kiss to it.
“Bye,” she whispered, peaking into the dark and lingering on the memories she was about to leave behind forever until finally the lock clicked into place. Oh shit, this was the wrong door. Miguel was waiting out back–
Pop-pop-pop
Gunshots rang out from behind the building, the returning fire was short and stilted, overwhelmed by the repetition of an automatic. Jazmine took to the stairs at the far side of the building and ran down them wishing she was in something other than slippers. Her heart began to pound in her chest and her breath billowed in heavy clouds before disappearing. The second she stepped off of the last stair, she tripped. Her flimsy footwear slid on the thin layer of ice and she fell, her eyes and ears following the clink clink plop noise of her phone literally going down a storm drain.
She barely had time to scramble back to her feet before she heard tires come screeching around the corner down the street and she stumbled into a run.
Jazmine wasn’t sure how far she’d gone, and she can’t recall how many streets she turned on, or even if she was being chased at all. Every sound made her jump, and every car coming her way made her anxious. Her lungs burned for air as she finally collapsed against the window of a minimart. There were tears streaming down her cheeks as she pushed the door open to hide among the tiny rows of snacks and gum and cigarettes and refrigerated beverages. The store owner was wearing headphones and didn't bother looking up. Deep breath in. Exhausted, shaking breath out. Jazmine curled tightly around herself to try and calm down before her heart exploded in her chest.
~
Alicia and Diego have the father on his knees and bloodied. His wife and children are being held upstairs in one of the bedrooms, terrified. Diego wipes at a small spot of blood from his sister's face.
"Donde esta el bebe?," Diego said, grasping the man's ear and dragging his head back to look at him. "I won't ask you again."
"What baby?" The man coughed dryly, his eyes nearly swollen shut but still glimmering in fear. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Alicia kneeled down in her white pantsuit. "The baby you bought from Jeremy Haagen, Mr. Fletcher. A beautiful little girl with dusky hair and big brown eyes. A baby that belongs to us."
Fletcher squirms under the murderous gaze of los hermanos Jimenez but doesn’t break.
“You know, Diego,” Alicia said leaning on her brother’s shoulder, “I didn’t see a fourth bedroom.”
Diego pursed his lips. “So?”
“So the contract specified a room for our mariposa, and he already has two children. Where’s the other room?” Alicia’s heels clicked as the gear turned in Diego’s head. “I bet la senorita Fletcher might know.”
“No, please,” he begged, “leave my wife out of this– she’s got nothing to do with this!”
“So you do know what we’re talking about,” Diego’s aha motion garnered a vague threat with the point of his gun– gold plated, of course. Emeralds in the hilt this time.
“Secretly adopting a baby girl,” Alicia tsked, kneeling before Fletcher and brandishing a knife, “when you have two perfectly healthy girls of your own? Ay dios mio, what’s the matter? Three’s your lucky number, but your wife doesn’t put out anymore?”
Fletcher stumbled hard over his words and made next to no sense. One thing that did make it clear through the haze of nonsense struck a nerve with the Jimenezes: “I didn’t know she’d be that young!”
Alicia exchanged a queasy look with her brother. She had heard of it before: grooming. Usually starts when a girl is anywhere between nine and eighteen. Fletcher continued to ramble, about hiring a nanny and raising the baby anyway since Haagen didn’t do resales. He was probably just trying to get the baby off his hands…
Before Diego could pull the trigger, his phone rang. So did Alicia’s, both projecting the same number from a burner phone and three emojis to designate the caller: Healy. Alicia answered for Diego, jerking her head towards the door and mouthing, ‘I’ll take care of it from here.’ Diego reluctantly slipped outside, glaring at the nosy neighbors in the window who disappeared in a flash. He put the phone to his ear just in time to hear:
“– I need you to get to Nassau now: Jazmine’s in trouble.”
@mental-bycatch @kid-from-new-zealand @1zashreena1 @girlpornparadise @nicke0115 let me know if I missed anybody, I’m sorry it’s been so long
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New Cigar Box, sneak peek
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Arthur used to think that ‘growing up’ would be exciting, a whole new world of unlimited access right in his eighteen year old hands with this plastic ID and the wide eyed picture of himself trying his hardest not to smile. A new start, a change, a big change that meant them both moving forward, not backwards. A ticket to a bank account, for one. Legal cigarettes for another, which was a necessity for handling his stress. But most importantly, turning eighteen was an all access pass to an adult shelter he’d be able to walk right into with Eames without the threat of being hauled off by a social worker, which also meant no more Davids, no more nights spent outdoors or crashing on the floor of an apartment filled to the brim with junkies and the trappers that supplied their habits... Arthur's habit.
Habits, now.
He grimaces, taking a drink before he pours out a splash on the stone, earning glares as he toasts to Eames.
At least this time he couldn't say it was his fault that everything had gone south. They had had to abandon the car in favor of hiding in Yusuf's apartment once Eames’ demons from Chicago finally caught up to him. Three months of living a life of pure luxury in that old station wagon with its no battery, no wheels, and no gas, but it had been theirs, one promise of Eames’ fulfilled. And it had been permanent, parked in the industrial garage like a mobile home. A home.
Gone.
“Maybe a month or two in a shelter and we can circle back to the car once Travis can get the parts we need to actually get that piece of junk on the road. Then,” Eames had said, “we’ll be out of here for good.”
Only, Travis never got those parts and Eames never got to follow Arthur to the shelter. Arthur had gotten them a bed, went to sleep, woke up and Eames was still gone. No goodbyes, not a hug, nothing. Just the threat of an eight year prison sentence and the promise of deportation back to England for a stupid armed robbery.
“Don't worry about that, baby, you know your Eames always finds a way to get back to you. I'm not going anywhere.”
But even Eames didn't sound confident, not even after the trial was over.
“Two years. We can manage that... right?”
Arthur knew Eames’ tone had nothing to do with being afraid of prison. Eames wasn't afraid of anything.
Except Arthur himself, or rather the kinds of trouble Arthur could get into now that he was on his own again.
“Just keep your head down, boy, stay in the shelter as long as you can, and for god's sake, stay out of the streets.
And damn if he hadn't tried. He'd stayed put in the shelter, he’d kept pace with his medication, even jumped at the chance for free testing at the clinic on the second floor! He'd hustle once a week to keep their money growing in the account, he'd kept his head down just as Eames had told him to, tried his best to be civil with his new cot neighbors, and had done his best to stay the hell away from Yusuf, Nash, and anybody else with drugs.
But as always, ‘trying’ was just a fucking delay for the inevitable.
Even hiding out in a shelter couldn’t protect him from the one thing that had ruined him long before drugs did: men. The male counselor with his ‘clumsy’ hands, the creep in the cot closest to the bathroom, a brand new stalker…
And him.
Arthur’s been wandering the streets on a binge since spotting him, the one monster that’s been haunting his every step since puberty.
David hadn't seen Arthur but Arthur had seen him as that man loaded groceries into his minivan, a brand new batch of kids bouncing around him and his wife in excitement. Save for one boy. One scrawny little nothing sulking quietly as one of the bigger kids shoved past him.
It was enough to send Arthur into a tailspin. Even when he'd been on his own in this city, way before meeting Eames, he still hadn't ever been this scared, this sick, this damaged as he was with that monster standing just on the other side of the parking lot of where Arthur had been bouncing in a trucker’s lap for Eames’ commissary funds.
Arthur's not even sure how long he's been staring at the payphone on the sidewalk. He's been riding on a high all afternoon but it's fading. He's lonely and growing more and more sick as his anxiety starts to build up again, but he's far too terrified to call… anybody, really, certain that Yusuf and Ariadne must have tossed out his bag by now, thinking him dead in a ditch or the river after weeks of no sign of him.
After his trouble in the shelter, Eames had told him to go back to Ariadne’s place with his things where he could at least be safe from strangers even if it meant putting an end to his quest for sobriety, but Arthur had wanted to stick it out, stay clean, and prove to Eames that he could handle himself. After seeing David though, he couldn't handle the shelter any longer. Just being near a man sober sent him right into a panic attack.
It was like coming home, as easy as peeling a slice of cheese off its plastic, he'd quickly found some of Nash’s fellow junkies, though thankfully not Nash himself, and had silenced that panic. Hard.
Heroin, he found, didn’t clear out his pockets nearly as fast as coke did. How anybody could pass up cheaper, stronger drugs when high, Arthur didn’t know, but once that quick trip to the clouds was over? Replaced with puking and more puking and other fun things coming out of other fun places? He was more than happy to leave heroin forever and spend more money on a drug he could trust, one that was familiar, rather than risk any more bad trips. Unlike heroin, coke didn’t make him feel so bad so quickly. Coke didn't judge. It only held him close and kept him safe, alert, but he’d never been high on the streets by himself before.
Anxiety was one thing, but uncontrollable paranoia had had him clinging to that high just to pluck up the courage to show up at Yusuf's apartment, relieved beyond words when the squatter outside his door told him that Ariadne had left and gave him as good of an address to go find her that the dozing girl could muster.
It took him the rest of the evening and the last of his coke to find the apartment complex but he'd managed, still looking like a battered wreck after that fuck up with the truck driver.
But it didn't matter. Just like how his aunt would rush to his mother no matter how scared or how bloody her mouth was or how it stained the front of her dress, Ariadne had opened the door and hugged Arthur tight. Her long lost, chosen little brother.
It was nothing like Yusuf’s place. Small, simple, but clean and dry and safe. Even the streetlights looked that much brighter coming in through her open windows as Arthur sat at her kitchen table and let her dab days-old blood away from his busted lip. She gives him a pack a frozen broccoli to hold to his swollen cheek.
“I'm not going to preach to you, or judge or… anything… right now. I'm not even going to try to stop you. You've been through enough already.”
For some reason hearing that made him panic. He shook his head quickly. “No, no, I'm not, well, I only relapsed a few days ago.”
“Days? Arthur, you've been missing for weeks now. Eames’ been worried sick. So was I. Anything could have happened to you… and it looks like… anything did happen… Arthur--”
“I got sick and puked on a trucker in his cab so he beat the shit out of me. It's nothing--I’m going to get clean this time. I'm totally done, I promise.”
That promise had hung in the air between them, waiting for Ariadne to accept those words, but she waved them off, as disbelieving as Arthur had felt just repeating that promise himself. Even he knew he was nowhere near ready to handle a withdrawal.
It was soul crushing in its truth, but rather than leave him in that pain alone, Ariadne had gotten up to give him a hug. She’d held him for a small eternity before she’d wiped her eyes and looked at him earnestly.
“You don't have to make me any promises. I care about you, Arthur, and that’s not conditional. That being said, I'm really, really hoping that you don't go off in search of drugs while you're here, but...if you need them, then...okay. Yusuf and I are still friends even if…Just say the word and I'll get it for you. Whatever you need until you are ready to quit. Okay? Just...please stay. Everybody's so worried about you, Arthur. But you're here now, and you’re safe, and alive, and that's all that matters. We will figure out the rest later.” She'd paused, frowning even as she lowered her voice and asked, “Do you need...something...right now?”
He’d just nodded at the table, fidgeting so much he’d tangled his hands in his shirt, unable to say or do anything else without falling apart hearing her words.
“Arthur?”
He’d tried to say a simple thank you, but all he could process was David and his constant reminders that Arthur was worthless. “I don't deserve this. Especially not from you. I don't deserve any of this. I shouldn't have come here. You have your life in a good, good place here. I'm so sorry.”
“No, no, no. Why not?”
“Because…” He’d opened his mouth, ready to read off a mental list but with her rubbing his hands, even while holding them tightly to stop him from leaving, he couldn't seem to find one. He sat back in silence, staring at his hands in his lap.
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