by Louise Dawn
Joey looked at Khalid as if he were mad.
“I have an extensive business network with offices all around the world and need someone with common sense. You could work anywhere you want. Paris, Rome, London—you name it.”
Joey shook her head. “Khalid, I can’t just—”
“No, listen, I’ll pay double what you earn here. Choose an art school to attend in Europe, and I will pay for your studies and an apartment. I’ll even build an art therapy school in your honor, all providing you prove yourself to me. There’s a position available in Paris, a good base to start from.”
“Why would you offer this?” Joey hovered in an alternate universe. “And what would I be required to do?”
“Be there for whenever I need you. I’ll provide you with a tutor who will teach you about my world and the importance of what I do. You’ll attend group meetings and meet some of the people that I help. I work with those who have lost their way, persecuted communities. This world is a cruel place, and I’m trying to make it better. It may take time, but you’ll eventually believe in something great, greater than one person could ever be.”
In the blink of an eye, her life path was altered. She thought of all the possibilities. She could attend an art school… Khalid handed her a brighter future on a surreal silver platter.
“Khalid, I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything. I’ll give you a couple of minutes to think it over. If you say yes, we can go inside and draw up a contract.”
A couple of minutes. Was he dang kidding? “I need more time. Maybe a day or so?”
“I have other people I’m considering for this position, some with impressive resumés. This is a chance to change your life and change this world.”
◊ ◊ ◊
Abby told the story in a detailed manner, Max believed that everything she’d said so far was accurate. He rubbed his brow and pushed down the rage. These bastards recruited women by subtly playing off insecurities and pretending that they’d make their dreams come true. Stashing the girls in a strange new country with 24/7 guards who watched their every move, brainwashing them with propaganda. Some of the girls bought into it. Others who rebelled, disappeared for good. Max had some idea of what Abby and Khalid’s conversation entailed from the intel in her file. She’d just confirmed it. What happened after that conversation was what Max needed to find out. He checked the tape recorder and took notes.
“I don’t know what I was thinking—no, I do know. A silly dream of hanging out with fellow artists, who understood me. Of not being anywhere near my father. I could make a real home for myself—flying can be a lonely life if you have nothing to come home to, but I was stupid. You can run from yourself but can never hide.” Abby looked up. “I said yes.”
Heaviness seeped into Max’s bones. Abigail Evans had made a deal with the devil.
“Khalid led me inside.” Abby’s brow creased. “I remember feeling numb and questioning my decision. A thought kept intruding: you never get something for nothing in this world. By the time we entered a sitting room leading to his study, I had cold feet. Khalid took me on a quick circuit, showing all his falconry trophies. He kept asking if I was okay and must’ve seen the uncertainty. I said that I thought he was a lovely man and appreciated his offer, then I turned him down. He seemed disappointed but asked me to stay for a quick drink. After leading me back to the sitting room, Khalid handed me a glass of Pepsi, mentioning how warm it was outside. He said he’d tend to guests and would return shortly.”
Max pulled out a sturdy sheet of paper and handed it to her. “It’s a blueprint of Khalid’s house.”
“You mean palace?”
“Please concentrate, highlight where you were situated in that house, at each point of your visit, as we go through all the details.”
◊ ◊ ◊
After repositioning the map, Abby cast her mind back to the layout, scribbling and circling on the page. Then she continued with her story.
Abby remembered the layout of the mansion like it was yesterday. The large sofa in the sitting room had engulfed her. She gazed in awe at the marble, gold and crystal luxury. The Persian rug beneath her feet felt thick and expensive. Gold curtains draped the windows in heavy splendor, and a massive grandfather clock ticked quietly in the corner. The room felt cool against her sticky skin. Joey felt happy with the decision—better to slowly save money. One day she would get to fulfill her dreams, all on her own, beholden to no one.
Feeling sleepy, Joey lay back and admired the intricate mural covering the ceiling. It depicted an ancient battle with wild-eyed men riding bareback on stallions, wielding giant swords. The enemies in the painting resembled crusaders. Her eyes wandered back to the Arabic warriors. A fearsome man positioned at the front of the foray looked remarkably similar to Khalid, who must’ve posed for the dramatic piece. She giggled at the vanity of the garish artwork.
“Joey, is that you?” Meg stood in the doorway holding a stack of folders. She looked stylish in a white shirt, flared navy skirt and flaming red stilettos.
Joey grinned at her friend. “You look amazing! I want— no, I need—those red heels.”
“What are you doing here?” Meg said, stepping forward.
“What am I doing here?” Joey asked. “What are you doing here? Why are you carrying those files? Do you also work for Khalid?”
Meg rushed into the room, throwing the paperwork onto a coffee table. “What do you mean by ‘also’?” She had a strange look on her face.
“You won’t believe this, girlfriend, but Khalid offered me a freaking job!”
“Bollocks. When?”
“A few minutes ago.”
“You need to leave. You can’t work for him.”
Joey tried to push herself off the huge couch, but her arms felt heavy.
“This is a cock-up.” Meg looked panicked. “I’ll tell Khalid you felt ill.”
“I’m having a quick drink with him. He’s quickly seeing to some guests.”
“I need you to stand up.” Meg grabbed her arm and tried to pull Joey off the sofa.
Joey pulled her arm back, and it took effort. “Wait. You work here?”
“Luv, it’s a long story and you need to hurry.” Meg grasped Joey’s wrist again, this time tugging hard. Pulling her towards the study.
Joey felt weird and giggled. “We’re going the wrong way, silly.”
“There’s a private passage in the study that leads out to the gardens,” Meg said.
“Whoopsie daisy!” Joey tripped and grinned at her friend.
Meg grabbed Joey by the shoulders and shook her. “Focus. Did you let Khalid believe that you had doubts about working for him?”
Joey loosely nodded her floppy head. “I said nopey nope to the job.”
Meg frowned. “Luv, you’re not thinking clearly. Get a cab as quickly as you can. Your legs won’t hold out much longer.”
Joey felt the first stirrings of panic—she did feel odd like she was floating out of her skin. “But Khalid is a friend.”
“Trust me, he’s not your friend—he’s an evil tosser.”
Panic seeped through the fog. “Meg, come with me…please.”
“Bugger it, I can’t. I’ll need to cover for you, otherwise we’re both in big trouble.” Meg felt along a bookshelf and pulled a latch. A door swung open. Stairs led down into a dark concrete tunnel.
“How did you do that?”
“Go!” Meg pushed her forward.
Joey stumbled, landing on her hands and knees at the bottom of the stairs. Her limbs quivered and gave way. The concrete floor felt cool against her cheek. Dust tickled her nose; something brushed against her face as shiny black shoes—peeking out beneath white fabric—stepped into her line of sight. Her eyes slowly traveled up to Khalid’s face.
His predatory gaze zeroed in on Meg. “Using my tunnel without my permission? You’ve been a very naughty girl.”
Khalid turned and spoke in Arabic. Two men material
ized, stepping over Joey, before grabbing Meg and shoving her back into the study. One of them looked like the Incredible Hulk. Joey tried to scramble back, but her legs refused to work. Khalid roughly dragged her into the room.
Meg babbled as excuses fell from her tongue. “Joey wasn’t feeling well, and I thought it best if she went home to rest…”
Khalid dropped Joey like a sack of potatoes and walked up to Meg. “Shut up, you stupid whore.” Khalid slapped her, straightened his clothing and wiped his hand as if it was sullied. “How long have you worked for me as a volunteer assistant?”
“Two years,” Meg muttered.
“Repeat that.”
The hulk grabbed her roughly by the neck.
“Two years. It’s been two years.”
“I trusted you with my business, with my secrets. How many girls have you helped behind my back?”
“None.”
“Liar!” Khalid spoke softly. “Four girls have disappeared from my properties within the past year. I think you’ve been a little turncoat, Miss Megan.”
Joey trembled so hard that her teeth rattled. Her heavy limbs refused to cooperate, and her brain felt muddled. Meg worked for Khalid?
Meg looked petrified. “Mr. Al Juhani, I swear—this is the first time—Joey’s my friend.”
Turning to his desk, Khalid opened a wooden box and pulled out a syringe. “Break her arm.”
The brute wrenched Meg’s arm back with a sickening crunch, and her agonizing screams filled the room.
Oh God, oh God, oh God. Nausea rolled through Joey, she tried to drag herself towards her wailing friend.
Khalid issued final orders. “Tape her mouth shut and take the deceitful bitch upstairs to one of the soundproofed rooms. I’ll deal with her later.”
The massive thug grabbed Meg by the hair and the other monster slapped tape over her pain-filled sobs. Meg’s anguished eyes rolled back as they dragged her away. Joey kept crawling towards her friend, knowing it was futile.
“Where are you going, little one?” Khalid knelt beside her. Something pricked her arm. “I’ll give you just the right amount so that you’ll remember me in your dreams, my sweet Josephine.”
◊ ◊ ◊
Abby stared blankly ahead. Dry-eyed and trembling.
Jesus. Max had a suspicion of what would come next. She needed a break. He needed a goddamn break. He’d wanted the truth, and here it was in all its ugly glory. Abby was no longer considered a target. She was reclassified as a vulnerable witness. Technically the term was an intimidated witness.
This wasn’t an interrogation, it never truly was. It was now an interview. The suppressed anger rolling off the rest of the team matched his own. Khalid was a monster, and they’d seen his handiwork. Experienced it firsthand, but to hear it pour out of Abby’s mouth drove the depravity home.
Max knelt beside her. “Abby, let’s take a break.” He reached out and touched her clasped hands.
She jerked. “Don’t touch me. Don’t you dare, you have no right.”
“How about I make you some tea.”
She smirked cynically. “Now I’m allowed to drink my tea? Aren’t you scared, soldier, that I’ll poison myself?”
“Abs.” Max locked his gaze on her.
She stared for a long moment, assessing, judging. Her eyes reflected a wild mix of pain, confusion and desolate sadness that struck him to the core. No woman should ever have that look in their eyes.
“Let me finish this. Then do with it what you will.”
Max understood the determination to finish, but it would be easier for her if they broke up the interview into smaller bites. “How about a twenty-minute break to start?”
Abby shook her head.
“Is there someone I can call to provide support? Anyone that you trust?” Max asked.
“There’s no one. I’m on my own in this. The story of my life, right?”
◊ ◊ ◊
Squeezing her shoulder, Max rose smoothly. Cool air replaced the subtle warmth, where his firm thigh had rested against her leg. That sudden yearning stemmed from her current state of fear. Her desperation to have someone on her side. Abby scoffed at the realization. She never had and never would need a man. Josephine Abigail Evans was a savage island.
The men settled and watched her expectantly. Oh God. She’d get through this. All things pass, baby girl. Abby forced her mind back to that gruesome night.
Khalid was right—she’d remembered. Distant fuzzy memories of pain and violence. An endless loop of screaming agony, of lying paralyzed as Khalid played his depraved games. She’d surfaced from the nightmare feeling disorientated and weak.
Joey cracked open her eyes as something slid up her leg. A hand. Bile rose as she took stock of her dangerous predicament, definitely splayed out on a bed. Wrists and ankles throbbed in time with pain searing through her abdomen. Her lower back felt like it was on fire.
She pulled on her left arm and felt no give. A man with a rifle slung over his shoulder perched beside her, facing her legs. She was naked, tied to a giant four-poster bed. His filthy hand squeezed her inner thigh. She tried not to shiver; she lay on a cold, wet mattress yet it felt like flames licked her skin.
Hearing a door open, Joey closed her eyes. Someone ripped his hand away, shouting in Arabic. Waves of nausea had her hunkering into the mattress. Khalid’s spicy perfume tickled Joey’s throat as terror as she’d never known before shattered her soul. Khalid switched to English and shouted, “She’s mine, you piece of filth! You dare touch her? I leave you to guard her for two minutes.”
The guard spoke nervously in Arabic.
“Once I’m done, you can have what’s left,” Khalid said. He pushed the man out of the room.
Joey willed herself to relax. Khalid stood over her for so long that Joey wondered if he’d left but didn’t dare move. Her mind screamed with revulsion as the bed dipped. So help her God, she’d fight the brute every step of the way and sink her teeth into his smug golden flesh; it would be her last act on this earth. Joey knew he’d forced himself on her drugged body throughout the night, sobbing inside with the realization. Someone knocked and entered the room.
“Khalid. We have a problem with one of the guests. He’s drunk.”
Khalid froze and rested his head in the crook of her neck. “I’m busy. You dare to interrupt me for this?”
“My apologies, sir. It’s the Russian envoy’s son. He broke a vase in the courtyard and is requesting to see you.”
Khalid swore and shoved off. “These guests are like spoiled children. It’s time for my guests to leave. Guard this door, you enter this room and touch her, you’ll die, understand?”
The door closed, footsteps echoed down the passage. Joey counted to thirty before peeking through eyelashes. The room was empty. The guard stood on the other side of the door. If she didn’t escape, she would die in this evil palace.
Silk scarves secured her limbs to the four posts with not much give. The left scarf had slightly more length, and she strained her body towards it, twisting her wrist. By the condition of her wrists, it was evident that she’d fought throughout the night. Seconds felt like minutes, but she finally reached the material with her teeth, ripping until the final threads sliced through and her arm ripped free. Feeling elated, she freed her other wrist and sat up to work on her ankles.
Joey froze, staring at the pool of blood staining the mattress. Where had it come from? There were no apparent injuries. Pain radiated from within, and then she knew. Khalid.
Horror washed over her as she swung her legs over the side. One of Meg’s red shoes lay next to the window. Joey whispered her friend’s name, wobbling to her feet before stumbling over something. Not something but someone. The stench of urine and death slammed home as she stared into Meg’s unseeing eyes. Oh God. Meg. No, no, please no. Joey scrambled back, stifling moans with her hand. Meg lay broken with limbs pointing in obscene directions. Her head sat at a crazy angle.
Joey vomited. The ret
ching turned into uncontrollable sobbing. Shuffling in the passage shook her out of her grief. Move or die. She stumbled around looking for clothing. A wardrobe stood open. Panic urged Joey to run, but she’d attract too much attention running naked through Sharjah. Abayas—the traditional black robes for Arabic women—hung in the closet. She pulled on a black dress.
Please Lord, let the window be unlocked. Joey frantically grabbed at the latch, and it swung open, warm air flowing in. The window sat one level up from the ground, on the opposite side of the mansion. The grounds were dark, and the revelry could barely be heard. There was no ledge; the best bet was an olive tree twisting up from the ground. Could she jump that far? No question, it was going to hurt, and it surely did. Joey’s wrist snapped on impact as she bounced off the trunk, landing on the grass below.
Abby paused in the telling of her story and couldn’t meet the men’s eyes. It wasn’t about shame—well some of it might be—it was just so violently private in every way.
Max studied her intently, like he was drilling down into her soul. She sensed movement to the left and flinched in response.
“Easy. Easy.” John placed a glass of chocolate milk into her shaking hands.
When had he gone to the fridge?
“Drink this and here’s a cookie. Have a cookie.”
“I’m okay.” Her voice shook.
“It will help with the shakes,” John said.
Abby glanced around the room, noting the other two Stormtroopers shuffling uncomfortably. Max was still staring in that unnerving way. She nibbled the chocolate chip cookie she’d baked earlier and studied the floor at her feet.
◊ ◊ ◊
Max had to push her and felt like a douchebag, but ultimately it was in her best interests. The sooner the interview was over, the sooner she could rest. Her energy was flagging, and she’d be of no use to herself or his team if she toppled over from exhaustion. Who could blame her—in the space of a few days she had been attacked, injured, lied to, and now forced to talk about the most traumatic experience that any human could endure.