by Sam Crescent
She grabbed her bags, and was about to leave the diner, not paying attention to anything, until George called her back.
“I don’t suppose you’d throw this outside in the dumpster?” He held up a large black garbage bag.
George would never be a gentleman, but not wanting to piss off her boss, she took the bag and lugged it into the darkened alley.
She hated the back alley, especially at night. It reminded her of every horror movie she’d ever watched. As she threw the bag in to the trash, she gasped as someone wrapped an arm around her waist, pressing a cloth against her nose.
Panic washed over her, and she fought, screaming. With every passing second, her body grew lax, and then little by little, her eyes closed as sleep claimed her.
Chapter Two
She was still out cold.
Chains sat in the folding chair, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest. A sleeping angel. He’d been sitting next to her, lost in thought, for over an hour. He didn’t regret his choice to bring her here. It was for her own damn good. The world out there would eat her alive, and this was the only place he could keep her safe.
He’d never had much growing up. In the hierarchy of the orphanage and later the local Russian mafia, he only got the scraps. That was a long time ago. A lifetime he’d gladly forget. Now Chains had choices, made his own rules. And this little lamb was his prize. Only his, and nobody could ever take her from him.
In all his years since moving over from his motherland, he’d never taken an interest in a woman. They were good for one thing. Otherwise, they were in his way. He wasn’t sure what it was about this one—Lori Dean. Maybe it was the vulnerability in her eyes, the bruise, or something triggered from his past. All he knew for certain was he couldn’t walk away. Something deep inside him, in the dark recesses of his soul, demanded he protect her from herself, to keep her as his treasure.
Before he even left the diner, his plan was already in action. The voice in his head told him to take her, and he was in complete agreement. He knew Boss would never condone him kidnapping a young woman and chaining her in his basement, but nobody would know except him. Lori would be his dirty little secret.
Chains rolled out his shoulders. He still had time before she woke up, so he decided to get some of the wheels of his plan in motion. When his little houseguest woke up, she wouldn’t be happy, so he wanted to have something to offer her. A peace offering. Since he already wanted to gut the asshole who dared to put his hands on her, it was going to be a good move regardless.
He had enough intel from Maurice’s initial report on Lori to track down the local bad boy. He was twenty-nine, skinny, covered in ink. Apparently, he ruled the neighborhood with an iron fist, the cause of undue fear and suffering in the small community. It was all going to end very soon. Little shits like Carlton Riggs were small potatoes to anyone working for Killer of Kings, but Chains was going to enjoy this kill personally.
Chains stood up and stared down at Lori one more time. He’d taken the elastic from her hair and removed that polyester uniform top she’d been wearing. That’s when he noticed the extent of her bruising. It wasn’t just her eye, but most of her chest. What kind of lowlife prick picked on a woman? Just looking at her injuries made his muscles tense, violent thoughts clamoring in his head. He wanted answers. Why had Carlton put his hands on Lori in the first place?
He made his way upstairs, securing the basement door after him. His eyes adjusted to the brighter lighting as he slipped on one of his custom gun holsters. Boss ensured he always had the latest toys and gadgets for killing and recon. The past few years he’d been doing more driving and intel for the owner of Killer of Kings. Boss trusted him, and that said a lot. When heavy shit went down, Chains was one of the first men he called.
After strapping himself with heat, he pulled on a jacket. Unlike most of the crew he worked with, Chains wasn’t covered in ink, so he had the ability to slip in and out of a crowd without attracting too much attention. In fact, his skin was unmarred by a single tattoo. When he’d been recruited into his first low-ranking mafia after aging out of his orphanage, they’d branded him like a fucking dog with their insignia. He’d worked as a krysha, doing shakedowns and cheap hits in exchange for nothing more than meals. Being on the bottom of the food chain in a basement Russian mafia was a special kind of hell. It took a few years, but Chains ended up with more skills and balls than their leader and took out all the top players single-handedly before moving onto bigger leagues.
He’d cut that brand off with a pocket knife, and still had the gnarly scar on his shoulder to prove it. Until this day, he’d never allowed any ink on his body. His body was his own.
Chains drove out to Lori’s old stomping grounds. The neighborhood looked like shit, and “ghetto” would have been a compliment. Since joining Killer of Kings, Chains had learned to enjoy the finer things in life. Money, status, and firearms meant he had choices. He valued his freedom, his independence, and the fact he’d never be on the bottom again.
He pulled his car around to the rear of a community center. It was after hours, so he expected the unsavory crowd out back. Dark shadows lingered around the figures, only one lone light by the back door and a distant street light providing illumination. He rolled down his window, the slow crunch of gravel beneath his tires mingling with laughter and cursing.
A man in a hood approached the driver’s side.
“I’m looking for Carlton,” said Chains
“You buying?”
“Sure.”
“What do you need?”
Chains took a cleansing breath, his patience already wearing thin. “I said I wanted to deal with Carlton, not you.”
The man straightened up, then whistled towards one of the larger crowds. Weed was pungent in the air, the deep bass from a distant car another distraction to his benefit. When three men approached, he couldn’t make them out, just their silhouettes. He knew the one in the middle was Carlton, just from his arrogant stride.
“What is it?” asked Carlton.
“This guy’s looking to buy. He’ll only talk to you.”
Carlton rested his forearm on the hood on Chains’s car and leaned in close. He reeked of alcohol and cigarettes. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Get in. We have business we need to discuss,” said Chains, still looking straight out the windshield.
“I don’t know you.”
“Well, I hear you’re the one who calls the shots around here, so you’re the only man who matters.” Chains knew the big-headed prick would thrive off praise, and he was right.
“Jimmy, come with me.”
Carlton got in the passenger seat, and Jimmy sat in the backseat, both doors slamming shut simultaneously. Chains rolled up his window, pleased he had his prey securely in his web. Tonight would be a good night.
“Okay, what the fuck is all this about?” asked Carlton. “I don’t have all night.”
Chains was finished with his charade. He clicked the door lock button, ensuring no one left his car until he said so.
“Do you remember Lori Dean?”
“What? Who? What the fuck is this?”
“Lori Dean, twenty-five-year-old waitress. You beat the shit out of her this week. Still haven’t jogged your memory?”
Carlton tried the door handle, panicking when he couldn’t open it. “Open the fucking door? Who the hell are you?”
“I’m not opening the door until you tell me why you hit her.”
“Fuck you.” Carlton nodded to the big guy in the backseat, and a handgun cocked near Chains’s temple. The sound made his dick hard. These fuckers had no idea of the world of hurt coming their way. “Now. Open the damn door.”
Chains twisted in his seat, grabbing Jimmy’s wrist with one hand and dropping the other elbow down hard into the man’s forearm. His moves were so fast, within two seconds the man’s own gun was pointing in his face. Chains pulled the trigger.
He dropped back down in his seat, s
hifted into reverse and then slammed on the gas. The car whirled and skidded around in the lot before he was back on the main road. Carlton was in shock, his hands in a death grip with the dashboard and door handle. Chains headed to the edge of town where it was heavily wooded and then stopped the car in a dark grove.
“Who are you?”
“You don’t get to ask questions, Carlton Riggs. You only answer mine. Do you understand?”
“Okay. Sure. Whatever.”
“Why did you put your hands on Lori Dean?”
He chuckled nervously, tweaking in his seat. “I barely even remember that chick. She was getting groceries for her sisters and brothers. I only offered her money.”
“In return for what?”
“Look, I run a business here. Some guys are into fat chicks. She could make me some money and help her family. Win-win.”
“But she refused you, didn’t she?”
“Yeah, the stupid bitch.”
Chains punched him in the mouth, his body slamming back against the passenger door from the impact. Carlton touched the blood on his lip.
“Why’d you hit her?”
He was breathing heavily now, probably realizing the shit situation he was in. “To teach her a lesson.”
“It’s your word or the highway, right?”
“I own this town. If she didn’t like it, she shouldn’t have come back. She hire you or something?”
Chains shook his head. “She doesn’t know I’m here.” He wondered what trophy he could bring for her. Something to prove the bastard who’d hurt her was dead. Maybe a finger? A pic on his cellphone?
“I don’t understand.”
He shifted in his seat, facing Carlton. “There are some men out there that don’t believe you should hit an innocent woman. Ever. You’re obviously not one of them.”
“I have no beef with you. What do you want? Money? Drugs?”
He scoffed. “Revenge.”
Carlton tried to forcibly open the door, finally reaching into his boot for a blade, holding it up in front of him. “Open the door and let me out.”
“Sure, I can do that.”
Chains released the locks, then got out of the car. Carlton ran ahead, his lanky body highlighted by the headlamps. He fell down once in his panic to get away. Chains pushed his lapels open and pulled out one of his Glocks, taking his time to screw on a silencer. He shot Carlton in the calf, watching him drop to the dust at the side of the road.
“Get your ass back here or the next one’s a head shot.” Chains sat on the hood, waiting for him to hobble over with only one good leg. When he was close enough, he added, “Get your friend out of my backseat.”
Once the dead body was dumped at the edge of the forest, Chains instructed Carlton to drag it deeper into the woods. He checked his watch, and knew he had to get back to his house soon. Lori would be waking from the drugs soon, and he didn’t want her to panic.
This was all for her.
“Okay, done. Now, please, let me go,” Carlton said.
Chains approached him, punching him in the eye, knocking him to the ground. In his orphanage, he’d been the runt when he was a kid, but he’d always been a fighter. Now he had the bulk and muscle to back himself up. Sometimes it felt good to use his fists instead of a blade or gun, like now, as he gave this punk a taste of his own medicine.
“How did that feel?”
“Stay away from me.”
“I’m not done with you. Lori had bruises on her chest, and I’m a firm believer of an eye for an eye,” said Chains.
He straddled Carlton’s prone body, crouched low, and gave him the same treatment he’d given Lori. When he finally stood back up, the pimp was sputtering blood.
“No more…”
Chains squatted near Carlton’s head. “I should apologize. I may have led you to believe I was some kind of outstanding citizen, you know, watching out for women abused by piece of shit drug dealers. But that’s about as far as my civilities extend. Unfortunately for you, I’ve never been too good with compassion for my enemies. And when you put your hands on Lori, you became my enemy.”
“What are you going to do?”
“You’re not listening.” Chains twisted the man’s ear until he cried out. “Nobody touches my woman and lives.”
****
Lori coughed, the musty scent irritating her throat, and remembered how much her chest still hurt. She opened her eyes and a wave of dizziness took her by surprise, so she closed them again.
Where am I?
She tried to focus her thoughts, to remember the last sequence of events, but came up short. Then she remembered George nagging her about the garbage. That was the last thing she remembered. No, there was more. She remembered struggling in arms stronger than steel.
Lori bolted up into a sitting position, her adrenaline high rushing through her veins. It was too dark to see clearly, only a small nightlight giving the faintest glow. When she moved her arms, the clang of chains startled her. Both her wrists had wide cuffs with chains dangling from them.
It was too quiet. All she could hear was her breathing. Could there be another person in the room? Lori was too afraid to even whisper.
She stood up and pulled the lengths of chain taut, discovering she was attached to a wall. Her heart hammered in her chest. She stepped up on the padded bench she’d been asleep on, trying to pry the metal loops from the concrete block wall. She kept digging and picking at the fastening and links in the chain until her nails chipped away.
This can’t be happening to me.
She dropped back down, too scared and confused to cry. That’s when she noticed she was wearing her sports bra and had no clue where her uniform was. Lori began to pat herself down, relieved that her skirt was still on and nothing felt out of sorts between her legs. Still, whatever was happening was not looking in her favor. She’d been kidnapped.
Was it Carlton Riggs? Had he found her at the diner? Was he going to rape and kill her, beat her until she agreed to sell her body? Maybe it was a serial killer, and he planned to torture her until her final breath. Now she began to cry. No scenario ended well for her.
Her fears and desperation had reached the boiling point. She couldn’t believe her bad luck. All her life had been a struggle—for food, love, security, money. Nothing came easy, and this was how it would all end?
She stood and yanked at the chains, leaning all her weight back, pulling until her wrists were raw. What did she have to lose? She had to escape before her captor returned. When the chains wouldn’t give, her panic level increased. She dropped down to her knees, crawling in the dark as she attempted to find anything to use as a weapon or escape tool. Lori patted the cold concrete floor to the full extent her chains would allow, coming up empty.
She struggled with her bonds, yelling and crying until everything was gone.
No more tears.
No more anger.
No more hope.
A door whined open, the flood of light from the top of a long staircase momentarily blinding her. She sat up, then crouched low at the end of the bench, trying to remain hidden, even though it wouldn’t do her any good. Lori’s brain was on overdrive. She wondered what she could bargain with, but she had no money, nothing of value, and nobody would notice she was gone. George would notice at opening shift tomorrow, but he’d write her off and have a “now hiring” sign up within the hour.
She peeked over the top of the bench and watched the black booted feet slowly descend, each step punctuated with a creak in the wooden stairs. Her mouth was dry, her hands trembling. Just before the man’s face appeared, she ducked back down, praying to stay invisible.
“What the fuck?”
A lamp flicked on, a soft glow lighting the basement. Lori let out a little gasp. Her instinct was to slap her hand over her mouth, but she dared not move and rattle her chains. She kept her focus on the cracks in the grey concrete, and watched a potato bug try to bury itself under the leg of the bench. She wished she
could disappear so easily.
Heavy footsteps came closer. She counted the steps, wondering if it was possible to die from fear itself.
“What have you done to yourself?” The deep voice was vaguely familiar, but she was too messed up to make sense of anything right now. “Lori?”
Her name registered, and that’s when she knew her kidnapper knew her, planned this for whatever twisted reason. It had to be Carlton. She wasn’t on anyone else’s radar.
When his hands wrapped around her upper arms, she screamed and struggled, kicking out her legs until they hit the wall. The chains rattled violently. Her eyes were tightly closed, as if not witnessing any more would somehow make things better.
“Help me!” she yelled. Maybe someone upstairs would have pity on her. Maybe a passerby would hear her screams.
“Damn it, Lori. Stop it! You’re only hurting yourself.”
“Help!”
The beast of a man holding her had had enough. He sat down on the bench with her on his lap, her arms immobilized at her sides. There was no use struggling, and eventually she lost all her steam.
“Look at your wrists, for God’s sake.” He ran the pad of his thumb along the raw areas, and she flinched on contact. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
She wanted to ask questions, but didn’t dare open her mouth. Lori was certain she wouldn’t like the answers.
“Are you hungry?”
The last thing she cared about right now was food.
“Okay, first things first. I need to get these cuffs off and bandage up your wrists. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking using chains on you.” He stood up and positioned her on the bench. Her captor bent down on one knee in front of her. “Lori, look at me.”
She didn’t want to look at him. Witnessing the enemy was a surefire way to seal her fate. But disobeying could be worse in her predicament. Lori took a little breath and looked at the man in front of her. Her jaw dropped.
It was him.
Cherry pie man.
She’d been fantasizing about him all night before her shift ended. He’d been the first man to give her attention, and there’d been something dark and appealing about him. Oh, how she’d pegged him wrong. She tried to remember everything he’d said, she’d said, and how on earth she could talk herself out of this nightmare.