by Skye Knizley
Ashley entered the room and knelt beside the girl. She could tell the girl was mumbling, but she couldn’t make out very many words. All she could understand was the phrase, “I’ll be good,” amidst her other mumbling.
She checked the girl’s pulse and found it to be rapid and thready, her eyes were dilated and her breathing was shallow like someone in the midst of a panic attack.
Ashley frowned and checked the girl’s arms; they were free of needle tracks. A check of her other limbs, however, found scabs between her toes where needles had been inserted over and over again.
She shrugged out of her pack and rummaged around until she found her med kit. She pulled a vial of naloxone from inside and filled a syringe.
“This is going to hurt, honey,” she said. “But it will make you lucid. I can’t carry you out of here.”
She swabbed the girl’s arm with an alcohol pad and injected the medication directly into the girl’s left triceps, making her jerk with pain. Ashley removed the needle and held the girl, trying to comfort her while she came down from the heroin overdose. A few minutes later, the girl was able to focus. It would be some time before she could be moved, but for the moment, talking would work.
“Who are you?” the girl asked.
“My name is Ashley. Who are you?”
The girl looked away, her mouth moving. Ashley turned her face back with a gentle hand. “Honey, you have to face me when you talk, I can’t hear you.”
“My name is Meg… Megan,” the girl whimpered. “Don’t hurt me, let me wake up, and I promise I’ll be good.”
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Ashley said. “I’m going to get you out of here, but first, you need to rest. Are you the only one here?”
The girl nodded her head, her eyes sagging with exhaustion. “Yes…he took the others away, kept me…”
Megan broke down in tears, and Ashley hugged her close. “Shh, it’s going to be alright. My friends and I are going to get you out of here.”
She helped the girl lay on the bed and kissed her forehead. “Let the medicine work, and I’ll be right back.”
She exited the room and closed the door, putting the bar back, but leaving the padlock unlocked. Once outside the room, she sent a text to Rock, warning him things could get interesting.
His reply was, Define Interesting.
She resisted the temptation to answer, and stepped into the corridor instead. From this direction, she was less visible to anyone in the security office, though there was a camera at the end of the hall. She kept her head down and her phone in her hand until she reached the door, where a press of a key on her phone buzzed her through.
The security office was large, full of state of the art surveillance equipment and computers. There was also a collection of non-lethal weapons that included tasers and beanbag shotguns, no doubt to keep their captives in line. A locked case held three regular shotguns, three MP5s and a selection of pistols, more firepower than any security department outside a major bank should have on hand.
A single guard sat behind the video monitors, a cup of coffee in his hand. He looked up when Ashley entered, did a double take and set his coffee down.
“What are you doing in here?” he asked. “This is restricted access only.”
Ashley kicked him hard enough that his chair flipped over, spilling him to the floor. She then kicked him in the stomach and crouched over him, pulling him close by his shirt.
“How long have you been keeping teenage girls here?” she growled.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he groaned. “I think you broke one of my ribs.”
“I’m going to break your fucking skull, you bastard! How long? How many?”
“Six months, maybe nine,” the guard replied. “Never more than five at a time, special ones.”
“What do you do with them? Do you kill them?” Ashley pressed.
“I don’t know. I just guard them. They always disappear during the night,” the guard whined. “When its time, I just come in and there are new ones to watch.”
“And all you do is watch, right? It never occurred to you to do the right thing?” Ashley asked.
“You should see these girls,” the guard replied. “If they weren’t here, they would just be a waste of space somewhere else.”
“You’re a pitiful excuse for a human being,” Ashley said. “It should be you in there, not an innocent child.”
She punched him in the face, straightened and moved to the security console. From there, the security officer could control almost everything from the fire system to the gates that rolled down over the exits at closing time. She plugged a flash drive into the system and started a download of all the security images off the hard-drive for the last month. She was turning to ask the guard where the rest of the video disks were when he attacked, wrapping his tie around her throat and pulling it taught, cutting off her air.
Ashley’s training kicked in. Rather than panicking, she moved into him, ramming her head into his nose. The force of her attack gave her slack to breathe, and it was all she needed. The knife-edge of her hand slammed into his throat, crushing the delicate cartilage over his trachea and making him gag. She followed the attack with a palm strike to the chest and a spin kick that cracked his neck like a twig. He fell backwards, lifeless and limp, blood seeping from his mouth.
“Rot in hell, you cold-heart son of a bitch,” Ashley spat.
With time growing short before someone noticed her, Ashley began a search of the room. She found what she was looking for in the corner where a shredder sat, its bin full of crushed video disks.
They aren’t as dumb as I’d hoped, Ashley thought. With any luck, what I have will be enough.
She grabbed one of the beanbag guns from the rack and turned back to the console. A few deft keystrokes, and she set the emergency gates to close and the fire alarm to engage, alerting the authorities and locking everyone inside at the same time. She then told the computer to upload everything it had to the FBI database.
When she was done, she set the timer and ran back to where she’d left Megan. When she entered, Megan was sitting up and looking better, though still pale.
“Are you ready to move?” Ashley asked.
“Anywhere,” Megan replied. “Just get me out of here.”
“Stay close and stay behind me,” Ashley said. “Remember I can’t hear you, so just follow my lead, okay?”
Megan nodded and Ashley took her hand, pulling her out the door and into the warehouse to go back the way she’d come. They were close to the warehouse exit when she caught movement and spotted two armed thugs coming her way. She stepped in front of Megan and fired two shots from the shotgun. The beanbag rounds hit both guards square in the chest, knocking them flat. Megan stared at them in surprise, and Ashley gave her hand a yank.
“They’re not dead, though they will wish they were,” she said. “Now come on!”
She pulled the girl down the narrow space between the crates and out into the hallway beyond. They were about to enter the corridor when Megan grabbed Ashley and pointed. Another guard was coming toward them. Ashley squeezed the trigger and watched with a measure of satisfaction as the heavy bean round hit the guard in the face, breaking his nose and sending him spinning head over heels.
The two women turned and ran for the exit, Ashley dragging Megan along behind her like the tail of a kite. She kicked the panic bar and rushed through the door just before the alarm she’d set went off. The security door locked behind them, and they rushed down the steps toward the Evade.
Bullets ricocheted around them, and they stopped in surprise. The guard on the dock had spotted them and had them covered with a MP7. Ashley was judging her chances of bringing the beanbag gun around when Rock stepped behind the guard and twisted his neck. She could only imagine the sickening pop made by the man’s skull separating from his spine.
Rock pushed the body away and ran back to the Evade as Ashley helped Megan into the back seat an
d joined the big man in the front.
“Go,” she said. “Go before the cops or more Russians show up.”
Sunny Isles Beach, nicknamed Little Moscow because of the large number of Russian immigrants that had moved to the area in recent years, was a city nestled on a barrier island northeast of Miami. It took Smoak the better part of an hour on the intracoastal highway to reach the island. She crossed over on the southern tip and turned toward the Intracoastal Yacht Club. She hoped a contact there might be able to help in the investigation.
She guided her bike into the lot of a high-rise condo, just beyond the harbor, and parked, turning toward one of the building’s many lobby-level businesses. The sign outside read, “Psychic Readings by Taisia.”
Smoak pushed open the door and sighed at the welcome blast of cool air that greeted her. Inside was a square room, decorated in shades of grey and purple, making it seem even cooler, yet, somewhat gloomy and imposing. An older woman with flowing grey hair held in plaits sat at the circular table in the room, her eyes shut. She was dressed in a long gown made of purple silk and wore dozens of bead necklaces around her throat. She opened pale eyes and smiled at Smoak.
“Why Kamryn MacKenna, it is good to see you.” Her accent made ‘why’ sound like ‘vy.’
“And you, Taisia,” Smoak replied. She took a seat opposite the woman and smiled. “You are looking well.”
“And you are looking like you are here on business. What can an old woman do for you?”
Smoak pulled her phone out of her pocket and showed Stepan’s photo to Taisia. “Do you recognize this guy?” she asked.
Taisia picked the phone up and ran her finger over the screen. “He is one of Gregor Utkin’s men. An enforcer, a stupid one. He doesn’t look so good, where did you get this photo?”
“I snapped it after my partner broke his nose with an old piece of chair,” Smoak replied.
“Gregor won’t be too happy about that,” Taisia said. “Stepan was his favorite.”
Smoak shrugged and put the phone back in her pocket. “He isn’t in a position to care. Someone killed him and most of his men last night.”
“You?” Taisia asked.
Smoak shook her head. “Not this time. I only got seven or eight. He was intentionally silenced by some psychopath in a helicopter.”
“I doubt anyone but his mother will miss him,” Taisia said. “He was a dog of a man who dealt in the skin trade and heroin. Good riddance, though I do wish it had been you who killed him. Your kills are always bloody.”
Smoak ignored the comment. “What do you know about a Russian slaver named Igor? Stepan and Gregor both mentioned him.”
“Igor Frulov. He is not Russian. He is a Serb, and not a popular one. The rumor is that he buys women from Gregor and a handful of men like him and sells them all over the world. He is so despised that his own country won’t even acknowledge him.”
“Do you know where I can find him?”
“Mm, I am no longer part of that world, child,” Taisia said.
Smoak smiled. “Maybe not, but you know something.”
“Not much, my girl. Let me get you some tea.”
The old woman stood and moved through a beaded curtain into the back room. Smoak could hear her puttering about in the tiny kitchen, muttering to herself as she often did. She returned a few minutes later with two steaming teacups. She placed one in front of Smoak and the other at her place before returning to her seat.
“Enjoy your tea, my girl,” she said. “Then you should probably go, unless you would like one of my famous readings. I could tell you when the right person will come along.”
Smoak smiled. “You know I come for your counsel, not the act, Taisia.”
She raised the tea to her lips and sipped at the strong brew, her eyes flicking to the message on her saucer: Yacht Sanctuary.
She put the cup down, intentionally spilling tea into the saucer as she did, washing away the special ink.
“I trust the tea is to your liking, my girl?” Taisia asked.
“It’s a little hot, but very good,” Smoak replied. “Thank you.”
She reached into her inside pocket and pulled out a pair of gold coins, which she placed on the table.
“Oh, that is too much for a simple woman,” Taisia said.
“Who likes Louboutin shoes and silk skirts,” Smoak replied with a smile. “Keep them.”
She stood and stepped back into the morning sun, her glasses in place. Taisia’s tip hadn’t been all she was hoping for, but it was better than nothing. She sent a text to Ashley, letting her know she was looking into a lead and would be home after, then started her bike and cruised down the island.
Sunny Isles Beach was dotted with a variety of marinas, most handling nothing larger than a powerboat. After half an hour of smiling and asking around, Smoak learned that Sanctuary was one of the largest yachts in Miami and was too big to be kept in a local marina. Frulov usually took a motor launch from his home in Sunny Isles out to Sanctuary. A few coins spread around produced Sanctuary’s approximate location, and Smoak pointed her bike toward Fort Lauderdale.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Ashley said.
Smoak looked up from packing her clothes into a small duffel bag and smiled. “Of course I don’t. But do you see any other option for me? It isn’t like my family is going to help. It’s either this or end up fixing cars during the day and dancing on tables at night.”
“Maybe, but you don’t exactly follow orders well,” Ashley said. “I seem to recall our third grade teacher saying something about a ‘pathological distrust of authority.’ How are you going to survive the military? All they do is give orders.”
Smoak stopped and moved to where Ashley was standing in her bedroom doorway. “I can do it if I have to, but it will be easier if you come with me.”
Ashley’s jaw dropped. “Are you insane? They don’t make soldiers out of deaf people. Even if they did, what would I do? Use harsh language?”
“You’re one of the best shots in the state, and you know computers better than anyone I’ve ever heard of,” Smoak replied. “What does you being deaf have to do with anything? It has never slowed you down before.”
Ashley’s eyes narrowed. “It isn’t me who has the problem.”
Smoak brushed hair out of her friend’s eyes. “What if Chandler found a place for you, in his office or something?”
“SK, it is never going to happen. I’m going to Cornell like we planned. It’s why Dad bought you the phone,” Ashley said.
“But what if it could, would you come with?” Smoak asked. “Keep me from doing something else stupid?”
Ashley smiled. “It’s a given you’re going to do something stupid, Smoakie. You have a knack for it.”
Smoak frowned. “That wasn’t an answer, Ash.”
Ashley looked away and ran a hand through her long brown hair. “I don’t know, SK. I’m not really the military type.”
Smoak nodded. “I know. Neither am I, but it’s my only chance at doing something better. I can’t go to Cornell.”
She turned away and went back to folding her clothes. She could feel Ashley’s eyes on her back, but she refused to turn around.
“Smoakie, don’t be like this,” Ashley said. “I’m not dying and neither are you. I’m going to school. I’ll be in touch as much as I can. You know that. I just think you’d be safer doing something else. You are so good with cars, why don’t you go to technical school?”
Smoak shook her head. She had tried and couldn’t afford to live alone and foot the bill for tuition.
“Are you done packing yet?” a voice said.
“No, Mrs. MacKenna, she’s still packing,” Ashley said. “She will be done soon.”
“It’s about time she did something besides cause trouble,” Mrs. MacKenna said. “It’s too bad she couldn’t be more like you, Ashley. If I’m any judge, Kamryn has been a bad influence on you.”
“I’ll be done and gone in a few minu
tes, Mother,” Smoak said.
“See that you are,” Mrs. MacKenna said. “Your sister is having her rehearsal dinner in the backyard, and no one wants the promiscuous gay hanging around.”
Smoak gripped the pair of panties she was holding and nearly tore them in half. “Yes, Mother.”
“Take care of yourself, Ashley,” Mrs. MacKenna said.
Smoak heard her mother walk away as Ashley muttered, “Go fuck yourself, Mrs. MacKenna.”
Smoak put the panties into her bag, added a photo of herself and Ashley and zipped it closed.
Ashley looked around the bare room and frowned. “Two duffel bags isn’t much for seventeen years, is it?”
Smoak shrugged. “Your dad put most of my stuff in storage for me. It isn’t like it was a lot, anyway.”
“So you’re going, then? Becoming a soldier?”
Smoak nodded. “Like I said, Ash, I don’t see I’ve got much choice, and Chandler has promised me an education as well as pay. I can even go to Gainesville if I want to, maybe be a Gator Girl.”
“I can’t see you doing that, either,” Ashley said. “You were only a Shark because they insisted I have an interpreter and caregiver.”
“Yeah, but by senior year, I was having fun. The flips, the jumps—”
“The showing off,” Ashley interrupted with a smile.
Smoak blushed. “Yeah, the showing off. I may have thought it was stupid, but I liked the attention.”
“You were good at it,” Ashley said. “You’re almost as good at showing off as you are at being in the wrong place at the right time.”
“Wrong time,” Smoak corrected.
Ashley shook her head. “Right time, SK. You end up where you’re supposed to be when you’re supposed to be there. By Gaia, I know that. You should, too.”