by Lisa Lovell
“Different things,” she says around a mouthful of food. “One said, ‘Be good,’ which is silly because I’m always good. One said, ‘U R safe,’ and that made me laugh. I know that’s not how you spell it!”
My head is reeling. Someone’s in contact. Someone from beyond the walls. Or not, since these meals are obviously being prepared on the premises. There’s help inside here. I wrack my brain, frantically trying to imagine who it might be.
We might get out of here. I need the next message.
“But the best one came yesterday,” Lily keeps talking. She’s scooping ketchup onto a fry and painting on the plate with it. “Yesterday’s message said, ‘He’s alive.’ I liked that one best.”
I clap a hand over my mouth. She cocks her head as she looks at me. “You’re funny, Kayla,” she giggles, then puts a hand over her eyes.
I bite back a sob. Oh, my God.
Can Farrell be alive?
Chapter 6
Farrell Blackmore
My mouth feels like shit. I try to swirl the bitter taste away, but there’s no moisture to do it. I reach for my face. Something trails from my hand as I move it.
“Fuck…” I try to groan. The sound doesn’t resemble the word I’d intended at all. I finally pry my eyes apart and the glare around me is blinding.
Where the hell am I?
Where’s Kayla?
I shoot upward. And immediately collapse onto my back again. Something is beeping rhythmically beside me, but the rhythm fluctuates as I try to sit up again. I can’t. There are tubes attached to the back of my hand, and I’m propped against a pillow.
Hospital.
Fuck, I’m in a hospital.
My vision begins to clear. Things around me slowly come into focus. Beyond the foot of my bed, a door swings open. A white-uniformed woman steps into the room.
“Mr. Blackmore!” she says. “You’re back with us.” She moves to the side of my bed and begins checking on a monitor nearby. “You shouldn’t be moving. You’ve had a really close call.”
Close call?
The last thing I remember was facing a hail of bullets and going down.
“Kayla!” I try to sit up again, but the nurse has put a hand on my shoulder and is easing me backward. I’m as weak as a kitten. Even her slight pressure is enough to push me down. “Kayla. They took her,” I croak out at last.
“Mr. Blackmore, you need to lie back,” she says firmly. “I’m going to call the doctor to come in and check on you. You can address any questions to him.”
I slump back, breathless from the exertion, trying desperately to piece it all together. By the time a tall, silver-haired man walks into the room, I’ve worked myself into a rage.
“Mr. Blackmore,” he says, “please, settle down.” He’s using the same maddeningly soothing tones that the nurse had used. “I’m Dr. Littleton. I’ve been attending to you since you arrived. You’re a very lucky man.”
I’m not feeling lucky right now. “When can I get out of here?” I ask.
Littleton shakes his head and chuckles, then stops when he realizes I’m not joking. “Mr. Blackmore, you’re not going anywhere right now. We spent days just stabilizing you. It’s a miracle we were able to remove those slugs. Even more of a miracle that they didn’t clip anything vital.”
“So you’re saying I’m fine?” I ask.
“Sure…well, you will be. With some rest. And most likely a few weeks of rehab.”
I don’t have weeks. I have to get out of here. Right now. I fumble with the drip in my hand and try to swing my legs from the bed.
“Mr. Blackmore, are you not hearing me?” The doctor pushes me back onto the pillows with as little effort as the nurse. “You need to rest. You’ve been out for days!”
“Days?” I feel horror descend. “How many days?”
“Nearly two weeks,” he clarifies. “You arrived unconscious and remained that way. We’ve monitored you since the surgery, and you’ve been in and out of consciousness. But these are the first lucid moments you’ve displayed.”
I’m barely hearing the details. Nearly two weeks? Dear God!
“No!” I shake my head. “It’s too long. I need to get back out there. What can you give me to get me on my feet?”
“Nothing, son,” he says firmly, but he’s wrong. I’ve been through worse. I just need to get myself together. “Look,” he goes on, “you’ve survived a life-threatening injury. Give yourself some time, okay?” I nod, knowing it’s probably best to play his game. “Are you up for some visits?” he asks as he checks my charts.
I frown. Who would be visiting me? “Yes,” I say. It’s the only way I’ll find out.
“I had a note on your chart to make a call when you recovered consciousness.” He’s looking cagey. I suspect there will be questions that need answers. You don’t go into hospital with a gunshot wound – or several – without drawing attention from the authorities.
An hour later, the door opens again, and I’m looking into the face of a man I never thought I would see again.
“Captain Blackmore,” he says, and the clipped speech brings back memories I don’t want to face. Major Gregory Norscott had investigated the case that saw me stripped of my rank.
“When are you getting me out of here?” I ask.
He splays his hands. “I was wondering why you were still lying around.”
I try to roll to the side of my bed and feel the room spin. It’s no use.
“I need to get out of here,” I say. Norscott laughs.
“Where have I heard that before?” he says.
“I’m serious, Norscott. This is serious.”
“I know that, kid,” he says. I wish he wouldn’t call me kid. There are barely five years between us, but Greg Norscott always had his life mapped out. Whereas mine seemed to take tangents that sometimes seemed entirely out of control. As they do now.
“Why do you think I’m here?” he adds.
“Green,” I say, and he nods. “You’re connected?” He nods again. Hope surges. “Did she go in?”
“She’s been there all along,” says Norscott, and I frown.
“But how?”
“Let’s say she’s resourceful.” He remains enigmatic. “She’ll keep us covered until the time is right. Your boy’s been dicking us around for months.”
“You can say that again.” The thought of Vasiliy brings my rage back up to a simmer.
“It’s worse than you think. When Green went in, it was to get to the source of the trafficking. But the fucker seems determined to get out of the family business. Sees himself as some kind of mining magnate.”
“Yeah. It’s why he kept me around,” I say. That had been my cover with Vasiliy’s organization. His contact in the Congo had picked up on my team’s activities and followed closely until the day everything had gone to shit. My dishonorable discharge had been the hook he’d used to snare me. But it hadn’t lasted long. Even with years of resentment under my belt for the institution that had failed me, I could never be what he wanted me to be.
And then he’d taken Lily.
“Well, the upshot is that all his efforts have been a complete waste of time. Damn fool’s fallen for just about every scam in the book without knowing. And while he’s been doing it, he’s been leading us away from the big fish.”
“The buyers,” I say drily.
“You got it,” Norscott affirms. “Ordinarily, Vasiliy would be running weekly auctions out on that estate of his. But the kid hasn’t had one in the time Green’s been in there. There’s no way to pinpoint the trade routes or sniff out who the buyers are. There’s been no movement there at all.”
I rub my face, hating the way my hand shakes as I do it. I hear what he’s saying, though. It’s a vicious circle. We can’t trace the girls unless they are being moved through the system. The fact that there’s no movement that we’re aware of isn’t a reprieve. It simply means they’re being managed elsewhere. A network that lies completely beyond or s
cope. And Kayla’s headed straight to it. Lily, too, if Vasiliy is sick enough.
“You have to get me out of here,” I repeat. Every minute I linger is a minute too long.
“No can do, kid,” he says. “We had our medics take a look at your charts, and your doc is right. You’ll do serious damage if you try anything right now.”
“What about your box of tricks?” I ask. Norscott and his team had never been shy of resorting to battle drugs when necessary.
“What, so you can get on your feet and rip a gut? I’m not having that on me.” He shakes his head. “There’s nothing you can do now except rest. And leave this to us.”
I slam a fist into the covers of the bed, but it’s a futile gesture. I barely make a dent in the covers.
“Get some sleep,” Norscott says as he gets up to leave the room.
“Fuck!” It’s not enough!
Chapter 7
Kayla Hastings
The bags on the bed stop me in my tracks as I return from lunch with Lily. Our little routine has been adjusted to accommodate a daily “burger” and, with it, a new message.
“Are you taking a trip, Vasya?” I ask as I see him standing framed in one of the tall windows on the far side of the room.
“You are,” he says without turning around. I swallow hard.
“Me?” I say tentatively. “Are you taking me away with you?” I’m not liking where this conversation is going.
He turns around, and I’m looking into the face of the man I’d first met when I arrived here. The cold brutality in it makes my breath catch.
“You’re going away, Kayla.”
I clutch a hand up to my chest and stare at him, trying to make sense of what he’s saying. “Where am I going?” I ask. I can’t go now. I can’t!
He shrugs. “That is yet to be decided.”
“Decided?” I ask. “Who will decide?” Clearly, it won’t be me.
“Whoever buys you, Kayla.” He steps away from the window, but he’s still framed by a golden glow. I feel my knees buckle and reach out to a nearby chair.
“B-Buys me?” My voice has raised in pitch. “I-I don’t understand.”
“It’s not complicated, Kayla. You know what I do,” he says. I sink onto the chair before my legs give way. “I’m putting you on auction.”
I shake my head. “But I can’t… You can’t…” My lips are moving, but I can’t frame words. “Why?”
“You no longer amuse me,” he says, reaching for his phone and thumbing the screen. “It was entertaining to play the role of an ardent young lover, but I am tired of it now.” He looks over at me. “It’s time for you to go.”
“But—” My mind races furiously. I have to find some way to stay. We’re so close now. So close to getting away. It’s pointless. He’s looking down at his phone again and heading to the door.
“Giselle will see to you,” he says, barely acknowledging me as he walks out. I stare, stupefied, as the woman fills the space he has left. I can’t comprehend this. Part of me knew it would happen, but never so soon.
“Cherie…”
I’m still staring. Still trying to figure out what I’ll do next. For Lily. For me.
“Cherie,” Giselle is standing beside me where I sit slumped. She runs a hand over my hair. The touch is gentle in a way that snares my attention. I look up at her and her eyes are deep and dark. “Kayla,” she says. Giselle never calls me Kayla. “Kayla…Be brave. We’re coming.”
The air seizes in my lungs and my mouth almost drops open.
It’s her.
Chapter 8
Kayla Hastings
Vasiliy reaches for my hand and helps me from the limo. He runs his eyes over me as I set the sole of my teetering shoe onto the red carpet.
“You look ravishing, Kayla,” he says warmly. Once again, the attentive lover has emerged. I’m facing a man who is gazing at me with something akin to adoration.
If I wasn’t so terrified, I’d slap his face.
I’m dressed in skin-tight red satin that trails to the toes of my glittering sequined sandals. There’s a swathe cut from the fabric that sweeps in an S from one thigh, across my groin, and over my breasts. While I may be covered, anything of importance – my breasts, my pussy – is all on display. True to form, Vasiliy runs his fingertips over my nipples as I straighten my shoulders and look up at the vessel before us.
It’s an ocean-going yacht that’s so vast it could be a cruise liner. The sleek blue lines of it are embellished with silver-framed portholes. Flashes of light are flickering through the glass. A carpeted gangplank has been set onto the dock. I almost resist, but Vashya has my hand linked through his elbow. When he feels me pause, his fingers tighten painfully on mine.
He keeps shooting curious glances at me. I do my best to keep a faintly bemused expression on my face, turning unfocused eyes up at him occasionally. It would be better if he thought I was doped. It doesn’t stop him from scooping a flute of champagne from a passing waiter as we enter a huge room. It’s almost impossible to believe we’re on a yacht. The space is so vast. It’s filled with a low hum of conversation, mainly men, most of whom are clustered in groups. Women move among them, collared, cuffed. Like me, they’re scantily clad and silent. At the center of the room is a raised platform. I have no doubts about what that is for.
It’s the auction block.
Giselle has prepared me for what may come if they don’t get to me in time. But I cling grimly to the hope that it won’t come to that.
“Vasya!” a voice booms through the chatter. I sneak a sidelong glance and see a short, squat man pushing through the crowd to reach my captor. “It’s been far too long, my friend,” he’s clapped a hand on Vasiliy’s shoulder, but he’s eyeing me with open hunger. I take a step behind Vasiliy without thinking. Vasiliy reaches for my hand and tugs me up to his side, allowing the other man to get a good, long look. I cringe.
“Claude,” he responds smoothly. “I am so pleased you could join us.” His smile is pure charm. “Kayla, this is Claude. He’s a filmmaker. He makes… special films.” Claude is nodding, not taking his eyes off of me. He’s staring at my throat.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I murmur, not sure if I’m supposed to respond to the introduction.
“Ah, what a pretty pet, Vasya,” Claude says to Vasiliy, ignoring my greeting. “Your own?”
“Not anymore,” he says dismissively. “I’m looking for something new.” Fuck, he’s such a sick bastard.
“You’ll be putting her up on the block tonight?” Claude is looking at me in a way that makes me feel like I’m being appraised.
“For the right price, of course,” says Vasiliy. “She’s quite remarkable.”
“What kind of price would you be thinking of?” Claude runs a hand down my arm, and I flinch.
No! He wouldn’t!
“Let’s see what the market dictates,” Vasiliy smiles and takes a sip from his glass, his eyes elsewhere, as if he’s lost interest in the other man. It only seems to prompt more enthusiasm.
“Perhaps we could strike a deal?” suggests Claude. I clench my fists so tightly my nails cut into my palms. He’s odious.
“Let’s talk closer to the time, shall we?” says Vasiliy, reaching for my hand and guiding me into the crowd. As we move out of earshot, he leans down slightly. “Well done, Kayla, you were superb.” I don’t know what he’s talking about. I didn’t do anything aside from standing there and wishing they would both burst into flames.
For the next few minutes, we continue the process, meeting, talking, being appraised. I’m being marketed and prepped, and there’s nothing I can do about it. By the time the lights dim and a spotlight illuminates the stage, my knees are shaking. Where the fuck is Giselle? As time has passed, I’ve noticed the change in the motion beneath us. The ship has set sail, and we’re at sea.
They won’t find us!
But Vasiliy is leading me up to the center stage. He reaches for a microphone and begins ad
dressing the gathering of men.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” he speaks to the crowd. “I would like to thank you for joining me here tonight. As always, we have gathered an excellent selection of tantalizing wares for your private pleasure.” There’s a smattering of laughter. “But to begin the proceedings, and as a small token of my appreciation, I would like to submit to you a piece from my own private collection.” I’m being pushed forward into the light. I spin my head to look at him, but he’s looking past me into the audience. “I would like to remind you that there are no reserves on our items.
“Vasya! Please!” my voice breaks. He ignores me. The crowd is pressing closer, and then a man who’d been standing beside Vasiliy steps up behind me. He reaches for the zipper that runs down the length of my dress and strips it down. The satin peels away from me, and I’m left in the spotlight in just my glittering heels. There is an appreciative murmur.
Someone calls out. “Ten thousand!”
Vasiliy chuckles. “Ah, my friend, you can do better than that.”
Within minutes, bids are rolling in. I spin from side to side to see where each is coming from. There’s no point in appealing to the monster who brought me here.
Giselle! Dammit, where are you?
“Twenty thousand!”
“Thirty!”
It continues. My mind boggles as a string of numbers is bandied about. I’m certain much of it has to do with the champagne that continues to circle around the group.
“One million!” a voice echoes through the room, and then there’s silence.
Vasiliy laughs out loud. “Claude! You sly devil! We were nowhere near that figure.”
“I want her!” Claude replies. There’s a ripple of laughter. The vile little man is elbowing up to the edge of the stage. He licks his lips as he reaches for me, and I feel his hot hands running over my skin.
“Stop it! Stop it!” I scream as I’m dragged from the stage. But nobody’s listening. Nobody who cares.