by LP Lovell
Pulling back the covers, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, only to find a heavy cast covering me from toes to just below my knee. The pain in my ankle is muted to a dull ache and judging by the grogginess swirling through my mind, I’m guessing they’ve given me some kind of drugs. The nausea still lingers in my stomach, and though I’m cool, my naked skin is clammy like wax. The clothes Rafael gave me are discarded on the bed as though I tore them off in the night.
I glance around the lavish room, a slow resentment burning in my veins. This place, this room, it’s all just a gilded cage waiting to unleash its twisted horrors. I was thirteen when the Bratva dragged me out of the orphanage I’d been in since I was five. I learned that night that there is no such thing as innocence, only monsters and victims. That is until I was ‘saved’. I remember so clearly the first time I was brought into a house similar to this, seemingly rescued from the torment of the Bratva by a man who promised I was safe now…as long as I did what he wanted. What he wanted has haunted me in ways that have driven me to near madness.
Rafael is no better. He’s a man who profits from the suffering of women, who trades in flesh and souls. And I am his prisoner. I was so close. I tasted freedom, and I dared to hope. That hope is now eating away at me, whispering of injustice and wrongness. My blind acceptance is fraying, worn away by anger so hot that it feels as though it’s physically burning me.
I glance down at my cast leg again with a frown. Most people wouldn’t have bothered to fix it. I shake my head. In this situation, kindness is merely a prequel to cruelty. I’ve walked this path before. I know it well. For the first time in a long time though, I latch onto the anger and the bitterness, allowing it to consume me. I was so close. If I wait for my leg to heal, perhaps I can escape this place. Maybe I can actually make it out, or die trying.
A car engine hums just outside, distracting me from my thoughts. I get up, stepping onto the cool marble floor and shifting my weight onto one leg. Hopping towards the balcony doors, I yank on the handle, expecting it to be locked, but it gives way. Wind caresses my cheek, catching the gauze curtains and making them billow around me. Warm sunshine instantly bathes my skin, and I close my eyes, smiling as I tilt my face up towards the blinding orb of light creeping into the sky. I’d forgotten the way its rays could heat me to my very soul. The sound of tires crunching over gravel draws my attention, and I step outside, glancing over the railing to watch the enormous gates swing open for an SUV. The gate closes behind it, the armed men taking up their guard once more. In the daylight, I can see the full extent of the fence more thoroughly. It’s solid metal all the way around, and armed men patrol the perimeter at various points. The place is like Fort Knox. It looks like the ‘die trying’ is far more likely than making it out of this place.
There’s a knock on the door, but I ignore it. A few seconds later, Maria is standing in the doorway to the balcony.
“Rafael wants to see you. You need to put some clothes on,” she says, trying not to look at my naked body. “You’ll need these.” She produces a pair of crutches. I stand up and hobble back inside, sitting on the edge of the bed. “What would you like to wear?”
I say nothing. I am a slave. I’m not allowed to think or feel, only do as I’m told, and to do otherwise… I’m not falling into that. Silence reigns for a few seconds before Maria disappears into the closet, coming back with a pale blue dress. “This?”
Standing, I put on the underwear and summer dress that Maria places on the bed. It feels strange to wear clothes so much. I thought I’d have been grateful for the normality, but I find the material feels uncomfortable clinging to my bare skin. For a moment, she stands there, wringing her hands as if she wants to say something. She doesn’t though. Instead, she opens the door, passing me the crutches before guiding me out of the room. Men move freely around Rafael’s home, most of them armed and covered in gang tattoos. I ignore them, trying not to feel their eyes on me as my crutches click rhythmically over the tiled floors.
I’m shown to a door before she walks away, leaving me to face him. Lifting my hand, I hesitate for a second before I knock, and wait.
“Come in,” a voice calls from the other side of the thick wood.
Opening the door, I keep my head high as I limp inside with my crutches and stop in front of the enormous wooden desk. My focus drifts around the room, stopping on a little gold globe nestled amongst leather-bound books on the shelf behind the desk; a tiny depiction of a wide world I will likely never see. Nestled beside it is a book I know well, the gold lettering of the author’s name is barely visible on the overly bent and cracked spine.
“All things truly wicked start from innocence,” I breathe.
“What?”
I ignore him. “You wanted to see me,” I say, my tone just a little too sharp. I’m still angry with him about the needle, but why? I should expect far worse.
My gaze seems to drift to him without my permission, seeking him out. It makes me angry. What is it about him that has my iron-clad walls buckling as though they’re made of nothing more than paper and glue? Years of suffering have brought me to this invincible point. No one can harm me because no one can reach me, at least not mentally. And isn’t all pain in the mind? But he is reaching me somehow, eliciting emotions long buried: anger, animosity, and hatred.
Perhaps it’s the way he looks at me without the desire I’m used to. It makes me uneasy because desire is predictable. He isn’t. He snaps me out of my bitter indifference and makes me far too aware of him, perhaps even fear him in a world where I’ve learned to fear very little anymore. Maybe it’s those near-black eyes of his or that aura of power he commands so easily, the danger that pours off him like water down a cliff face.
I force myself to focus on the little globe again, to avoid the pull of those soulless eyes. He moves, stopping only a couple of feet away from me before he leans against the front of the desk. His eyes meet mine, full of…suspicion? I stare right back at him, trying to predict what he’ll do to me—what he wants.
“You say you don’t know who Nero Verdi is?” He narrows his eyes as though I’m the bad one in the room.
“I’m a whore. If I’ve fucked him then I wouldn’t know his name,” I say coldly.
He inhales deeply, tapping his index finger over his bottom lip. “He’s the man who bought you.” Bought and sold like cattle at market. Disgust creeps up my throat, and I clench my teeth against the unfamiliar sensation of my anger threatening to actually breach the surface. “Have you ever been to New York?” he asks.
“I’m a whore,” I say again. He raises a brow at me. “No.”
“Do you have any Italian relatives?”
“No.”
“You can’t think of any reason why the Italian mafia might want you?”
“No.”
“Then it seems you are a mystery, Anna Vasiliev.”
“Can I go now?”
Pushing off the desk, he stalks toward me, every inch the predator. He reaches out and wraps his tattooed fingers around my throat. I stare into cold, dark eyes for a beat before he brings his lips near my ear. “Nero has asked me to protect you.” His warm breath blows over my neck, and I shiver involuntarily. “But if I find out at any point you’ve been lying to me, I will consider my contract for your protection null and void. Am I clear?” The rough whisper drags over my senses like sandpaper as his thumb strokes a circle on the side of my neck. His fingers flinch against my skin in warning, but I don’t react. There’s a long breath of silence before he steps back. “You can go anywhere on the property…”
“But not leave it,” I finish for him.
His lips twitch. “No.”
“Because your friend owns me.”
“Because I said so.” Hard, implacable, undoubtedly dangerous, and yet, he’s like no one I’ve ever met. I’m not sure whether he wants to hurt me or fuck me. Both? None? Unpredictable. Not good. “Lucas!” he shouts.
The door clicks open, and a young guy s
huffles nervously through the open doorway. “Yes, boss?”
His eyes shift to me before he drops them to his feet. “You will be Anna’s personal guard.” I glance at the guy, looking him up and down. He’s skinny, his shoulders are hunched, and his eyes dart around. I could easily escape him. Why would Rafael make him my guard? Perhaps he has no job for him, so this is like a token gesture; guard the helpless little slave who won’t even try to escape. “You are to stop her from leaving should she decide to be stupid, and if anyone tries to touch her, you have my permission to shoot them.” He eyes the boy meaningfully. “Anyone.”
Lucas nods, a strand of black hair falling over his forehead. “Yes, boss.”
“You can go,” Rafael says, and I do, hobbling from the room.
I’m at my bedroom door when a throat clears behind me. I whirl around and come face to face with Lucas. He looks at me and then at the floor.
“Uh, I’m Lucas,” he says, holding out his hand to me.
I frown at his outstretched hand, not quite knowing what to do with it. “Anna,” I say, tentatively taking his hand. He shakes it gently and then lets go.
“Nice to meet you, Anna. Oh, the boss said to give you this.” He holds out a worn and battered version of Ernest Hemingway’s; A Moveable Feast. The bright blue cover is worn and bubbled. The gold writing cut off by the peeling corner of the card. This book is well loved and well read.
I frown. “He gave you this?”
He shrugs. “I’ll uh, I’ll be right here if you need me.” I swear his cheeks tinge pink before he takes up position next to my door, his back ramrod straight.
“Um, thanks?”
He has to be the strangest guard I’ve ever seen.
I jolt awake, my throat sore as I suck deep breaths into my lungs. It takes me a second to spot the figure lingering over me in the darkness. Instinctively I leap away, my heart pounding even harder.
“Shit. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” the man whispers. I frown and squint at the skinny figure in the darkness before a light comes on, temporarily blinding me. “You were screaming, and I didn’t…I thought…” Lucas rubs his hand over the back of his neck in agitation. I glance at his plaid pajama bottoms and his Star Wars t-shirt, his hair sticking up in every direction. My body relaxes, and my breathing evens out.
“Yeah, that happens. Bad dreams,” I say.
He nods and looks away awkwardly. “I’m sorry,” he says again and turns to walk out of the room.
“Lucas?” He glances over his shoulder, his brows pulled together and a look of concern blanketing his face. “Thanks.” The word slips from my lips unbidden. He’s the man ‘guarding’ me—stopping me from escaping. I shouldn’t be thanking him, but his uninhibited concern is something I haven’t seen in so long.
A shy smile pulls at Lucas’ lips before he ducks his head. “No problem. My room is next door if you need me.” He hurries from the room, and I find my own lips forming a tiny smile.
Strange indeed.
Eleven
Rafael
I place the cigar to my lips and lean back in my chair as I light it. Silence permeates the house, signaling the early hours of the morning. Yes, nothing is stirring, not even a mouse, but a certain little bird is frantically flapping her wings. My gaze locks on the monitor that shows her room. She’s tossing and turning, her limbs thrashing wildly as though she’s locked in her own mental prison.
I inhale another long stream of smoke and wonder what haunts the little Russian so ruthlessly. I can only imagine, and it intrigues me. For the last few days, she’s become a guilty pleasure of sorts, and she doesn’t even know it. I find myself wanting to watch her fall apart, only to witness her wake and pull herself together, erecting that fortress that she keeps around herself, brick by painstaking brick.
Her thrashing becomes more feral, and then her body contorts the same way it does every night, and her mouth falls open. I can’t hear the scream, but it still makes me shiver. And then, like each time I’ve watched her, Lucas appears on the camera, hovering next to her bed. She lurches awake, and for just a few seconds, there’s a raw vulnerability in her eyes, visible even from here. It’s gone just as quickly as it appeared, her face morphing into that stony mask. Lucas lingers for only a minute or so, and then she sends him away, the same as always. I smile, allowing smoke to slip through my lips.
I’d have to be a monster not to pity her, but the feeling is fleeting. I find myself in awe of her. My sister was a whore—whore, not slave. A chosen life. Not a forced one. But I watched her break over and over again until finally there was nothing left.
I watch Anna fall back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. She confounds me—so strong, so broken. So innocent, so completely fucking desecrated.
Dragging a hand through my hair, I place my cigar in the ashtray. Yes, it’s best that I continue to keep my distance from her. It’s always in a man’s best interest to know his weaknesses. Girls like her are mine.
Late morning sunlight streams through the windows when I walk into the kitchen. My phone is pressed between my ear and shoulder as I talk to Carlos.
“Got a rat, boss,” he says.
“Fuck’s sake. Sort it, Carlos, and send a message. I’m thinking a metal box and some rodents.”
He laughs. “Gotcha. I’ll call you when it’s done.” He hangs up, and I huff out a breath. Maria is bustling around in the kitchen, and the scent of chili fills the air. She makes the best chili.
“That smells good,” I say, peering over her shoulder into the bubbling pot.
“I’ll get you some,” she says without looking at me. Her voice is thick and wavers slightly.
I frown and grab her shoulder, turning her to face me. The middle-aged woman swipes at her cheeks and offers me a watery smile. “What’s wrong?” I almost growl. Maria is like a second mother to me, and I can’t help but feel protective of her.
She shakes her head. “It’s nothing.” She brushes me off. “Just an old woman being silly.”
“Maria…” I wait, and she huffs a short breath, rolling her eyes before her chin drops to her chest.
“I just…she breaks my heart,” she says, slowly glancing up at me. I know exactly who she’s talking about. She shakes her head. “She’s so young...” Another tear falls onto her cheek, and she brushes it away, turning her back to me. “I told you I was being silly.”
I inhale a deep breath. I haven’t seen the girl in person in over a week, but of course, I see her on the monitors in my office. I know she never leaves the room but as long as she’s safe, and I’m upholding my end of the bargain, I really don’t care.
“You just care too much, Maria.” She nods as she spoons chili into a bowl and places it down on the breakfast island. I pull up a stool. “I can get someone else to handle the girl.” I spoon food into my mouth. Damn, that’s good.
Her gaze snaps to mine. “No!” She brushes her hands down her apron. “She doesn’t need to be around men. They’ll scare her.” I almost snort. That girl may be fucked up, but scared? She’s not scared, eerily so.
“Don’t get attached, Maria.”
“She’s just a girl, Rafael,” she clips, and I’m half expecting her to swat me upside the head. “She’s been taken and raped.” Her voice cracks on the word raped.
I drag my hand down my face. Jesus fuck. This woman. This is the damn cartel, but Maria always seems to turn a blind eye to that glaringly obvious fact. “And I brought her here, where she’s safe.”
“Does she know that? She sits on that balcony all day like she might never see the sun again. She eats, showers, and sleeps when she’s told to, but if I don’t tell her to, she just sits there. She answers when asked a direct question. That’s it. No matter how many times I tell her she can do as she likes she just stares blankly.” Tears pool in her eyes again, and she shakes her head. “That poor girl.”
I store this information. “What do you want me to do?” I groan.
“Just talk to her.
Take her around the house. Get her out of that room.”
I snort. “You’re welcome to take her out.” This isn’t a fucking holiday camp. I have better shit to do than entertain Nero’s collateral.
She shakes her head. “It needs to be you. I’m just staff.” I stand up and drop the empty bowl in the sink. “For me.”
I groan. This damn woman. “Fine. I’ll do it later. Now stop hassling me, woman. You’re making me look soft.”
A smile spreads over her lips, crinkling the corners of her eyes. “You’re a good boy.” She straightens the collar of my shirt and kisses my cheek.
Jesus Christ.
I get back from helping Carlos with our rat problem. I’ve sent Samuel to organize tomorrow’s shipment, and I have an hour before I have to call the Colombian suppliers. As soon as I walk in the door, Maria is waiting. She takes my jacket, eyeing me meaningfully. Fuck me.
I go upstairs to Anna’s room. Lucas shifts awkwardly beside the door, trying not to look at me. He’s a good kid, but fuck, he’s not cut out for the cartel. Ignoring him, I knock on the door. Nothing. No answer. I inhale a deep breath, my patience already wearing thin as I push the door open. It takes me a moment to spot her, but through the open balcony doors, I see her long legs as she lies on the floor, the heavy cast covering one. Walking over to the French doors, I lean against the frame. Her eyes are closed, and a small smile touches her lips. She’s naked, her once pale skin now a golden hue that accentuates the silvery scars littering her body. Blonde hair sprawls around her, the strands shining under the orange glow of the setting sun. A week of Maria’s food has done her good. A hint of possible curves lay where once there was only bone. For a moment I can’t help but notice how beautiful she is, delicate, like a porcelain doll.
I fold my arms over my chest and clear my throat. Her eyes slowly open, her head rolling to the side as she takes me in. It’s almost predatory; the distance in her eyes as she assesses me.