by LP Lovell
“And how would they know we’re even here?” Una says casually from her spot, leaning against the wall.
I have nothing to say to him, and yet I think I want him to say something to me. I need…something. “You ruined my life,” I tell him because I want this monster to know.
“No, I saved your life.” His head rolls to the side, his eyes closing for a moment before opening again. “You’d be dead if I’d left you with the Russians.”
“I’d rather have died,” I choke unable to hold back tears as I recall every disgusting, degrading thing he used to do to me. I remember the face of every girl I watched die within these walls. The memories are branded on my soul: permanent and irreversible. And yet, here he is, just doing it to another girl.
“Yet here you stand, alive, and trying to kill me.”
The disgust festers in my gut until it turns to hatred, and hatred turns into a rage so hot, I can barely contain it. This man took everything from me, and I want to crush him like the insect he is. I want to watch the life leave his eyes. “There’s no trying about it.”
I lift the gun, flicking the safety off. My emotions swirl together in a chaotic tornado, spinning faster and faster until everything is a messy blur inside me. I can do this. I can end this. My hand trembles as I press my finger over the trigger, aiming at his head. The last thing I see is that smug smile on his lips before I pull the trigger, waiting for the bang that never comes. Instead, a distinct pop greets my ears before a perfect red dot appears on his forehead. His eyes go wide and glassy before he topples forward, slicing his own throat wide open. Blood splatters against his thighs like a waterfall cascading over the edge of a cliff. I release the breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding. I don’t know what I expected to feel—a sense of relief maybe? Instead, I’m even angrier because in that final moment, he didn’t regret it. There was no remorse, no fear. Nothing. Whatever I hoped to achieve from this is absent, and the disappointment is a tough pill to swallow.
“You did what you came to do,” Una says, stepping in front of me and taking the gun, sliding it back into its holster. I did, but it doesn’t feel like enough. I glance towards the door before looking to Una again, and finally, the girl curled up on the floor. Opening the bedside drawer, I feel around for the key that he always used to keep in here. Finally, my fingers brush over the tiny object, and I take it out, rushing to the young girl’s side. The key slides easily into the small padlock at the back of her neck, and the solid gold collar releases. She blinks at me, big blue eyes glassy with unshed tears and yet completely devoid of anything.
“My name is Anna,” I say to her. “This is my sister, Una. We’re going to help you.”
“Anna,” Una hisses, grabbing my arm and dragging me to my feet. She pulls me a little way away from the girl. “This isn’t what we agreed.”
“It wasn’t enough. What’s the point of killing him if we aren’t going to help his victims?”
“We have a plan. We ran through it. I told you, this is an assassination, not a rescue mission.” My jaw tightens, and she tilts her head to the side. “There are still a lot of armed men in this house.”
“Exactly, we’ll be leaving her and god knows how many others to them. They’ll be sold and raped.” She closes her eyes and inhales a deep breath. “I won’t abandon them the same way I was.”
I know it’s a low blow that she’ll take personally, but I don’t care. She wanted me to have purpose—well this is it. If I can help these girls, that will be all the purpose I need. A fire, unlike any I’ve ever felt tears through my veins, giving me a steely determination.
“Fine. We take her.”
“No.” I help the girl to her feet. “We help them all.” Una spits a curse and paces the length of the room. “How many others are here?” I ask the girl in Romanian.
“Eight,” she says quietly.
With a resigned sigh, Una hands me back the gun as she takes her own gun in hand.
“There are eight of them, they’ll be in the basement,” I say.
Una eyes me, that icy façade slipping back into place so effortlessly. “You know the way?” she asks, and I nod. I don’t think I could ever forget it. “Then go and get them.” She hands me a tiny leather pouch containing her lock picking tools. “Move quickly and if you see anyone, shoot them. Don’t miss.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll take out the rest of the guards.”
I stare at her for a second. I know there are a lot of guys still patrolling the property. Una is good, but she’s just one woman. Guilt worms through my mind. There was a plan, and it was put in place to get us in and out easily. Now I’ve ruined it, and I’m putting her at risk. If anything happens to her…Dante would be without a mother. “Una…”
“Are you really about to start worrying?” She checks the clip on her gun before slamming it back into place. “You forget who I am.” She flashes me a wry smile before she strides out of the room, her hips swaying with each confident stride.
At this moment I can’t help but love my estranged sister because she has my back, and I know with every fiber of my being that there is no one I’d rather have with me than her right now.
The blonde girl leads the way, and I walk through that house on autopilot, the ghost of a girl I once was drifting through these halls. I’ve walked this exact path so many times before, escorted from his room to the basement. The door to the basement is always locked, and I hesitantly drop to one knee, removing the tiny tools required to pick the lock. My hands tremble slightly, and it takes several attempts to get the lock open. I’m no longer a defenseless girl, and yet the idea of walking down those steps has me feeling like the little girl I once was: alone, afraid and helpless. The lock finally clicks, and on a shaky breath, I push the handle open. The hinges squeal revealing the dark stairwell that descends into the bowels of the house. Icy cold air drifts upward, and I shiver. I stare down that dark stairwell, scared of what I might find down here and yet completely unable to walk away.
The temperature drops further as I descend the stairs, and I remember the cold being one of the worst things about this place because, despite all the horrors, that incessant chill leaves you without a single grain of comfort.
When I get to the bottom, I take a deep breath and reach for the light switch, knowing exactly where it is. There’s a low buzz of electricity before harsh halogen lights fire up, illuminating an entire basement full of cages. These were once full of young girls, bought and sold, fucked and abused, and I was just one of many. Now, only a few of them have occupants, but seeing them rips the scab off a very old wound. Young girls: naked, cold, completely broken.
It takes me a second, but I force my locked limbs to move and clumsily pick the locks on the two cages holding girls. It seems Alexandru has downsized significantly since my time here.
“Follow me,” I tell them in Romanian. “Stay close.”
The girls huddle together like a flock of sheep as they follow. All except one. The blonde. She hangs back, her shoulders just a little more upright, her head a little higher. Even here, in this place, a small smile touches my lips. She’s not broken. Collared, beaten, damaged maybe, but not shattered. She’s strong. And it’s that strength that drew him to her because Alexandru doesn’t like broken things. He likes to be the one that breaks them.
As soon as I step through the door at the top of the stairs, I can hear the distant sound of gunshots. My heart skitters in my chest as I imagine my sister being fired at, completely outnumbered. I have to keep moving. The longer we’re here, the less likely we are to escape. I move along the corridor, glancing over my shoulder briefly to check that the girls are still with me. The hallways are quiet and littered with fallen men. We step over the felled bodies until we reach the front door. I jump at the sound of a gunshot just around the corner, and the girls hunch behind me. I lift my gun, finger hovering over the trigger. My heart beats so hard it feels like it’ll tear out of my chest, and then U
na walks around the corner. I breathe a sigh of relief and lower the gun.
“You’re okay.”
She frowns as though my concern confounds her. “Of course.” She removes the clip from her gun, replacing it with another. “You good?” she asks, eyeing the girls behind me.
“Yeah.”
“I’ve taken out most of the guys in the house, but the perimeter security will be tight. We’re going to have to shoot our way out.” Any premise of a subtle exit is long gone. The plan is out of the window, and now we’re just hoping for the best. “Cover me, Anna.” I nod. “Ready?” The girls nod at her. “Stay close.”
And then she disappears through the front door. The girls follow her, and I take up the rear. As soon as we step outside, it’s carnage. Bullets fly left and right. Una’s focused on two guys in front of her when I spot something in my periphery. As I turn, I see a guy raise his gun and point it. My heart jolts as he aims at my sister. Without thinking, I point my gun at his head and shoot. With that small pop, he drops and hits the ground. I have the briefest of moments to process, and then I’m running across the manicured lawn, chasing after Una as she acts like a one-man army. I’m out of breath by the time I catch up, but she isn’t. The girls are all breathing heavily, and Una is pacing, checking her watch every few seconds.
Finally, a black SUV pulls up to the gate, and the passenger window rolls down revealing Sasha’s stoic expression. “This isn’t the plan,” he says flatly.
“No,” Una replies, glancing at me. “This is Anna’s plan.” Sasha glances at me before giving a reluctant nod. I know this isn’t the way they work, but I’m grateful for them both right now. I’m grateful that they’re willing to do this for me because I know deep down that this is what I need. I need salvation every bit as much as these young girls. How can I possibly deny them that?
8
Anna
I linger in the doorway of Nero and Una’s kitchen, watching the blonde girl as she stands by the wall of glass that surrounds the perimeter of the luxury penthouse. New York stretches out far below, lights twinkling against the fading sunlight. I clutch a mug of coffee between my palms, allowing the steam to drift in front of my face as I note her rigid stance. I know the look. I know the feeling. When a girl has only ever been a slave, she expects nothing but the worst. She doesn’t know us, or this place, and so she trusts nothing.
I remember when I was sent to Rafael’s house, believing that he was yet another owner, another man wanting to take from me. I had every reason to think that because I’d never known kindness. You come to expect the worst in all situations. Hope is so very frivolous.
The penthouse is silent. Una is in the nursery with Dante. Nero and the guys are working, and the rest of the girls we saved are huddled together in a spare room like lost lambs. Sasha is off doing whatever it is the elusive assassin does. And here we are, her and I.
Taking a deep breath, I step into the room and approach her. Her shoulders instantly tense, and I make a conscious effort not to get too close and crowd her. “Would you like something to drink or eat?” I ask.
She glances at me, those haunted eyes boring into the depths of my own damaged soul. I’d be lying if I said she didn’t stir up emotions that I thought I’d managed to at least smother—if not bury. She’s so young, and the fact that she’s suffered so much breaks my heart. Dragging her eyes back to the window, she ignores me the same way she has every time I’ve tried to speak to her.
“I know you don’t believe me, but you are safe here. No one will touch you.” She remains silent, and I clutch the coffee mug tighter, following her gaze to the city spread out below us. “I once belonged to The Master.” She sucks in an audible breath, and her small hand tightens into a fist. “I once wore the collar too.”
“The favorites always die,” she says, and my stomach clenches painfully. “You’re not dead.”
I glance at the bandages covering the mangled skin of her throat. I remember the way that collar would bite into my throat and cut off my air when he fucked me. “He didn’t kill me. He never gave me what I wanted.”
She looks at me, really looks at me, for the first time. “You escaped?”
“I tried. Many times. When I was finally too old for him, he didn’t give me the mercy of death. He sold me.” She nods, and a mutual understanding passes between us. “But now I’m free, and so are you. Are you going to tell me your name yet? Not the one he gave you. The one you had before.”
There’s a long beat of silence, and I don’t think she’s going to tell me, but then she speaks. “Zara,” she says quietly.
“Do you have any family, Zara?” She nods slowly. “Where?”
“Serbia.”
“I’ll get you back to them. I promise.” I will get every one of these girls back to their families, and if they have none, then I’ll find them a new one. I won’t abandon them. Rafael saved me, he loved me, and he taught me what it was to be valued. I want to do that for them. I want to heal them, hold them, take away the pain I know they feel. I wish I could shoulder it for them because I’m older, more accustomed to the feeling. They’re so young, and yet so strong. They shouldn’t have to deal with this. “I’ll show you to a room,” I say, stepping away from the window. She moves to follow me, standing just a little taller, her body just a tiny bit more relaxed.
At least she’s dealing with women even if Una is a little prickly. I didn’t have that luxury. A small smile touches my lips as I remember the first time I ever met Rafael. I was tied to a chair, distraught at having nearly escaped and failed. The second I looked into those dark eyes, I knew he was a monster, and I hated him instantly. And yet, even then, I could appreciate the ominous beauty that seemed to cling to him. He was like the devil in disguise, the ink crawling up his neck and over his hands the only clue to the man beneath that expensive suit. Little did I know it was actually the other way around, that tattooed exterior hid one of the best men I’ve ever known. When I had no one and nothing, he saved me and dragged me into the light.
I can’t offer Zara that because what Rafe gave me was a soul-deep bond. I try not to think of him anymore, but now more than ever, I can’t help it. Even now, after months away from him, I still feel the ache at the very depths of myself. I’m surviving and doing what I feel I have to, but it’s as though a fundamental part of me is missing—like it’s been torn out. I want to hate him for it, but I can’t. And that’s the worst thing, to hurt and long for someone, to suffer this kind of loss without being able to pinpoint a reason, a definitive factor as to why. I feel like he let his enemies tear us apart. He gave up on us when I never could. Not even in the face of such unlikely odds.
I pound over the punchbag rhythmically, and the sound calms me, centering my mind. I drag deep, lingering breaths into my lungs, releasing on each heavy drive of my fists. Three months of Una’s training have left my knuckles calloused and scarred. And even as they split and bleed, I barely feel it. The image of Rafael’s bloodstained knuckles flashes through my mind, his words whispering out of my memories as if he were standing right beside me, breathing them against my ear. Sometimes you break something to make it stronger.
I’m so lost in thought that I don’t notice Una until I’m flat on my back staring up at her. My chest heaves as she glares at me.
“Pay attention,” she snaps.
Blinking, I push to my feet and steady the swinging punchbag. “I’m trying to clear my mind,” I say.
“It doesn’t matter. You always stay alert.” This is her world, the only one she knows. I don’t think it would be possible to sneak up on my sister. At times, I swear she’s superhuman, the way she hears everything and moves so fast. “You’re upset because of those girls,” she says, studying my face, her brows pulled tightly together. She looks at me like I’m a puzzle she simply cannot piece together.
“No… I mean, yes, but…” I hesitate, struggling to express myself around her. We may be sisters, but we’re still very much strangers in so
many ways. “How did it feel…when you killed Nicholai?”
She drops her head forward, and white hair falls over her face in a curtain. “He was hunting me. He wanted Dante. Nicholai’s death was as much necessity as anything else. I was relieved my son was safe.”
“Of course.” I nod.
She sighs and looks straight at me, imprisoning me with her gaze. “You don’t feel the way you thought you would after killing Alexandru.”
“I just…I thought it would be…more. The things that man did to me…” I wrap my arms tightly around myself. “I thought I’d feel this huge satisfaction, but I don’t.”
“I’ve killed many men for many reasons, some known, some unknown. They may deserve it, they may not, I don’t really think about it, but that man deserved it, Anna. It doesn’t change what happened to you. It doesn’t make it better, but it’s as close as you’re going to get to justice. The rest…you have to figure out for yourself.” I nod, and we fall into silence. I jump when I feel her fingers brush over my shoulder. “You know, I never really hated Nicholai before Dante. What he did was wrong, but he made me strong. In a way, Alexandru made you strong.”
Tears prickle my eyes. “He broke me.” How can she see what he did as anything other than cruel?
“And broken things—”
“Heal stronger,” I whisper.
She shrugs one shoulder. “You can look at your entire life as a negative or you can try and build from the wreckage, something better.”
“I don’t know what to do now,” I admit.
“What do you want to do?”
I’m not sure how to answer that. She said I needed purpose in life, and the only time I’ve ever felt that is when I walked out of that house with those girls, knowing that the man who had tortured us was dead. In a way, I’m angry that he’s dead. That my revenge was over so quickly because now there’s this void like an absence.