Mind Lies

by Harlow Stone

The bark of a man.

  The slamming of a door.

  “Jerri!” I shout when I round the corner, pushing open the heavy exit door that had just slammed shut and watching a dark van peel out of the parking lot. I don’t stop running until I get to our car. But I see slashed tires—so I keep running.

  “Jerrilyn!” I shout, distance gaining between the van and myself. It swerves around a corner and heads west, out of town.

  “Fuck! No!” Slowing down, I dig through my pocket until I find my cell phone and dial 9-1-1.

  “She’s gone!” I bark down the line. Ignoring the operator, I continue, “Black van heading west on Harris Street.” I rattle off the first four digits of the license plate, then add, “A pregnant woman abducted from O’Leary’s Clinic. Find her.”

  I hang up the phone and dial Lee. “They got her,” I tell him before he has the chance to say hello. “They fucking took her from the clinic!”

  “Where are you?” he asks.

  “O’Leary’s Clinic, south of Harris.”

  Then he says, “Five minutes,” and hangs up.

  Walking back to the car, I rip open the door and grab my gun from the console, sticking it in the back of my jeans. There’s a crowd gathered outside the door, and one of the nurses runs toward me, white as a sheet.

  “Sir?”

  I’m sure I look far from friendly. Her hand shakes as she holds out an envelope with my name on it. “I think this is for you, but I wasn’t sure if I should touch it.”

  I shake my head. “The police are on their way. I’ll pass it along. Thank you.”

  She nods and scurries off. I open the flap to the envelope, but before I can pull out the contents, Lee comes barreling into the lot. He doesn’t park, only slows the car as I open the door and get it.

  “Police are looking, and two of my guys at G2 are lookin’ through traffic cams to get a location. The rest won’t help until they know it was the Russians. Until it can be confirmed it’s them, it’s just a regular abduction.”

  I ignore him and reach inside the envelope.

  Pictures.

  “Fucking hell,” Lee curses beside me, his eyes switching from pictures to the road.

  There are quite a few of me in Boston. Pictures of Jerri coming and leaving my motel room that night. At the bottom of the stack is a photo of girls huddled together in a cell.

  Dirty.

  Bloody.

  Raped and waiting to be sold.

  “Flip them over,” Lee tells me.

  Unless you want Raven to have the same fate, you will call, is written on the back of the last photo.

  There’s a number underneath the message, and I pull my phone out of my pocket, prepared to dial.

  “Wait,” Lee says. “That might be enough to get G2 in on this.”

  I whip my head toward him. “You’re fucking here, aren’t you?”

  He shakes his head. “I’m here as myself, not part of G2. Five minutes, partner. Just let me make a call.”

  “She could be anywhere by now! It’s been ten minutes, and I know you know what happens in ten fucking minutes!” I shout, pointing in the direction the van was headed as we blindly try to find it.

  “Colin,” Lee barks through his hands-free. He regales him about everything that had just happened and the pictures in my lap. “Run it through the boss, and put a trace on this number.”

  “Done,” Colin chirps back before the line goes dead.

  “Now you call.”

  I dial the number twice, my fingers failing to work. It rings nine fucking times before someone answers.

  “I see you got my package?” the Russian prick answers.

  “I did. Care to tell me how I can fix this problem?”

  “You’ve been fucking with my shipments. I do not like when people fucks with what is mine.”

  I bite my tongue but throw back, “You can’t own a person. They’re not for sale.”

  He laughs. “Everything for sale! For a price.”

  I shake my head. “That what you want? Money in exchange for a life?”

  “Silly Irishman.” He continues laughing. “You and I need to have a little talk.”

  “So talk. I’m listening.”

  “In time,” he says. “First you need to ditch your getaway driver.”

  Lee and I share a look before the Russian adds, “I have eyes everywhere when I sense a threat. I make it my business to know people before I take them down. I do not like messes. And you, Irishman, are making a fucking mess.”

  “Alright, I’ll ditch the driver. What next?”

  “You go to Jarvis Industrial Park.”

  I frown. “There’s nothing there but concrete.”

  “Exactly. I see you coming from a mile away. Alone. I will have you picked up. See you then.”

  “Proof of life. I’m not coming unless I speak to her.”

  “Ahh, the fiery Raven,” the smug fuck says before throwing in, “Vasily is quite fond of her,” adding fuel to my fire.

  Then, “Lock?”

  I breathe a sigh of relief and tell her the only thing I can think of in case this doesn’t turn out as I hope.

  “My water, Jerri girl.”

  ***

  “They won’t kill you yet. They need something from you,” Lee tells me. I nod my head. My hands are clenched into fist on my thighs, craving to drive into something.

  Someone.

  “Not trying to talk me out of it?” I smartly say, not because I care what his answer is, but because the past sixteen minutes in this fucking car have been the longest of my life. And talking makes the time go by quicker.

  Gripping the steering wheel harder, he replies, “No.”

  I know there’s a fuck of a lot more than what meets the eye with Lee, but even now, in a situation like this, he doesn’t bother to enlighten me.

  His business, not mine.

  I don’t pry because what’s the point?

  Men are simple; if we want you to know something, we’ll fucking tell you. If we don’t, there’s a reason why.

  “End of the road, Lock.”

  I take one last look at Lee. We’ve become more than just partners, despite the fact that we rarely made small talk over the past twelve years. It’s bigger than that. He doesn’t have to be here right now; he didn’t have to act without G2 and risk a suspension to fucking help me.

  But he is.

  Not because he owes me anything, but because he’s a good fucking man.

  I take a look around the desolate landscape. The buildings in the industrial park are long gone. The result of a fire that broke out six years ago, leaving nothing but concrete behind. Opening the car door, I give one last nod to Lee. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he smartly says, and I nod back.

  “Wide open, then?”

  He gives me a sober look. “Wide open. Go get your girl.”

  I shut the door and bang on the roof twice. I don’t watch the car disappear, but instead turn and walk with speed toward my meeting point, well aware that I’m wide open without a weapon and could be taken out at any time.

  They don’t want me dead.

  Yet.

  The Russian’s want me alive. For what I have no fucking clue. Could be information, but then why not ask the driver, Lee, to come too?

  Maybe they just want to beat and torture my sorry ass for all the headaches I’ve caused them over the years, but it feels as if they’ve gone to too much trouble for that to be the case.

  At the moment, I really don’t give a shit. I need to get Jerri out of this mess, and if I can make that happen, I don’t give a flying fuck what they do to me.

  When I reach the top of a small hill, a car comes into view. I can see the outline of two men, and when I get near, a third man exits the back seat with a gun trained on me. I don’t raise by hands but instead walk slower. Standing five feet in front of him, I stop.

  He’s about my size. Not as fit but matched for weight.

  “Lift your shirt and t
urn around.”

  I do as he asks, showing him I have no weapons, then proceed to do the same with my pant legs. Once he’s satisfied, he points to the car. “Inside.”

  His accent is thick. Either he fucking sucks at speaking English or he’s a man of few words. Not that I want to speak to the prick, anyway. No. What I really want to do is reach out, grab his arm, and snap it in the middle.

  The gun would fall, and I’d catch it before it hit the ground while elbowing him right under his nose.

  Hopefully, I could get shots off faster than the two in the front seat could draw, but the truth is I’ve never shot someone.

  Never killed anyone.

  The only time I’ve had to fire my weapon is for sport.

  For practice.

  The car weaves out of the concrete desert, and I continue thinking of all the way I could kill these sorry bastards. It’s not long before we arrive at a warehouse. I know this place; it used to be a wildlife rehabilitation centre but closed down over a decade ago for some reason or another.

  We’re about seven miles out from the docks. Through the bushline, it would only be about a mile before you hit the water.

  Perfect location for trafficking. There’d be no security to worry about at the shoreline. No dock hands or undercover G2 agents would get in your way. It’s a prime location, one they wouldn’t show me if they planned to keep me alive.

  I’ll get you out, Jerri girl.

  Even if I die trying.

  I try not to think about how much I fucked up over the years. Evading these fucks for twelve years is a pretty goddamn good stretch. But the mess I made with Jerri . . .

  I could have been out.

  I could have quit this shit. I could have left it all behind, made a life with her.

  Paddy told me many times over the years to pull my head out of my arse, and this is exactly what he meant. It wasn’t just leaving Lee, G2, and the abducted women behind—it was having something worth living for when you did.

  I’d live and die a thousand deaths for that woman, and don’t I feel like a stupid son of a bitch for wasting all the time I could have had with her. The Christmases and the dinner parties. I’ve never been to a fucking dinner party, but I’d do it for her. I’ve never been somebody’s plus-one on a wedding invitation, but I’d gladly fill the damn role.

  I’d do anything.

  And now it might be too late.

  I might not get to hold her hand, wipe the hair out of her eyes, and breathe with her through the labor of our boy.

  I might not get anything.

  The large garage door opens on the front of the building. We pull into the hollow space. It’s nearly empty, save for the few tables and chairs scattered around. My eyes scan past the cages. They’re too far away to see anyone inside, but all too familiar, sadly.

  Lee and I came across a setup like this one outside of Hamburg a few years back. Nothing prepares you for it, but after the shit we’ve seen inside shipping containers, nothing surprises you anymore either.

  Getting out of the car, I walk forward when a gun is pushed into my back. “Ah, the shit disturber listen well. I give instruction to shoot you in the arms if you not come alone.”

  “Why not the legs?” I ask.

  The well-dressed man in front of me, Yakov, answers, “Then we have to carry you. No fun.”

  This is the first time I’ve ever seen Yakov in the flesh. As far as I’m concerned, it’s the first time he’s left Russia. According to Lee, the man flies so far under the radar they lose track of him.

  Often.

  Clearly he leaves the country when that happens, considering he’s standing in mine.

  “Where is she?” I bark, impatient, needing to see my girl. The asshole smirks and motions behind where a laughing man exists the cell with bars on.

  Vasily.

  Should have killed him. I should have fired my weapon for the first time all those years ago.

  “Raven needs rest. How you call it?” He tilts his head to the side and wipes his bloody hands on a rag. “Ah, yes! Beauty sleep.”

  I charge forward, all the building rage surfacing. All the hate, pain, and suffering I’ve witnessed rises to the top as I take in the lifeless body of my Lass, sprawled out on the hard concrete floor, blood covering her face.

  Bruises on her flawless cheeks.

  Eye swollen shut.

  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Lee had said.

  Kill them.

  Kill them all.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Yuri pulls the phone from his pocket and nods, handing it to Yakov.

  “I see you got my package?” is Yakov’s greeting when he answers the phone. I can’t hear the other side of the conversation, but I know it’s Lock when he adds, “Silly Irishman.” He continues laughing, leaning back in his chair as though he were having a chat with an old friend. Completely at ease, not a worry on his mind. “You and I need to have a little talk.” I watch him nod. “In time,” he says. “First you need to ditch your getaway driver.”

  Getaway driver? God, I hope it’s not Paddy. He was in town today. The docks are only twenty minutes from the doctor’s office.

  “Ahh, the fiery Raven. Vasily is quite fond of her,” he carries on, and I shiver, praying to god Vasily doesn’t like a goddamn thing about me as he passes me the phone.

  “Lock?” I speak just above a whisper, not wanting the men in the room to intrude on our conversation. Vasily rips the phone from my hand right before I hear, “My water, Jerri girl.”

  I hug my arms protectively over my stomach, and Yakov waves a hand in a gesture that says, “carry on,” in regards to the talk he wanted to have.

  “It’s not that impressive, really,” I tell him, stalling for time.

  He crosses his legs and leans back in his seat. “I think otherwise. Twelve years.” He nods toward Visily. “I nearly kill Vasily for not finding you. After six months no word from you or police, I let it rest.”

  I swallow. “So you didn’t look for me all this time?”

  He lets out a small laugh. “Penance for Vasily. I do not chase people. He look for you”—he waves his hand back and forth—“off and on. If someone come forward and say, ‘I see this man,’”—he points to Vasily—“then Vasily goes down. I do not go with him.”

  I get the picture he’s painting, clearly. It’s exactly the same as what G2 had told us. If Vasily had been caught for any crime, and if I were asked if he had been involved that night, he’d be the only one doing time.

  He would not rat on, roll over, or fuck with Yakov.

  “You either change name, live under rock, or work for government to hide this long. Vasily get your name, even social security number from apartment, and he still not find you. I want to know how?” Straightening in his chair, he looks over his shoulder and loudly says, “Yuri? Empty girl’s shit bucket and open window. Fucking stinks in here.”

  The girls cower farther into the wall, if that’s possible, as Yuri collects the degrading bucket and takes it outside.

  “Better. Now talk.”

  Fidgeting with the sleeve of my dress, I tell him half-truths: “I guess you could say I took a page out of your play book. If you could hide women and traffic them god knows where, why couldn’t I escape the same way?” He nods for me to continue. “I knew shipping schedules like the back of my hand, so I had lain low for a few days before getting onto one of the ships that was heading to the States.”

  Pursing his lips in thought, he asks, “You hide on ship for week or more?”

  Thinking fast, I tell him, “I bribed one of the deck hands. He brought me food and snuck me inside at night for bathroom breaks.”

  I don’t want him to know about Paddy and Nessa, so I hope my story is believable enough that he won’t ask for more detail. They always say less is more, so I stick to key points to keep it straight and hopefully satisfying.

  “Then you hide in US? How?”

  I shrug. “Odd jobs,
fake IDs, and eventually a new social security number. I’m sure you know that money can be powerful. Once you save enough, you can buy just about anything.”

  He shakes his head. “You do not work for government?”

  I shake mine back. “I don’t work for the government.”

  Letting out a low chuckle, he says, “Vasily, she regular girl and you not find her?”

  Vasily doesn’t like the jab. The daggers he throws my way solidify that. “I good at finding people, she lie.”

  I swallow. “I’m not lying.”

  Vasily’s lip curls. “You hide, but I find you with the dock worker, Locklin, in Boston. Same man who fuck with our shipments here.”

  I nod, thinking fast. “He’s the dock worker I bribed to help me escape.”

  Vasily shakes his head. “He’s not dock worker. Men at the docks say he negotiate shipping cost for companies.”

  I roll my eyes, grateful he has yet to mention any of Paddy’s ships, the connection between Paddy and Locklin. “Everyone starts somewhere. When I met him, he was a dock worker.”

  “When he—” Vasily starts, cutting himself short when he gets a text message. “Ten minutes.”

  Yakov nods. “Desperate man do desperate thing. I need him desperate. Fix it, Vasily.”

  Yakov stands and straightens his already-pristine appearance before walking out of my view. The man from my nightmares smirks and sing-songs, “Raven, Raven, Raven. Now we have some fun.”

  I stay seated in the chair with my arms over my stomach. I’m helpless against him, but if I’m sitting, I can’t be raped. Surely he won’t punch me in the stomach if their goal is to sell my child.

  “How long until baby come, Raven?” he asks as he stands in front of me, fist clenched at his sides. Swallowing, I answer, “A few months.”

  Smiling, he says, “Pretty Raven. Face long way from stomach.” Then his fist hits the side of my face with such force it knocks the chair sideways. I cry out, expecting my body to hit the concrete, but two large hands grasp my shoulders. He rights the chair.

  I open my mouth, to plea with him to stop, but a blow comes to the other side of my head before I’ve even opened my eyes. The pain from his backhand earlier intensifies as black spots cloud my vision.