Incapable of eating, I excuse myself from the table to visit the restroom.
Jason follows me. “Fallon, go home if you’re not feeling well. I’ll cover for you if anyone asks, which I highly doubt. Our work is done. We should be enjoying ourselves, and you obviously can’t. Go talk to Luca.”
Eyeing the restaurant, I only hesitate for a second. I regret leaving Luca and should talk to him now, before he has an entire night to come up with new lies. Jason hugs me, sensing my misery.
“Thanks, Jason. I’m going now. Go back to your date.” I watch him return to his seat.
At the front entrance of the hotel, Alex is mingling with guests. I want to avoid him and search for another exit in this huge hotel. I go through the foyer, into the hall and to the kitchen in the rear. I know - from spending the morning here - that only the main kitchen is being used. The fire exit opens into the backstreet behind the hotel. I enter another hall that’s actually prohibited to guests. There are two doors - I check the first and it’s unlocked. I sigh in relief when I find myself looking into the empty rear kitchen. There’s only a small light on, and I scan the room and spot an exit at the far end. For a supposedly small kitchen, the room is remarkably spacious. I press the handlebar down to open the door. Unlocked again.
The door indeed opens into the alley which is barely illuminated by a flickering light. I can’t see the street, so I have to walk through the alley and round the corner to access it. I open the door further to step outside, but a second before the door slams shut, I hear a faint thud and - in reflex - my head follows said noise to the back of the dim alley.
Everything happens in fast forward from that point on. Two silhouettes are standing ominously over a body that slouches to the ground next to the dumpster. One of the men has a gun in hand, angled at the person falling to the ground. The door behind me slams shut, and both of their heads spin around to me. My eyes enlarge as waves of panic grip me, so I quickly search the door - no handlebar on the outside. It only opens from the inside. The men are maybe ten steps away from me at the back of the alley. I pivot and will my legs to sprint toward the street. My heels are clicking urgently against the asphalt, and I don’t dare to look back. I lose my footing and misstep halfway to the street, falling with my palms flat in front of me, scraping my knees open and pushing myself back up as quickly as possible.
Not one step further, I’m raised off my heels with an arm around my waist and a hand sealing my mouth. I scream futilely. The guy jerks my face to the side, and I struggle in his hold, kicking out into the night air. He drags me toward the back of the alley, past the fire exit door, and stops at the dumpster, joining the other perpetrator. There’s blood seeping from the victim’s torso onto the ground. To my astonishment, I recognize this dead man. He has stopped by at work often to visit Alex. My stomach heaves from the pungent smell of blood and trash.
The man restraining me says against my ear, “Stop. Struggling.” With the silencer pointed to my temple, I hear the click of a gun. The disgusting smell of liquor on his breath enhances my nausea.
I signal that I will stay quiet, nodding my head to the guy in front of me and the one at my back.
He moves his hand an inch away from my mouth, and the other man arches one brow, waiting for me to panic and start screaming again. The one behind me kicks the back of my knees so I fall forward, the impact with the concrete burning my already-bloodied knees.
Both men stand before me now. Tears induced by my physical pain trail down my cheeks. I can’t see the men clearly in the darkness of the alley, but the one that kicked me has blond hair and is fairly short; the other one has copper or brown hair. Both are dressed in suits. I don’t look away as they both glare at me and then at each other.
The blond guy palms his mouth in frustration while keeping his gun aimed at my forehead. His eyes are trained on me when he addresses his partner. “What do we do?”
“Take her. We have to leave now.” The other guy, also holding a gun, stashes it under his jacket.
Blond guy clutches his hair with one hand and then backhands me in my face. The force of the blow resounding through my head.
Then I’m propelled into unconsciousness when the back of his gun knocks me out cold.
CHAPTER 25
Fallon
I‘m startled by angry male voices that I hear far away. I want open my eyes, but my eyelids feel sewn shut, too heavy to open. No matter how hard I fight, my eyes stay closed. I try to focus on the voices. Slowly, I feel myself drifting away.
No, don’t drift, stay conscious!
Is someone shouting? I can’t feel anything - not my hands, not my legs. But I’m awake; I’m sure of it. Again, I will my eyes to open… Nothing. My frightened state is increasing as the seconds tick away, and I’m stuck in my head with only my thoughts.
I faintly hear the male voices speak up. “When will she wake up? She’s been out for long. This is not a good sign. What the fuck went wrong?”
“Maybe we shouldn’t discuss that here and now in case the girl can hear us.”
“Fine. This bitch better wake up soon because we need to get rid of her anyway. Can’t we just dump her body somewhere?”
Oh god, no. Who are these people? Where the hell am I?
“Are you fucking kidding me? We don’t know who she is or what the fuck she was doing there. We need answers before we make another move.”
“We also need to get out of here as soon as possible before someone finds out we brought her in here. I have to admit, she’s a cute little thing, gets my juices flowing. Can’t we have a little fun with her?”
“No! Where do you suppose we move her? Do not touch her until we figure this out.”
The voices become quieter.
“Frank, go check and see who’s arriving at the front door. Don’t mention the girl yet.”
“Fucking hell, I am mentioning the girl. We could use her.”
I hear footsteps of someone walking away and a door slams, startling me.
“Fucking little shithead!”
Silence.
I suddenly feel a warm gush against my ear and someone whispers, “Did you just move, girl?” Then everything fades to black and I lose consciousness again.
***
I wake. Coldness surrounds me. My head is heavy and aching as I try to move, and I grimace when my bound left wrist restrains me. It’s cuffed to the bed railing above me in this small room with four off-white walls, no windows, and a light bulb hanging in the middle of the ceiling. The bed is against the wall in the corner. I touch the cold wall with my right hand. There’s a door on my left, a few feet away. I sit up, dragging the cuff to the middle of the railing. Black spots overtake my eyesight for a moment. My dress it torn, my knees covered in dried blood. An almost imperceptible noise catches my attention in the upper left corner of the room. A device turned - it’s a camera.
The door opens suddenly and bangs against the wall with a loud crash. I sit up on the bed because I feel less vulnerable sitting than lying down. It’s him again: the short, blond guy that hit me. He stammers into the room, drunk. I swallow deeply, and my throat hurts from the dryness. His predatory walk ignites my distress, and his daunting smile makes me shiver in fear. Instantly, I move back on the bed, even though I know I can’t hide.
“You look scared, little lady.” His eyes are blazing with malicious intent.
I am scared, but I just stare at him. I will not let him goad me, even though I want to cry because he’s going to touch me. There’s nothing I can do, but I will fight him any way I can.
“I think you need a good fuck. You were messing with business that has nothing to do with you, and you caused me trouble. You owe me.”
I don’t acknowledge his words and try to sit still as a statue.
He stands before me and tilts his head. “I like my women to scream. I think you would scream when I fuck your ass. Wouldn’t you?” he insults.
He fists my hair and hauls me up. The cuff on m
y left wrist rattles against the bed railing as I’m being forced to rise. I squeeze my eyes shut to keep from screaming out because of the pain burning in my scalp. I will not give him that satisfaction.
This must be a horrible nightmare, and I’ll wake up any minute now. But this is my reality. This is happening. I’m going to get raped in this room. The tears I’ve been desperately wanting to hold back wet my cheeks.
I will fight him. I need to fight him.
His hold on my hair loosens involuntarily. The smell of liquor lingering around him informs me he’s drunk and obviously can’t access his full strength. He quickly recovers and tightens his fist again while I make a fist with my right hand.
I will fight this. I will fight him.
With all my power, I punch his nose, forcing him to sway back.
His hand goes up to his bleeding nose. “You fucking little bitch!” he spits and comes at me in full force.
We stumble back onto the bed, and my scalp collides with the railing. I’m dizzy and see dozens of white and black stars for a moment, but I start kicking like a madwoman.
Do not let him take off your clothes.
I want to exhaust him. He’s drunk, and he should get tired soon. With my left hand restrained, I kick and scream, trying to kick him in the balls, but I miss since he’s holding me down on my back on the bed.
“Stupid bitch.” He punches me in the stomach.
All the air is being ripped from my lungs as I gasp for the breath that’s been beaten out of me. He leans his entire body on me, and presses his arms on mine while he sits on my legs. I let my eyelids close for a second to avoid the blood that is dripping from his nose in my eyes. My insides are wrenching with terror. My left arm bends in an awkward position because of the cuff as pain cloaks my wrist, arm, and shoulder. I cry out because the pain is excruciating, but it miraculously spurs me on, and I don’t allow myself to wallow in it. “Get off me, asshole.” I maneuver my whole body and refuse to lie still. Although he’s much stronger than I am, his drunken haze has indeed made him weaker. I wriggle one leg free from underneath him and frantically jerk my hips up and down to get him off me. The last pins in my hair fall out and strands of my locks obscure my view. I blow them out of my face harshly. His strenuous breathing causes him to hyperventilate. I keep moving my body uncontrollably and manage to push off the bed with my right leg. He’s growing weaker, so I look down my right side to kick him again. Then I see his phone falling out of his pants pocket onto the bed, and I hurriedly push the phone under the covers with my leg. My right arm is free again, and I lift my right side off the bed with my leg and arm, throwing him off me.
He falls down on the floor, and the back of his head hits the concrete. “FUCK!” he yells.
I’m frozen in shock, afraid I’ve caused even more trouble for myself.
Our labored breathing echoes off the walls.
“I will have you later, stupid cunt.” He gets up from the floor, rubbing his head, and then slaps my face with the force of his fury.
I recoil from the sting and close my eyes until he leaves. I keep my eyes closed and my body unmoving until I hear the door close. I force myself to stay still for a few moments to make sure he doesn’t come back, counting to thirty in my head.
I’m trembling. I’m hurt. I’m crying. I’m terrified. Every area of my skin is covered in sweat. I can’t think about anything but calling for help.
After reaching thirty, I quickly try to find the phone. Then I remember the camera in the room. I vainly breathe in to calm myself while I search for the phone under the covers. A sob escapes me when I can’t locate it, but then my fingertips touch something cold. The phone is near my behind. Using my ass, I push the phone into my hand and turn on my right side, covering what I’m doing from the camera while ignoring the pain in my left arm that the movement causes. It’s a smartphone with touchscreen. I hold it close to my eyes and dial, and misdial the number. I can’t get my fingers to stop trembling, so I dial again, almost getting the numbers correct this time, before I hear a noise outside the room.
Someone is coming.
The door opens, and I immediately let the phone slide out of my hand onto the pillow and hide it under my hair.
Shit. Did he see the phone? Did he see me move?
Footsteps approach the bed while I’m sweating profusely and using all my power not to shudder
in fear.
He’s coming back for his phone.
“Can’t let you have my alcohol, bitch,” the same guy who tried to assault me says.
I don’t remember him coming in with a drink or a bottle. I’m motionless with my eyes sealed shut as my tears fall on the pillow. I hear the slosh of liquid in a bottle. He’s taking a swig, standing behind me while I’m lying on my side, concealing the phone under my hair and partly under my head.
Please, please, please leave!
I’ve been holding my breath since the door opened. Too panicked to even breathe. He turns but still stands there.
He must’ve seen the phone. He’s toying with me.
A long stretch of silence ensues. No movement…
After what feels like an eternity but must be mere seconds, he strolls out. The door closes and I let out the breath I’ve been holding in. My breathing is erratic from the panic boiling in my blood. Yet again, I force myself to wait before grabbing the phone with my perspiring hands. My vision is blurred from my tears. I get the phone and sit up facing the wall, but I can barely control my right hand before I get the number correct and press dial, holding the phone up to my ear. “Please, please pick up quickly,” I murmur with an unsteady voice. My left arm is strained under the angle I’m holding it at, but I ignore the pain. My entire body stills when I hear the ringtone outside the room. I look at the phone, confused, and then hold it up to my ear again. The ringtone becomes clearer. Then the door of the room unlocks. The ringtone is in the room with me now. My head spins around with the phone still pressed to my ear and my world stops.
The adrenalin that has been shooting through my veins since the blond guy entered my room recedes. Every molecule in my existence is drenched in stunned silence. Time moves on but stops in my mind while I’m wearily trying to comprehend what’s happening. As I face the person standing in the doorway, the phone slips out of my hand lifelessly and drops to the ground with a loud crash. The ringing of the other phone stops that instant.
CHAPTER 26
Luca
Gravel creaks beneath the tires of my car as I approach the circular driveway. I park next to two BMWs - one is Adriano’s sapphire black M3. Sitting in my car, I glare at the house for a few minutes. This place, this life I’ve wanted to keep hidden from Fallon. How do I tell her? I have the entire night to prepare myself. Hating that she didn’t want me waiting at her house, I drove back here. I still have no idea how I’m going to reveal everything. I was so desperate to hang on to her that I practically begged her to meet me tomorrow morning.
On the drive back here, I relived those few minutes repeatedly. There was something mysterious in her reaction.
When everything one wants slowly slips away, a person can amaze himself by how far he’d go to keep it. She’s everything I want, but she’s the one I deceived most. It was the only way to keep her safe, away from my merciless world.
As I pass the front guard, he dips his chin to greet me. I arrive in the house feeling exhausted. Standing in the foyer, I hear commotion coming from the basement and a door slams, resounding loud between these walls.
Can’t these guys be quiet for one fucking moment?!
I need to wind down in seclusion, so I ignore the sounds and march up the grand stairs. I want Adriano to brief me on his guys’ assignment tonight. Chances are, he’s enjoying himself with Camilla. I quietly visit the ‘strip club’ to check out what’s going on there. I push open the door and see Adriano getting a lap dance from a topless woman - not Camilla - on the couch. As I lean in the doorway on my shoulder with one hand in my pocket
, the woman sees me first -when she lifts her head from his groin - and freezes. A frown crinkles my forehead, and I nod my head toward the other exit, silently demanding her to leave. She quickly scrambles away.
Adriano lifts his head and buttons his dress shirt. “Buonasera, Luca, care to join us?”
“Us?” My brows draw together.
He scans the empty room and snorts. “Well, I guess the men have all retreated to a private room.”
“Adriano,” I calmly say. “Come to my office. I want details. Now.”
While walking in silence to my office on the other side of the second floor, Adriano calls Damian and then informs me when he hangs up. “He’s coming. He was in the basement.”
Damian was making that noise.
“You didn’t talk to him yet?” I’m annoyed that Adriano didn’t debrief his own soldier, but I don’t show it.
“No, Damian didn’t call in,” he confirms.
We enter my office, and I immediately sit in my chair behind my desk. I grab a stack of paperwork to place it in my left drawer and close it.
Adriano falls into the seat across from me. “What’s wrong?”
My friend obviously senses my mood. “We’ll talk later.” I open my laptop, type in my password, and immediately access the live feed of the entire house.
What’s going on in that basement?
I push the button under my desk to open the door after Damian knocks.
Damian enters, distraught. He has been sweating, which is not a good sign. I lean back in my chair and signal for him to sit. “What happened?” I rest a hand on my desk.
Both Adriano and I stare at him - Adriano with an irritated expression, and I with a blank expression.
I evenly repeat, “Damian, what went wrong?”
His face jerks toward me. “We killed the associate, but there was a witness.”
Not good.
Adriano’s becoming more irritated by the second. I discreetly lift my hand toward Adriano for him to cool down, for now.
For Fallon (Chicago Syndicate) Page 15