by Kandee Reyna
“Renee coming back today?”
Max’s eyes darken. He’s not a big fan of hers right now for skipping out on us while we were in a meeting, or for taking one of his best men with her. She didn’t have anything to do with that, though. That was all me. When Anthony texted Max, letting him know he was taking Renee to the airport, I asked, no I demanded, Max pull some strings to get him on that flight next to her. Someone missed their flight due to a ‘system error’ that gave their seat to Anthony; their seat that was right next to Renee’s.
“Yeah. She’s due back today.”
I bob my head. Words aren’t something I have energy for. Right now, my mission is fixing this fuckery and getting Renee back. I pay everyone around me enough that they should be able to handle shit while I handle mine.
I look back up at Max. “Anything else?” I ask flatly.
“Yeah,” he takes a couple steps towards my desk. “You’re a fucking asshole.”
I throw my head back, belting out a laugh. “Tell me something I don’t fucking know.” My smile falters and I look back down at the sea of white paper and tiny black words. “I fucking know.” I say to myself, not to Max, as my eyes lose focus and the black letters dance on the paper before blurring to an inky, unreadable mess. “Don’t I fucking know it.” I say once more to the empty room.
Max left. I’m alone, again. I swipe the piles from my desk and yell into the empty room, “Fuck!” I pound my fist on the table and then sit back down, letting my mind go blank, the only way I can exist without thinking of her. Without wondering if she’s thinking of me. Without reducing to a pleading fuck. The first day she left I sat outside her door begging. Like a fucking pussy, until her neighbor called the cops on me and they asked me to leave. I got in my car, went home, and tore up my bedroom. Ripped the sheets and pillows from the bed, broke the pictures on the wall, tore everything up and then threw it all away; left my room an empty mess. I gave myself that. I gave myself the time to be in my feelings, lost in the pain that has been radiating from my chest since I saw her leaving in that car. Since I sat listening to her sob on the other side of the door without being able to reach out and hold her. Now? Now, I have to get my shit together the best I can to fix this mess. To make shit right and get her back in my bed; back in my life.
A knock raps gently on the door, tentative fucks. “What!?” I shout from my chair, not bothering with pleasantries or even fucking decency.
The knob turns and Loretta steps into the room slowly. I would feel bad for the way I just yelled and scared the poor woman, but I can’t feel anything but the ache; and the need for Renee. For her body to calm my nerves, for her voice to lull my demons to sleep; for her eyes to hold mine so I can block out all the shit going on around me.
“I’ve finished your room. I’m heading home. Can I get you anything?” God. No matter what I do, she’s calm and sweet. When she came in to clean up the room as usual she didn’t even mention the sorry state I left it in. Just cleaned everything up, and then ran out to buy new furnishings. Not saying a word about it. She hasn’t missed a fucking beat. I haven’t even called my own mother, but there’s nothing she could do right now anyway.
“Thanks, Loretta. Have a good evening.”
“You too, baby.” Her eyes go soft and I give her a withering glare that tells her not to say whatever she’s thinking. “You too,” She says again quietly and slips out the door.
I sit in the same place, looking at nothing but the beige carpet and the shadows as they shift in the evening light. I don’t even bother to get up and turn on the light when it starts to get dark enough for the street lamps to turn on, their yellow light illuminating the room in an orangish glow. The bright and brief lights of passing cars make the shadows of the room dance quickly before they die out and melt into darkness again.
There’s a commotion coming from Max’s room and then he bursts into the door without knocking and flips on the light. I squint my eyes against the harsh intrusion of light and look up at him. His eyes are frantic and the guys behind him are tucking guns into their waistbands and plowing down the stairs. I shake the cobwebs from my brain and sit up straighter, recognizing the look in his eyes; desperation and fear.
“They’ve got her.”
Chapter Thirty-two: Renee
It all happened so fast; cliché, I know. One minute I was walking out into the muggy New York night beside a silent Anthony and the next, things went blurry. Men were shouting, Anthony was calling my name but it sounded so far away, lost behind the clouds that were settling on my mind, weighed down by the lead that was filling my limbs preventing me from continuing my stride, let alone fight against the hands that were pulling me and the arms that engulfed me. It prevented me from screaming when I was thrown roughly into a back seat, and it prevented me from feeling the bruises that were probably developing after being manhandled and thrown around. Then it prevented me from moving the scream that was balled up in my throat out, so it just sat blocking my airway silently until bitter darkness took over and there was nothing left; just sleep.
I wake up disoriented, my eyes are heavy, and I’m having a hard time lifting my lids, though I’m awake. Ugh, if this is one of those fucked up dreams where you think you’re awake, but you can’t open your eyes I’m gonna be pissed. I hate this shit. I settle my heart and think hard about what it takes to open them. Just lift; crack open those lids. I do but the light is harsh, and I shut them and quickly and groan. My head feels full of rocks and my mouth full of sand. What the fuck did I drink last night? Last night. Shit. I bolt up and suck in a shaky breath as everything around me tilts left and right like I’m rocking on a boat in the ocean. My stomach drops and I pitch over the side of the bed, throwing up on the expensive looking carpet. I shut my eyes and control my breathing. In through my nose; out through my mouth. Come on Renee you’ve got this. Where the fuck is Anthony when I need him? Anthony! Sitting up slowly, I open my eyes, squinting against the light filtering through the uncovered window.
I’m in a large room with stark white walls and black furniture. Everything in the room is dull gray and black and if I couldn’t see a colorful garden full of brightly colored roses and lush green grass, I would assume this was some kind of fucked up black-and-white dream. It feels eerily similar to the morning I woke up at Lo’s, only I know this isn’t his house. My chest starts to throb with the pounding of my heart as the events of last night at the airport slowly seep into my mind in fragmented pieces. I jump down, ignoring the swimming in my head, and move to the first door I see. I push it open and it’s a bathroom. What’s even more fucked up than the room is the fact that I’m no longer in the jeans and t-shirt I was wearing on the flight. I’m in a skimpy ass, red night gown.
I walk quickly to the next wall, over to what I’m assuming is the door out of here. I turn and yank the knob, only it slips from my hand and the door stays firmly shut. My heart leaps into my throat and I start to bang on the door. “Hello!?” I bang again and jiggle the handle. “What the fuck! Hello!?”
I hear metal sliding across metal and take a step back just in time for the door to swing open harshly. “Chill the fuck out. What the hell are you banging around like that for?” A wall of a man in an expensive suit pushes in the door. His muddy brown hair is buzzed short and his features are harsh and linear. His looks and thick accent are the epitome of a Russian mobster. I almost feel cheated. I could get this shit on T.V. A Russian mobster with a huge body, military haircut, and a “fuck you” Expression. He’s not doing much for stereotypes.
“What the actual fuck am I doing locked in a room? Where am I?”
“You’ve got a dirty mouth little girl. I’ve got something that I can wash it out with.” His dark eyes turn black and he stalks into the room until I’m butted up against the bed.
“Vlad. Get the fuck out of here.” A well refined and sexy as sin voice barks from the door. If I didn’t know these were a bunch of sick fuckers interested in peddling women and drugs, I’d b
e impressed. He has tousled blonde hair that looks like he spent time in the salon highlighting the strands to a beachy blonde, pouty boy-next-door lips and high cheek bones most women would be jealous of, above a perfectly square jaw.
“Hello, Krasivaya.”
“My name is Renee,” I snap.
“Mm, yes, I know who you are.” He walks all the way into the room and eyes Vlad until he promptly leaves, “I am Dmitry Tarasovich.” He grabs my hand before I can pull it away and pulls it to his mouth but I resist, pulling back. Pain shoots through my knuckles as he grips me painfully and I let out a startled cry. When the shock and hurt causes me to stop my resistance, an evil glint shines in his beautiful blue eyes and he loosens his hold, pulling my hand the rest of the way to his mouth, messily kissing it. And there is the sick, woman-using thug that is sloppily hidden behind that lethal swimmer’s body, expensive suit, and pretty-boy mask.
I run the back of my hand along my hip, wiping away the spit clinging to it and he smiles. “After a weeks’ time, you’ll be begging for my spit to be on more places than just the back of your hand.”
“Over my fucking dead body.” I ground out, fisting my hands at my side.
A slimy smile spreads over his face, “Oh, Beautiful, don’t underestimate my kink.” Bile rises to my throat and I choke it back down.
“You’re a sick mother fucker.”
“Yes, I am. You’ll be all too aware of that sooner, rather than later. Vlad!” The big man from early appears in the door again, “No one touches her. This one’s mine.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw, “Yes, sir.”
“You won’t be fucking touching me.” I spit out. “Why the fuck am I here anyway?”
He ignores my statement and just answers my question, “You’re here because your boyfriend,” he says the word like it’s too dirty for his mouth, like the words he chose and the picture he painted didn’t make bile collect in mine a few seconds ago, “Cannot come to a sensible agreement on some… business matters.” I’m fucking bait. Leverage. Blackmail.
“Well, joke’s on you. He’s not my boyfriend and I mean less than nothing to him right now.” I’m pretty fucking positive after what I did, Lo doesn’t want me anymore. I’d planned on going to him after I got home. I gave less than my all when I said I was in, and my time away helped me realize what a complete bitch I was for leaving; it made me no better than my mom to run out on something that could be love. My chest radiates with pain again. I’m an idiot, and my need to leave him and run across the country has now brought me here, wherever the fuck I am, kidnapped and being held by a mobster. A mobster. In the same brutal swing, it’s clear to me that this is why I left. This is what I was running from, and that this, couldn’t even keep me away now. If I get out of here alive, I’ll crawl on my knees to get back to Milo Turner.
“I doubt that very much, Renee. In fact, you’ve been asleep for about twenty hours now. Took a little longer than we thought for the medication to wear off.”
“Drugs! You fucking drugged me?” It explains the fog surrounding my abduction at the airport, but how?
“How?”
He taps the side of his neck with one finger and I reach up to mine, feeling a small prick, and a bruise. “You son of a BITCH!”
His mouth twists, “Your smart mouth is going to get you in trouble. Anyway, it’s about time we contact Milo, don’t you think?”
It’s my turn for my face to twist. “You’re just gonna let me call him?”
“He smiles deviously. “Sure, follow me.” He walks out of the room confident that I’ll follow— and not hit him over the head with one of these big ass silver lamps on the bedside tables— and I do, because what the fuck else am I going to do? Lock myself back in that room? Hell no. The hallway is long and wide and screams extravagant. All the trim work from the crown molding to the baseboards are clearly custom made dark wood with plenty of swirls and details. All the doors are the same dark-wood and ornate, too. Rich wood floors are covered with red, Persian rugs that probably cost more than anything I’ve ever walked on. I count five doors down before the hall opens into a huge foyer that has two sets of staircases that spiral in opposite directions to the second floor. The ceiling is pitched, and it reminds me of the capital in Austin. I have to stop myself from looking up and spinning in a circle like I did on my third-grade field trip. The front door is wide enough to drive a truck through and surrounded by windows. I can see the ocean, the beach less than a hundred yards from the front door. The fucking ocean! Where the hell am I?
We cross the foyer, decorated in gold and crystal vases holding real flowers to another hallway, or wing, and turn right into the first door. It’s black. Everything. The desk, the chairs, the carpet. The fucking walls. Creepy as fuck, and fitting as hell for this disgusting motherfucker. I stop right inside the door and he moves to his desk and settles into the chair. “Sit.” He motions to one of the chairs across the desk. I walk forward slowly, my steps silent on the plush carpet. I cross my arms over my chest self-consciously, feeling naked in the nightgown and sit down, sinking into the cold, soft leather.
“Here’s the deal. You’re going to be a good little girl and speak to Mr. Turner. All I need you to do is tell him you’re okay. That’s all there is to it. I’ll take care of everything else,” He says. Like he’s doing me a favor by doing the talking, and then grabs the receiver of the phone on his desk and presses a button before putting it to his ear.
A smirk forms on his face, “Ah, Milo. Good afternoon. How are you?” I’m not sure what Lo says but I’m positive it’s not as cordial as Mr. Tarasovich’s greeting. He chuckles, “No need to be so upset, Milo,” See. Told ya. “This can all be over quickly, really. I have paperwork drawn up for either outcome. All you have to do is give me your signature.” He’s silent for a minute, “Well, that’s a shame, Milo, really. Time’s ticking though. You’ve got four more hours.” His eyes darken, and he looks into my eyes. “I’ve got business coming up back in Russia I need to tend to, maybe she’ll accompany me. She’s very beautiful Milo, much more beautiful than the pictures reflected. She’d be good for continuing the family line, Father keeps bugging me about that.” Silence again, “Oh, she’s right here. Would you like to speak with her? Need proof of life before signing? You’ll be happy to know there’s not a mark on her, and she’s looking ravishing in the beautiful, red, silk negligee I’ve put her in. Red truly is her color.” Heat consumes my face and I feel like screaming at him and balling into a corner to cry at the same time. I’m anxious, just waiting to hear him say he doesn’t want to speak to me, that I mean nothing to him and he couldn’t care less if Dmitry took me to Russia and never brought me back. He holds the handset away from him and out towards me, “Here, beautiful, someone would like to speak with you for a minute.”
I rise, though I don’t even feel the muscles in my thighs strain as I lift my body. I move around the side of the desk and grab the receiver. My mouth is dry, and tears are already streaming down my face. To be rejected right now would be more than I can handle. I don’t deserve for him to want me, but right now, in this dark as night office, I would give my last breath to be enough for him to at least try to save. Enough for him to not leave me with this deranged psycho.
“Lo?” I croak into the phone, and he exhales, the sound of his rushing breath distorting the air on the line.
“Angel.” It was a plea, an honest to God plea in one simple word. “Baby are you alright?” The endearments break me down even more, and I’m aware that this may be the last time I ever speak to him again.
“Lo, I’m so sorry.” A sob breaks off my words, “I fucked up. Please forgive me. Is Anthony okay?”
“Fuck, baby don’t cry. It’s okay, I’m gonna come get you. I swear it. Anthony is fine baby, he’s out looking for you now. Can you tell me where you are?”
“I don’t know… a house—” I’m cut off when the phone is ripped from my hand.
“I think that’s it for now.”
A loud smack resonates through the room and I hear it before I feel it sear against my face. My ass hits the ground from the force of it and I let out a shriek as I land hard. I’ve never been hit before. Ever. I feel something warm trickle down my cheek and I reach up and touch my face. My fingers are coated in fresh, sticky blood. I stand back up and dry my tears. I won’t let this motherfucker have any of them. I cried for Lo, not him. I won’t give him anything and I will die before I let him take me across the fucking world.
Chapter Thirty-Three: Lo
My phone rings and I reach for it, my hand shooting out across my desk in a fast fluid motion. I don’t even get a chance to answer before he speaks.
“Ah, Milo. Good afternoon. How are you?” The light, friendliness in his voice grinds my nerves.
“Fuck you, Tarasovich. Where is she?”
“No need to be so upset, Milo. This can all be over quickly, really. I have paperwork drawn up for either outcome. All you have to do is give me your signature.”
“You know that’s not going to happen. I tell you what, you give me Renee, and I’ll let you live long enough to get the fuck out of my city.”
“Well that’s a shame Milo, really.” I can tell I’m ruffling his feathers because he’s sounding more Russian and less seasoned American by the minute. “Time’s ticking though. You’ve got four more hours. I’ve got business coming up back in Russia I need to tend to, maybe she’ll accompany me. She’s very beautiful Milo, much more beautiful than the pictures reflected. She’d be good for continuing the family line; Father keeps bugging me about that.” White flashes behind my eyes and I can practically smell the blood I’m going to drain from his fucking body.
“That’s not fucking happening. Where is she?”
“Oh, she’s right here. Would you like to speak with her? Need proof of life before signing? You’ll be happy to know there’s not a mark on her, and she’s looking ravishing in the beautiful, red, silk negligee I’ve put her in. Red truly is her color.” The line is muffled for a second and then a small voice comes across the line.