39
Penny
After Igor tells me what he plans to do with me, I spend the rest of the afternoon cowering next to Mackenzie, trying to ignore the acidic feeling in my stomach. In the background, a constant drip-drip-drip sounds out, perhaps a leak against a hollow drainpipe. The light that reaches this room is dim, as if it's lost its will to illuminate. Barely any light comes in through the grates near the ceiling.
But, Igor doesn't come back. And finally, we fall asleep together, sitting on the ground leaning back-to-back.
When I wake up the next morning, I find that Mackenzie is already awake, but she's remained sitting with me so I wouldn't topple over in my sleep. I thank her, and we both stretch our arms.
One of the other girls, a young blonde who can't be more than college-aged, scoots over to us. Dried blood coats her ears, and when she gets closer I see what's happened. Her earlobes are torn through. Someone must have ripped her earrings right out.
"Hey," she says, "You hurt?"
"No," I answer.
"You're one of the lucky ones, then."
A lump forms in my throat. "What do you mean?"
"They've been raping us. Telling us it's paradise compared to what'll happen in Europe."
The lump in my throat grows, and it's hard to swallow.
"The girls that resist, they torture us. Beatings. Electrocution."
I feel like throwing up. "How long have you been down here?"
She shrugs. "Three weeks, maybe four. I lost track of time."
Mackenzie looks terrified. "It's only three or four days for me."
"They'll send you away soon enough," says the girl. "I'm only still here because I play along with their sick fantasies."
Mackenzie and I sit there, still huddling, not speaking. There's nothing to do but wait, to see when Igor comes back.
The burning feeling in my stomach increases, but as the hours pass, I feel like there's something weird about it. And sitting here in this dungeon, a slow realization dawns on me.
In the commotion of the last few days, I was supposed to get my period.
But I didn't.
The realization scares the holy hell out of me. I bat it around in my mind, wondering if it's all just due to stress. But the more I think about it, the more I feel like there is a baby growing inside me.
Havok's baby.
I'd run out and get a pregnancy test if I could. But I can't. All I've got to go on is my gut feeling. Maternal instinct.
So I whisper it to Mackenzie, as we sit there, awaiting our fates. I whisper it as quietly as I can. The other girls show no interest in eavesdropping, but something inside me tells me to keep this secret. Because any attention this gets me would be bad attention.
Mackenzie's big, blue eyes widen as I finish my confession and sit back to observe her reaction. She looks terrified, and she's shivering worse than she was before. I feel a sense of guilt, and wonder if I've asked her to shoulder a burden she can't handle.
"My god," she says back, so softly that I have to strain to hear. "Should you tell them?"
I shake my head, barely moving, to avoid attention from the other girls. "I don't even know if it's true. But they're the last ones who should ever know."
Suddenly, an odd expression crosses her face. "Wait," she says. "Did you say Havok?"
"Yes," I say, furrowing my brow. "What?"
"Havok, like Vlady?"
I nod.
She gasps, putting her hand over her mouth, and her reaction strikes fear into me. "What?" I say.
"He was the one who brought me here," Mackenzie says, her voice shaking. "He took me from my apartment, Penny."
Her words hit me like a rocket. "Tell me you're lying," I say.
A tear falls down her face. "I'm not lying."
My vision starts to curl and twist, spin and shake, and I feel like I'm going to vomit.
This can't be true. If this is true, then I am truly fucking alone and lost in this world.
But before I can fully process my emotions, keys clang at the door, and silence hushes us all. The whispering fades, and the only remaining sounds are the keys and the dripping of water.
Igor enters, and he comes right up to me. He grabs my arm and yanks me up.
Mackenzie cries out, wanting to protect her friend. I silently pray that she doesn't say anything stupid.
"Come with me," says Igor. With my hands and feet bound, I shuffle as fast as I can, trying not to trip over my own feet and fall face-first into the muck on the floor of this dungeon.
He takes me through a series of nondescript halls, and if there was any doubt we're underground, there's not anymore.
This place is a tomb.
He takes me through a vault door, and I can't believe what I see when I step inside. A doctor wears a white lab coat. He holds a syringe. And next to him, a heavily tattooed man sets up a tattoo machine on the table.
"What the hell is this?" I say. I pinch myself, telling myself this is all a dream that I'll wake up from. But I don't.
"Nanochips and tattoos for all pets," says Igor with a twisted smile. He grabs my hair and forces me down into a seat opposite the tattooer. He sweeps my hair back, tilting my head to the side, exposing my neck. The man in the lab coat approaches.
Not knowing what else to do, I scream like there's a demon in my chest. But the poke comes, and I swear I can feel the thick needle penetrate each layer of my neck. The skin, the muscle, even the windpipe. The man depresses the plunger, and a cold burning sensation floods my insides as they inject the nanochip inside me.
I scream, cry, fight, but it doesn't matter. Igor calls in another man, and they hold me down, pressing me onto the table. The tattoo machine starts buzzing, and someone holds my hair up. An electric cat scratch sears against my neck, and I sob openly. The tattoo needle feels like it's pricking my skull. I try to focus, to see if I can tell what they're tattooing on me, but it's hopeless. The tattoo needle activates every nerve in my head, and I feel prickling in my ears, my tongue, everywhere.
I can't take it anymore. I vomit, tasting the acidity of my own bile as it splashes across the table. The men restraining me hold me down even harder, and the pain of the tattooing increases.
There's no one who can help me now. I'm all alone, and I am going to die. And to top it all off, I think I'm carrying my kidnapper's baby.
I feel my joints lock, and the blood rushes away from my brain, and it all gets to be too much.
I black out.
40
Havok
We leave the train yard before dark and head straight for the White Bear. We're starting this purge from the top down, which means old man Grigory goes first.
When we arrive, he's working the counter as usual. I step up to the cash register, Luka and Valentin flanking me. I glance around and see there aren't any customers in the store. Good. Last thing we need right now is more collateral damage.
"Vladimir," Grigory says, moving behind the counter to meet us. "I knew—"
"Shut the store down," I say, my voice cold. "Shut it down."
Grigory cocks his head at me, a questioning look on his face. But he's spent a lifetime in the Bratva. Been around the block. And knows how and when to take shit in stride. So he doesn't argue. Instead, he just groans, holding his back as he locks the front door and pulls the segmented brass chain to turn off the neon "OPEN" sign in the store's window. Then he pulls down the shades, hiding us from view of passers-by.
He turns around, and sighs as if the weight of old age is catching up to him. Something tells me he knows he's done for. "I'm too old for this shit," he says, "Let's get this over with."
"Grigory," I say, "When's the next shipment?"
"Of powder? Ask your friend." He juts his chin out, as if to point at Valentin, who's standing next to Luka behind me.
"Don't play dumb," I say, shaking my head. "Girls. This fucking trafficking operation."
He holds his hands out, his palms upward, shoulders sh
rugging, as if to show there's no blood on them. "What does an old man like me know about young girls?"
I sigh. "Don't fuck with me, Grigory. It's over for you."
He looks from me, to Luka, to Valentin. Once, he was a young man as we are, the future of the Bratva, with all the money, power, and pussy in the world ahead of him. But now, he's just another old, washed-up fossil whose time has come and gone. And as we look each other in the eyes, I see recognition of that. The fight's gone out of him.
"The shipment is tomorrow night," he says, giving up the information I want. "Commercial C-130 flying out of JFK. Going through China, then land transport to Prague." Then he adds, "What are you planning to do, boys?"
"We're taking it down, Grigory," I say. "This ain't the Bratva we grew up in. It's not right."
"You know I spent the last ten years of my life orchestrating this," he says. "The biggest financial opportunity in this country since prohibition."
I nod. "So you know what that means for you."
He nods back.
"Sorry, old man," says Luka.
The three of us withdraw our pistols from our belts, twisting our silencers on tight.
"You had a good run," I say. "Nothing personal."
Grigory nods. That's one of the things I like about the old-timers. They take what they have coming to 'em. They don't fucking whine or grovel, they just deal with it, and it makes things easier on everyone.
"Good luck up there," I say.
He chuckles softly. "Where I'm going, is down there." He grins. "Just tell me one thing first."
"What?" I say.
"Why did you lie to us about the girl? You were once our best soldier."
"Because," I say, "There have to be principles even among criminals."
I count backwards from three, then our pistols fire, putting three slugs into Grigory's chest. He stands longer than I expect him to, especially for an old man, the same dumb smile plastered to his face. He's a tough old fucker. But he doesn't try to run or say any dramatic last words. He just stands as long as he can, blood pouring from the holes in his chest, until he finally can't support his weight anymore. Then he slumps down against the wall, leaving a smear of red.
"We'll clean this up later," I say, surveying the situation. I'm gonna need a package deal on remodeling the White Bear and my bedroom.
I turn around to Luka. "You still got that arsenal at your place?"
He grins. "You know it, brother."
"Then we move. No sleep tonight. We arrive at the crack of dawn. Shit's in motion now."
Luka's place is the exact opposite of mine. He has a studio apartment downtown with tile flooring and a cheap throw-rug, a too-small fridge, and a bathroom that a kid would feel cramped in. But he doesn't seem to give a fuck.
"You should fuckin' upgrade," I tell him. He's got as much money as I do, if not more.
"I got other priorities," he says. And he does. The walls of his apartment are lined with metal rails, holding every fucking type of firearm you can imagine. AR's, modified to full auto. Glocks, Springfields, MP9s from back before the ATF ban.
We're gonna need this firepower tomorrow.
I grab a converted AR off the rack, pull back the bolt, and let it snap into place. I inspect the dust cover and the forward assist. Clean, oiled, and ready to go.
"You know, you come in fucking handy sometimes," I say to Luka. "Let's get this show on the road."
We prepare for war, filling duffel bags with guns and ammo. We all put on bulletproof vests under our jackets, and cram our pockets with as many loaded magazines as we can fit. We load the duffel bags into the back of Luka's Jeep one at a time.
All I can think about is Penny. Those tits that I only got to hold once, that mind of hers that's as gorgeous as her body, that tight-as-fuck pussy that milks my cock dry. I want it all, and no motherfucker is going to stand in my way. Motherfuckers are going to drop left and right tonight. This is the culmination of my training, everything I've learned that's made me who I am today.
And I'm doing it in the service of a woman I love. No, the woman I love. Penny has taught me the true meaning of the word.
Tonight, it's going down. They're not getting an extra second to put their filthy hands on her. Blood is going to pool and congeal. We're going to swim in it, play in it, the rivers are going to run red.
And Penny is going to come out of it without a scratch, so help me God.
41
Penny
When I come to, Mackenzie has my head in her lap. I look up at her, and for some reason she looks prettier, more dignified now than when she's made-up and on stage. She's such a kind soul.
The nape of my neck sings in pain. All of my neck, actually. And it itches deep inside. I crane my neck and scrub it against my shoulder, trying to rub the skin and muscle against one another to relieve the itch, but I can't seem to get it.
"Shh," Mackenzie says, calming me. "It's the chip. We all went through the same thing."
I almost cry, but I'm afraid if I do, it'll make all the other girls in here lose it. So I hold it inside.
I can't believe I've been fucking chipped and tattooed like a piece of property.
"What does the tattoo say?" I ask.
"It's just a number, hon," Mackenzie says. She rocks my head in her lap, almost treating me like a baby. It's strange how comforting it is.
"How long was I out?" I say, but the door opens before Mackenzie can answer me.
Igor enters the room. He's wearing an orange jumpsuit.
He barks at us. "Girls. Get ready for a plane ride. Schedule's moved up."
A voice rises from the huddled girls. "You said tomorrow."
Igor laughs, and it's a cruel one. "Don't fucking worry yourself over what you can't control."
"Where are you taking us?" says Mackenzie.
Igor crosses the room toward us, then belts her across the face, putting the full weight of his body into it. The sound is a combination of a slap plus bones grating together. It's awful. Her hand jerks away from my head. She holds it to her face, and I feel guilty. I'd had the same question.
He should've hit me, not her.
"No more questions," Igor says, addressing the entire group. "Just know it won't be comfortable." He snickers, then he walks to me, and bends down on his knees, inspecting me.
"Especially not for you," he says, sending a streak of fear through my body. "You made a fucking mess out of the processing room."
I summon my strength, and sit up, taking my head out of Mackenzie's lap. I press my hands down into the brown muck coating the floor, and push myself backwards, away from him. Fear radiates from the huddled girls like heat off a red-hot stove. But I know they're selfishly glad that Igor's attention is on me now and not them.
I look past Igor, at the door, foolishly hoping that Havok will walk through like an angel of death, and put a bullet in Igor's back. A bullet he won't even see coming. But Havok isn't the man I thought he was. He's not coming for me.
Igor grabs me by the hair, forcing me to stand.
"Come here," he growls, forcing me ahead of him. My head flops on my neck, exhaustion consuming my body.
Igor pushes me through the hallway, but we stop and turn into an empty room this time. There's nothing inside except for a mattress on the floor.
He turns and locks the door behind us. My body prickles with fear, and I worry that I'm going to pass out again.
"I've wanted that pussy for so long," he says, advancing on me. He reaches up to the buttons on his jumpsuit, undoing them from the top down. I back into the corner of the room like a cornered animal, but he keeps coming.
"Gonna stuff your ass so full, bitch," he says, grabbing at his crotch. "You're gonna swallow this shit and you're gonna love it."
I scream, but the sound waves bounce harmlessly off the metal walls. I doubt that someone on the other side of the door can even hear me.
He reaches down, grabbing me, picking me right up off the ground. I dig my n
ails into his forearm, and he grunts in pain before chucking me onto the mattress like a sack of potatoes.
"Make it nice for me, bitch," he says, pulling the jumpsuit off from around his ankles. He's just wearing white underwear and shoes now, his bulbous belly hanging down over his waistline, his body hair matted against his blanched skin.
"I won't," I say, looking up at him. "You disgust me." I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of having me. If he's going to take me by force, I'm going to fight until I can't anymore.
I find the strength to stand, and circle the room opposite to him, keeping my distance. My body dumps its entire adrenaline reserves into my bloodstream, and time seems to slow down. Clarity of thought returns.
When I get close to the door, I grab the handle and yank it. To my surprise, it clicks open, the mechanism automatically unlocking. I pull it open as hard as I can, then dash out into the hallway.
Igor runs behind me in his underwear, bellowing.
When I get to the end of the hallway, I see an open window. It's large, but high up, near the ceiling. With the last of my energy, I jump up, wrap my fingers around the ledge, and haul myself up. I slip through the opening just as Igor's hand touches my ankle, but I pull away, up and through the window.
Outside, it's pitch black, but the fresh air gives me a renewed burst of energy. I'm standing up against a huge building, and in the distance, over a chain-link fence, a thick tree line looms.
With nothing to lose, I break for the woods. I run, and run. There's a gunshot behind me, but I don't look back, and I disappear into the thick foliage.
As I run, something dawns on me.
These are the woods where my father was buried.
42
Havok
The Jeep rumbles over the smooth, dark pavement of Route 78. Trees lean into the road from either side. They normally provide shade to drivers traversing this route. But tonight, with the sun not yet up, they're ominous. They're like beckoning arms, pulling us into the clutches of the unknown.
Havok: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Page 13