by A. Zavarelli
“He means nothing to me,” I tell her again.
She gives me a look that says she doesn’t quite believe it, so I change the subject. One thing I’ve learned is that people are generally satisfied to talk about themselves, and Cara’s no exception to that rule. When I ask her how she met Dominic, she prattles on for the next twenty minutes about it while I down two glasses of Patron.
“So you don’t have a problem living this life?” I ask when she comes up for air.
She shrugs and starts tearing at the napkin beneath her cocktail glass. “It’s not so bad. I mean, I know most people wouldn’t agree with it. I grew up with the Italians, so I know this world. I know what it involves. But these guys, right here? They’re good men. They don’t deal in anything that I’m losing sleep over.”
The conviction in her voice almost has me believing it for a moment. It’s obvious she believes it. So where does that leave me? I want to ask her more about it, but I think I might need to ply her with a little more alcohol first. I order us another round and continue.
“So you’ve never had any problems with them?”
“No way,” she says. “They treat their women good, as long as you play by the rules.”
There’s that contingency. As long as you play by the rules.
“I know it can be pretty overwhelming at first,” she says. “But you get used to it after a while. I couldn’t ask for a better man than Dom. These guys protect and cherish their women, I’ll tell you that much.”
“He seems like a good guy,” I agree. It’s complete crap, because at this moment I’ve decided to hate all men. But I need to make Cara feel like a friend so I can get more information out of her.
The bartender delivers our drinks and we talk for another ten minutes before the alcohol starts to affect Cara.
“Ugh,” she groans. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
“Yeah, me too.” I help her to her feet and make the journey with her, knowing that normal females my age love to do this kind of stuff together for some odd reason. When I glance across the room, Lach’s engrossed in conversation with one of the pretty blondes. Fuck him. Fuck them both.
I don’t bother to tell anyone where we’re going. We’ll only be a few minutes and the bathroom is just outside the hall.
Once inside, I go about my business and continue to talk through the stall. Cara is being very quiet, and I worry I may have gotten her too drunk. But when I fix my dress and step outside, I see exactly why she’s being quiet.
Two men are inside the bathroom with us, and one’s got a gun pressed against her temple, while the other is pointing at me. Both the guns have silencers attached, and somehow I know without asking these guys are part of the Armenian crew. I glance at Cara and she’s shaking like a leaf.
Shit. Fuck. Shit. There’s no way for me to try to defend myself while they’re holding her like that. They’d put a bullet in her head before I could even finish dealing with the first guy. Assuming I didn’t get shot too in the process.
“You’re coming with us,” the man pointing at me barks. “Move quietly, or your friend here dies.”
Cara releases a sob, and it earns her a hard slap to the face. Fricken hell. There’s no way out of this without following their demands until they let their guard down.
“It’s okay, Cara,” I tell her in a soothing tone. “Just stay calm and do as they say.”
She shoots me a pleading glance and I give her a reassuring smile though inside I’m a nervous wreck. I know the likelihood of us surviving once we leave this building is not very good. But there’s little choice in the matter at this point. I’m suspicious as hell that we were literally in the bathroom for two minutes before they came for us. Almost like they were waiting or someone alerted them. Something I’ll have to think about later.
I step forward and the other man grabs me by the arm. They lead us from the bathroom and down the hallway towards a side exit, digging the guns into our ribs.
“Scream and you die,” one of them threatens.
I think of Lachlan inside the party sitting with his pretty marriage prospects. Will he even notice I’m gone? Maybe not. But Cara is a wife, and that’s something. Dom will notice. And then what? They’ll have to find us. That will take time. I can’t count on that. I watch both men carefully as we walk, trying to look for any opportunity I can. It doesn’t come.
At the end of the hall, two of Niall’s men are slumped face down into the carpet. I don’t have to see the bullet holes to know they’re already dead. These guys are fricken crazy, coming in here like this and shooting people up in a hotel. Panic is slowly engulfing me, but I can do nothing. If I didn’t believe it before, I know now they won’t hesitate to put a bullet inside of us too. My only hope is that they’re going to use us for ransom or something. Anything that will keep us alive for a while until I can figure out what to do.
The moment we’re out the side door, we’re tossed into the back of a van and burning rubber down a back street. Cara’s practically hyperventilating and can barely keep it together as they tie us up. I worry that they’ll shoot her if she keeps at it.
“Cara,” I whisper. “You have to stay calm okay?”
“Shut up!” one of the men bellows at me.
Then he says something in a different language, and the other one nods. I don’t understand what it is until it’s too late. Until he moves behind me and slams the butt of his gun into the back of my skull.
Chapter Thirty
Mackenzie
My entire body feels like it’s weighted down with lead as I come to. Something loud and awful keeps echoing off the space I’m in. Whatever it is, it’s amplified.
It takes me a minute to realize it’s crying. Not really crying, but painful sobbing. When I blink my eyes open, I’m met by the sight of Cara’s frightened face across from me. She’s laying on her side, still bound, staring at me with sheer terror.
The crying isn’t coming from her because she’s gagged now. So am I, I realize. Wherever we are is dimly lit, the smell of salt and rust invading my nostrils. As my eyes adjust and I glance around, I realize we’re in a fucking shipping container. With at least ten other women, who are all bound and gagged like us.
I wiggle my arms, which are completely numb, and I can’t budge them at all. The rope they used to tie us is impossibly tight around both my wrists and ankles. It’s the most uncomfortable and awkward position to be laying in, and I’m completely defenseless unless I can figure out a way to loosen them.
While I work on wiggling my wrists back and forth, my eyes dart around for the source of that awful noise. It isn’t just sobbing now, but grunting too. And finally, I find it. In one of the shadowed corners of the metal death box we’re trapped in, a man is pumping his hips in and out of a girl who’s half bent over a folding table, her pants down around her ankles.
A murderous rage builds up inside me when I realize what’s happening right in front of me. This fucking pig is taking her while she’s bound and completely defenseless. Meanwhile, his companion is just sitting there watching the whole event with a bored expression.
A sound of protest rips from my chest, and both men look my way. They speak in rapid-fire Armenian before the one standing guard walks towards me. The closer he draws near, the more I realize my mistake. I can do nothing to help this girl. Absolutely fucking nothing because I’m bound like a goddamn pig in this filthy shit hole.
He reaches down and pulls the gag from my lips so I can speak.
“They’re going to murder you,” I snarl. “They will tear you apart, limb from fucking limb.”
The man laughs and hoists me up like ragdoll. He says something again in his foreign tongue, and the other man laughs too. And then he’s dragging me across the container, trying to shove me face first over a chair. I buck and fight against him every step of the way, but it’s nearly impossible with the restrictions on my body. He loosens the binds around my ankles enough
to spread my legs before he spins me around and shoves me over the chair. When he starts to hike the material of my dress up around my waist, I stomp on his boot and then throw my head back into his face with a satisfying crunch.
Turns out, he doesn’t like that so much. He grabs me and hurls me into the wall so hard I see stars before I crumple to the ground. And then his boot is sailing into my stomach and ribs over and over again.
“Hey!” the other man snarls as he jerks his head around. “Don’t damage the fucking merchandise, moron!”
When I glance up at my attacker, his face is a bloody mess, and he still looks murderous. For a moment, I doubt he’s actually going to stop. But then his friend says something in their language, and the name Arman makes him back down.
I’m left to cough up my blood in peace while the other man finishes himself off. I’m grateful when it’s over and the poor girl is left alone. When she’s tossed to the floor like garbage beside me, her big green eyes find mine, and it shatters me. She looks grateful to me though I can’t possibly comprehend why. She can’t be older than nineteen. And looking at her tear-stained face, I’m no longer seeing her, but Talia.
Is this what happened to her? Did she get caught up in the cross hairs of some sort of mob feud? The thought is enough to make a few tears leak from my eyes too.
“They’ll come for us,” I tell the girl.
She doesn’t have a clue what I’m talking about, I’m sure. But nonetheless, my words seem to bring her comfort.
“They’ll come,” I say again.
Chapter Thirty-One
Mackenzie
Throughout the night, different men continue to come and go. They bring more women who are bound and gagged in various states of consciousness. Some of them look like they’ve been held for a while. And I know it means they’re getting ready to make a shipment.
I watch quietly, trying to gather anything of importance while I can. There isn’t much to go on. Most of them look like foot soldiers, just doing as they’re told. But then another man comes. One dressed in an expensive suit.
I can’t understand the conversation they’re having, but the men who took us are waving their arms in animated fashion, guns slung over their shoulders. They gesture to me and Cara, and the guy in the suit grows furious. He starts yelling something back at them and then runs a hand through his hair several times over.
He’s nervous too, I notice as I watch him. And nervous never bodes well for captives. I glance back at Cara, who is so pale I think she might pass out. She’s too petrified to cry anymore, so that’s one blessing, I guess. In fact, all of the girls are being quiet as church mice. They know as well as I do this guy is somehow deciding our fate.
After a few more minutes of conversation and some pacing back and forth, he makes a hand gesture that looks like he’s telling them to get on with it. That could mean a hell of a lot of things, and it’s exhausting trying to guess. My hands still haven’t come loose from the binds, and now that I’ve got some probably cracked ribs it hurts to even try to wiggle free. But I continue because every glance at the girl across from me reminds me that I can’t let them hurt her again. All of these women have families and friends. People who will be left to wonder, but never know what happened to them. And that’s a fate worse than death. The not knowing is what kills me about Talia. There’s no closure, no finality. Only the endless questions and the crazy scenarios running through my mind.
When I came into this situation, I had damned the Irish from the start. They were guilty by association. Talia worked in their club, and then she went missing. It was that simple to me. But now everything is starting to blend together. Both times that I almost got killed, it was because this gang was involved. That only leaves more questions in my mind. Nothing about this is like I thought it would be. The lines between good and evil are mingling in a world with a thousand shades of black and white. The MacKenna Syndicate doesn’t deal in women. But these guys do. So who are the real monsters here?
I have no doubts Lachlan and Dom know we’re gone now. After the bombshell that was dropped on me this evening, I’m painfully aware of my place in the organization. I’m not even good enough to be a girlfriend, let alone a wife. But one of their wives is here, and that’s my only saving grace. I have to believe that they will tear the city apart looking for her. I know it in my heart. I’ve never had anyone to come in and save the day before, but I have to believe they will.
This time, there won’t be any protests from me. I want to see these animals wiped off the face of the earth. I want anyone who partakes in this turned to dust. One look at this metal box and there’s no doubt what they intend to do with these women. They’ll all become slaves to the highest bidder.
As if sensing my thoughts, the girl across from me starts to sniffle again. They never put her gag back in when they finished with her, and she isn’t even attempting to muffle the sound. I try to catch her attention, but she won’t look up.
“Hey,” I whisper.
She still doesn’t look up. The guy in the suit is growing even more agitated when he glances our way. And then he gives one of his men the order.
“You have to be quiet,” I hiss. “Please.”
“I can’t!” she sobs. “They’re going to kill us!”
Before I can calm her, the soldier is between us, kicking her in the stomach violently. I scream at him to stop, which only earns me another boot to the chest. The girl across from me lets out a gut wrenching sob and starts screaming for help. The man in the suit barks an order, and the other soldier comes forward. Everything around me slows down as I watch in horror. He’s screaming at her. Calling her names in a different language. Kicking her over and over again. And then his boot catches her face.
There’s a sickening snap as her head flies back against the metal.
I’m paralyzed with fear. With the loss of control. The helplessness of the situation I’ve been dodging all my life. My dad brought me up to be a fighter. To protect myself and look out for number one. It’s in this awful moment that I realize how wrong he was. It was on me to look out for this girl. I should have done more for her. For Talia. For Scarlett and all of the other lost souls who need someone to look out for them.
Why didn’t I do more? Why do I always have to fail?
I’m just like the rest of these women. Helpless and insignificant. My whole life I wanted to believe I was tough. That I could handle anything. But I can’t. Not this. Tears burn my face like acid as I admit that I’m just another spectator to this crime against humanity. That women are disappearing night and day and being sucked into this world of human trafficking. But right now, I’m right in the middle of it, and there is no denying it. Because when the soldier nudges the girl’s head with his boot, it lolls back to the side, and I’m met with her lifeless eyes.
All of the emotion I’ve bottled up inside of me for the last two decades explodes out of me. I’m screaming at them. Calling them fucking animals. Worthless pigs. Every vile and hateful word that I can think of. I want to kill them, and I want to do it with my bare hands.
“Fuck you!” I scream. “Fuck all of you filthy maggots! They’re going to cut your cocks off and shove them down your fucking throats!”
The soldier in front of me yanks me up by the hair and says something to the other guy that makes him laugh. But then the man in the suit is walking towards us, his eyes cool and assessing.
“You’re the girl they took from the Irish,” he says.
“Yes,” I snarl. “And they’re going to make you regret the day you were ever born. I can promise you that.”
He makes a gesture to his men, and they let go of me, only to be replaced by his hands. He tries to lead me back to the table across the room. The same one that girl was bent over before.
“Well in that case,” he says. “I may as well enjoy my last day on earth. I’ll fuck you raw and send your body parts back to them in pieces while your friend gets shippe
d overseas.”
My heart is pounding so hard now I can’t breathe. His words aren’t even a threat or a joke. They’re a promise. I escaped it once, but there’s no escaping it this time. I’m trying to think, to formulate a plan. I know if I break his nose they’ll shoot me in a second. I need to be smart. I need to think of another way. But I’m clamming up, completely frozen as he rips the material of my dress.
He leans forward and presses his body against mine, grinding his erection against my ass. A wave of nausea rolls up my throat, and I struggle to control it.
“I’ll show you what a real man feels like,” he hisses in my ear.
I hear the sound of his zipper, and I try to buck against him. It only excites him more. He pulls a knife out of his pocket and cuts through my dress while his soldiers make lewd remarks. He barks out an order, and one of them scrambles into his pocket, retrieving a phone. To my disgust, they start snapping pictures. The man in the suit pulls me upright and tears off the material around my breasts, grabbing them in his hands while he laughs and they take photos.
I can’t fucking take it. I can’t. I’m going to have to hurt him, and then I’m going to die. But it’s better than this. Better than letting him do this. I can only hope that Lachlan and Dom will make him suffer. Make him pay for what he’s done to us.
When he spins me around again, I draw in a deep breath. This is it. I’m going to break his nose and then kick him in nuts as hard as I can. At least if I hurt him badly enough, I know he won’t be trying to put it inside any of us. It’s my only option at this point.
His hands are running up and down my sides, and my skin is crawling. It’s now or never. I let my body go slack so he thinks he’s won. It only takes a minute for him to relax his grip on me. I rear up and back, slamming into him so hard I almost knock myself out in the process. Before he can recover, I spin around and spear my heel into his crotch. He’s screaming violently, and both of his men have their guns aimed and ready, waiting for the order.