He steps inside and David follows.
Felix looks different than I remember him, but it’s been so many years. He’s still as short, just a little over five and a half feet. And he’s losing his hair. I notice when he walks inside, glancing at my bucket before crossing the room to look out of the window, that a bald spot has begun to form at the crown of his head. I wonder if he realizes it. Do men realize when they start to go bald? I mean, it’s not like they see that part of their head.
He has his jacket draped over his shoulders. His suit is a worn-out beige, the style about a decade old. It looks like a knock off. Like him. An imposter in a stolen role. He’s also grown softer around the middle. I notice the paunch when he turns back to face me.
So different from Cristiano in every way.
Cristiano.
My heart sinks a little deeper at the thought of him. He’s gone. I’ll never see him again.
“You were at the dock,” I say.
He nods.
“Did you have Jacob killed?”
“Do you miss him? I thought you’d be grateful.”
“You ordered it.”
“I didn’t need both him and Marcus. Marcus was more useful at the time,” he says, glancing at David with a sly grin, making me wonder what that exchange is about.
“Are you hurt, Cousin?” Felix asks.
His question causes my focus back to him and he’s cocked his head to look at my face. He has his hands in his pockets. A heavy watch and gold chains crowd both wrists. I remember how much he liked to show off anything gold. Remember how my dad found it so distasteful, found Felix distasteful, like Jacob. The one comment that still comes to mind was about how real men didn’t need to prove themselves with displays of wealth or status. That only those who didn’t belong needed so hard to fit in.
“I don’t know that we’re technically cousins,” I say. Probably not the smartest thing to say.
“By marriage.” He shrugs a shoulder. “I thought you might appreciate having family in your time of need.”
“Are you demented?”
He smiles. “You are ungrateful.” His accent is strong.
David clears his throat. “We good?” he asks.
Felix shifts his gaze to David only momentarily. “Are you hurt, Cousin?” he asks as he comes closer.
Without waiting for my reply, he takes my jaw in one hand and tilts my face up to his before brushing hair back from my forehead.
“Some bruising,” he comments. “It’ll take the price down, of course. Damaged goods.”
I tug my face out of his hands. “Don’t touch me.”
He grins, grips my jaw again, tighter this time. “Does she have all her teeth?” he asks and gestures to David with a nod of his head. David takes hold of both sides of my head while Felix pries my mouth open. I’d bite off his fingers if I could, but I can’t at the angle they’re holding me.
He makes a satisfied sound.
“Not a virgin though,” he says, still peering inside my mouth like I’m some animal. “Virgins bring in more money.”
“That’s on your father-in-law,” David says. “Nothing I can do about that.”
“Sick man,” Felix comments casually. Did everyone know what Uncle Jacob had done to me? Did they just stand back and let it happen?
“Anal virgin?” he asks, releasing my mouth, pulling his fingers away before my teeth snap shut.
I tug at my bound arm but of course it’s no use so I draw my head back as he starts to discuss the possibilities of selling that particular part of my anatomy, and spit in his face.
He stops talking, that smug grin instantly wiped away.
My heart races even as I try for a victorious smile.
David mutters a curse. Felix first uses the back of his hand to wipe off my spit on his right cheekbone, then backhands me so hard with that same hand that I fall back on the bed. My head crashes against the wall, then the metal railing, the blow stunning me.
I feel the warmth of blood rolling down my cheek.
He straightens, adjusts his jacket over his shoulder, his expression of rage morphing back into a false smile. For a single instant I see the real Felix Pérez. And it terrifies me.
“Apologize!” David orders me.
Felix raises a hand. “No need,” he says. “I expect no less from a De La Cruz. They’re animals. I’d pour the contents of that bucket over your head but then I’d have to smell you.” He checks his watch. “Speaking of, we’re on a tight schedule.”
“We have a deal?” David asks.
“What deal?” I ask.
They both ignore me. Felix punches some numbers into his phone and turns it around to show David, who nods.
Felix calls to one of the men at the door, the one with the keys. He undoes my cuff from the rung of the headboard and re-cuffs my arms behind my back. He lifts me to stand, almost making me knock the bucket over as I do.
“Where are we going?” I ask Felix or David or anyone who will answer. I’m marched out of the room, noticing the apartment we’re in, where two more men sit in the kitchen eating hamburgers. The TV playing in the background is in a language I don’t understand. Sounds like German.
I’m taken down the stairs, the man simply dragging me along when I trip or don’t move fast enough, before we’re outside.
It’s noisy beyond the alley where an SUV is waiting. It blocks my view of the street, of the people walking and the cars driving by, oblivious to what’s happening here in this dark corner of their world.
The windows of the SUV are tinted an opaque black. I can’t even make out how many people are inside.
I’m barefoot. I hadn’t really thought about it when I’d been in that room but the puddles of water on the street chill me as one of the doors is opened. I’m lifted up and placed in the back seat.
Felix climbs into the passenger seat and turns around as I’m strapped in by a woman who looks a lot like the one Marcus employed to prepare me for our wedding. She’s sitting between me and one other passenger. A girl.
He glances at me, then over to her. “I’m sorry she smells, sweetheart. She wasn’t bathed, I’m sure. You know those thugs.”
I look at the girl in the shadowy car, the red lights blinking illuminating her only momentarily. She has long blonde hair, I see that. And huge crystal blue eyes. She leans around the woman to peer at me but doesn’t speak and her expression doesn’t change. Just huge, frightened eyes on me.
“She doesn’t smell so bad,” the girl says flatly, her accent American.
“You’re too sweet, my little doll,” Felix says, reaching his arm back to caress her face.
She shrinks back a little, but one cluck of his tongue and she leans her face into his hand. She’s young. I see it now when the light from the street shines on her face. Fifteen or sixteen maybe and small.
I want to slap his hand away. I want to make him stop touching her.
“I’ll miss you,” he says to her.
She turns her head to look out the window.
“What do you say, Lizzie?” he asks.
Lizzie?
I peer more closely.
She turns back to him, same huge eyes a little shinier in the light. “I’ll miss you too,” she whispers but inside that whisper, I hear a hint of steel. Just a hint.
Felix smiles then as quickly as he’d struck me, he shifts his grip to twist a fistful of her hair painfully pulling her toward him.
The girl makes a sound but nothing else.
“Again,” he commands.
“I’ll miss you too, Felix. Very much.” No steel this time. It’s melted away. I guess ten years will do that to you.
“Good girl,” he says, releasing her.
She looks down at her fisted hands in her lap. The woman between us unhooks something from her belt, unravels it. It’s a leather strap, about six inches long. She raises it, crashes it down over the girl’s hands.
I gasp, shocked.
The girl makes a so
und but catches herself, swallows it down and releases her fists, laying them flat on her lap. I watch the angry red line form across the tops.
“Better,” the woman says.
The girl remains silent, but I catch how her eyes shift to mine momentarily. She must be afraid to get caught. They’ve trained her.
Felix looks at me. He gives me a grin. “Get comfortable. We’ve got a long ride.” He turns back in his seat and switches on the radio to a station playing Spanish music.
33
Cristiano
The private jet lands in Rotterdam a few hours later. The flight was tense, to say the least, my brother quiet. He knows he did wrong. But I can’t forgive him. Not yet.
Two cars wait for us at the airfield. Antonio, Dante and I climb into one, Dante sitting in the passenger seat.
“House is in the city. About thirty kilometers from here.”
“You’ve got eyes on it?”
Antonio nods. “Only for the last couple of hours though. There are definitely two men inside and a woman.”
“Scarlett?”
“Not sure yet.”
I shift my gaze out the window.
“We’ll find her, Cristiano,” he says.
I watch passing cars as we merge into traffic.
She got Noah out. I’m glad she got him out. But she should have gone with him. Why didn’t she? Was she waiting for me to return?
“Does she think I’m dead?” I ask. Antonio knows I’m talking to my brother.
There’s a long silence. “I told her you were because I thought you were,” he pauses, turns in his seat. I see him in my periphery. “She was upset to hear it.”
I don’t let myself feel anything at that. I can’t. I need to focus now. The stakes are too high for emotion. For weakness.
“And my uncle?” I ask, only turning back to Antonio when I’ve schooled my features.
He’s typing something into his phone. Antonio has contacts everywhere. And throughout this, I’ve learned that I can trust and rely on him.
“I’m just following up on a lead. He was at the house too, we know that.”
“We need to get Scarlett back first. I’ll deal with him after.”
The rest of the drive is silent, and I watch the busy streets of the city as the driver weaves his way through dense traffic to a seedier looking part of town.
“There are three possible entry and exit points. Front door, side and back door. Downstairs windows are boarded up. The side door leads into an alley. The street itself is fairly busy so we’ll have to keep a low profile. No busting in doors and no gunfire if we can help it. Not on street level at least. We’ve got half a dozen men in place. Your uncle used the side door to go in and out. We’ll use that one too.”
“I’ll go in first,” Dante says as the driver parks the car a block away and we climb out. He checks his weapon before tucking it out of sight.
“You’ll stay with me,” I tell him.
“This is my fault. I owe—”
“You’ll stay with me or you’ll stay in the car.”
“You know I’m not a kid anymore.”
“With me or in the car. Decide.”
“Fine.”
We walk down the street weaving into the crowds. When Antonio points out the house, I look up at it, at the dimly lit rooms upstairs, at the attic window. Rain drizzles overhead, steady and cold. Someone moves behind one of the windows, a shadow crossing the room.
I nod to Antonio and we move. I catch sight of our men as we near the alley where someone stands taking a piss against the dumpster. He’s humming and when he sees us, he looks up. His smile vanishes instantly. Even stinking of alcohol, he must sense danger. He hurries to put his dick back in his pants and stumbles away.
Once he’s gone, we head in. I take my pistol in hand and make my way to the side door. Maybe being a little less careful than I should but feeling anxious.
If Scarlett’s in this place, I need to get to her. Get her out.
The door is locked, as expected. Antonio touches my arm as he twists a silencer onto his weapon before he shoots out the lock. It’s not as silent as I’d like but given the noise in the street, I’m hoping we’ll still have the element of surprise.
I step in first followed by Antonio and Dante. The house must have been split into apartments at some point because the door we just broke in through opens up to a staircase and some storage areas. It’s unused though, cobwebs and junk piled in every corner.
No welcome party. That’s good. Unless they’re waiting to ambush us upstairs.
I take the lead up the old wooden stairs which creak beneath our boots and hear the sound of a television coming from behind the closed door. The volume’s turned pretty high. This could be good for us or bad for us, but we won’t know until it’s too late.
Here too, junk and forgotten furniture take up parts of the hallway. Antonio slips around me and walks to the second door which stands open. He gives the signal that it’s clear.
I turn to my brother who moves into position on the opposite side of the door. “Ready?” I mouth.
He nods.
Without another moment’s hesitation, I kick the door in, the wood splintering as it crashes against the far wall.
A woman screams and men curse, the tv still going in the background as a table is knocked over and weapons are drawn, the men clearly surprised.
I know in that moment Scarlett isn’t here. Maybe she was at one point, but she’s gone.
I know it as a gun battle breaks out. So much for no gunfire. I know it as the tv is shot out, as the woman dives to the kitchen floor, as the men take bullets that knock them back and down.
I know it when all the sound that’s left in the place is that of our breathing, of the TV short-circuiting, of the woman whimpering on the kitchen floor.
“We’ll need to move fast,” Antonio says as I make my way down the hallway to check the rooms. I find them empty although there were people here at some point. Handcuffs hang from the headboards of the beds and the stench of fear clings to the walls.
“Upstairs,” Dante says.
I turn back to find him holding the woman who is pointing up. I move, weapon ready, hurrying up the narrow, winding stairs to the attic room. Its door is left open, the bed empty, no handcuffs on this one. Just a bucket, a camera with its red light still blinking and one of Scarlett’s shoes. Those ballet flats.
“She was here,” I say, tucking my gun away and picking up the shoe. It’s so small. She’s so small. And on her own. No match for the men of our world.
Antonio and Dante walk in behind me as I push a few buttons on the camera to play back the recording. I see her then. Scarlett carried in. Unconscious. Dumped unceremoniously on the bed. Handcuffed to it. My uncle giving the orders from the sideline obvious even though there is no sound.
Dante stands beside me as we watch Scarlett wake. As I see her take in the surroundings. As I see her decide she’ll fight even if it’s impossible.
And when she gives the camera the finger, I give a half-hearted, bitter smile. “That’s my girl.”
“She’s tough,” Dante says, and I realize I said that out loud.
I push the button to forward through the footage until I get to Felix Pérez walking into the room. I watch them have a conversation. I watch her spit in his face. I watch him slap hers so hard he almost knocks her out. When she opens her eyes, she’s dazed. She rights herself and I see the cut on her cheekbone, see blood stain her face.
That’s the breaking point for me.
I close my hand over the screen, my throat tight, jaw tense, everything inside me wanting to break. To kill. To demolish.
I take the camera and smash it against the far wall the way I will smash both my uncle and Felix Pérez.
34
Scarlett
We drive out of the city, mostly taking backroads to wherever we’re going. The three of us in the backseat are quiet while Felix alternates between taking calls and s
inging along with the radio, like we’re on some bazaar family road trip. It must be at least two hours later that we reach our destination, a hulking house in the middle of nowhere, guarded heavily at the gates and beyond.
There must be two dozen cars parked out front and that many more soldiers loitering around the vehicles.
“This is the end of the line, ladies,” Felix says as the car pulls to a stop around back.
The girl, no, not the girl. I know her name. Her real name. Mara looks both curiously and fearfully up at the house.
Felix focuses his attention on me. “That’s turned ugly. Don’t make me hit you again.”
The doors open and we’re escorted out. Mara isn’t handcuffed and she walks a few steps behind the woman, a soldier at her heels.
My soldier takes me by the arm and keeps shoving me toward the back door which is opened before we get to the stairs that lead up to it.
“This way,” someone says, ushering us inside. “Two?” she asks Felix when she sees us. “I was expecting one.”
“Change of plans. I’m sure you can accommodate us.”
“Of course.”
“Put them together. That one is a sly one,” he tells her, pointing to me. “Keep your best guards on her.” He turns to the woman who strapped Mara’s hands in the SUV. “She needs to be bathed. Badly.”
“Asshole,” I can’t help but mutter.
The woman raises her eyebrows and gives me a look.
Felix glances at me. “One more word and I’ll cut out your tongue.”
I keep my mouth shut.
“Shall I take care of it, sir?” the woman we drove with asks.
“Do. Without leaving marks.”
She nods.
He turns to me. “She’s got a talent for not leaving marks. Isn’t that right, Lizzie?”
Lizzie—Mara—doesn’t answer.
He shifts his attention back to the woman who let us in. I wonder to myself how women work with men like this, knowing what they’re doing. Selling other women and girls.
“And this one, well, I don’t need to tell you what will happen if this one isn’t delivered in pristine condition. No one lays a finger on her. Helga will remain with her at all times.”
I Thee Take: To Have and To Hold Duet Book Two Page 15