Burn for You

by Jillian Leeson

  He talks to the girl, asking her what she’s doing and calling her by her name, but she doesn’t reply. Instead, she undoes her ponytail and takes off her dress, leaving her to stand in front of him in nothing but her bra and panties.

  I avert my eyes, bile rising in my throat.

  Slick Hair chuckles. “Watch this, it’s fascinating.”

  My gaze flicks back to the screen. The girl closes the distance between them, and Ryder takes a step back. She advances on him, and he continues to step back until his legs hit the edge of the bed, his hands raised in surrender. All of a sudden, the girl’s hand shoots out and grabs him between the legs.

  My hand flies to my mouth, and it’s all I can do not to scream. How dare she!

  Ryder shoves her away, which makes me feel a little better, and he lifts his hands to his bent head, as if he is trying to relieve a headache. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, the girl pushes him onto the bed and flings herself onto his chest. He immediately shoves her away, and she rolls off onto the bed. At once, she throws herself on him again and buries her head in his neck. His hands are on her shoulders, but this time, he only struggles briefly before he stills.

  He covers his eyes with his arm, and she sits up, straddling him. To my horror, she starts undoing the buttons of his shirt before she takes it off. Next she does away with his pants and boxers until he lies naked on the bed. Even though the visuals are somewhat blurry, I can make out the outline of his body.

  And what I see shocks me to the core—he’s sporting a massive erection.

  An icy-cold wave rushes into me, painfully filling my heart.

  Slick Hair cracks up. “Look at the American’s cock. No wonder Chinese girls like white devils.”

  Sitting up, Ryder scoots away to the far side of the bed and covers himself with a sheet, while the girl takes off her bra and thong.

  My fingers’ grip on the tablet turns to iron. I do not want to watch what’s coming next, but I’m unable to look away; my eyes are glued to the screen.

  Dropping on her hands and knees, the girl advances toward Ryder, who shrinks back against the wall, pulling the sheet higher. When she is right in front of him, she rises up to her knees, her body blocking him from view. They seem to have a whispered exchange before she places her hand on his mouth. With the other hand, she pulls off the sheet that covers him and shoves his body down onto the mattress, on his back.

  Arms by his side, Ryder lies stock-still while the girl climbs on top of him. But before she straddles him on his arousal, he grabs her by the shoulders and swivels her around, so now she lies underneath him. His hand finds the sheet and he tosses it over his back, covering both of them.

  Then he starts moving.

  I drop the tablet onto the table. A surge of nausea overcomes me, causing me to scrape my chair away from the table, bend over, and dry-retch.

  Slick Hair laughs. “You should at least listen.”

  He turns up the volume, and the sickening sounds of loud moaning assault my ears. The moans continue for an eternity, increasing in intensity, until finally they stop, and silence returns.

  I look up, expecting for the video to have ended, but Slick Hair’s holding up the tablet right in front of me, and it’s still playing. It shows the girl slipping away from under the sheet. She gets dressed and makes her way to the doorway.

  The video stops.

  Motionless, I stare at the triangle that has reappeared in the middle of the screen.

  My head is spinning. I can’t believe what I saw. I just can’t believe it.

  Smirking, Slick Hair plunks the tablet back on the table. “I told you it was interesting. Your precious boyfriend,” he says, flexing his fingers into airquotes, “has given us all the money we want. So he was free to leave. But you know what? He wanted to stay. And now you know why.”

  My hand flies to my chest. It’s like he’s plunged a knife straight into my heart, and twists, twists, twists.

  Slick Hair breaks out in a malicious snigger. “He may have told you he loves you, but when push comes to shove, he’s just like any other guy.”

  I remain frozen as he walks around the table to stand behind me. “Come on, cheer up. At least you won’t have to worry about what happens to him any more.”

  I wince as he strokes my hair. “Why don’t you prove to me that you’re better? Better than that whore your boyfriend likes to fuck?”

  A sudden rage fills my veins. Spinning around, I shove Slick Hair away. I charge for the door, open it, and run, run, run. Behind me, his roars of laughter echo in the hallway.

  Everything is a blur around me. I don’t know what I’m doing, where I’m going. All I know is: I need to get away. Away from the vile images that are flooding my mind. Away from the lies that made up my world, a world that has crumbled to dust.

  Whatever way I look at it, there are no excuses for what Ryder’s done.

  He could have refused. He could have pushed her away.

  But he clearly wanted it. He wanted her.

  How the hell could he do this to me?

  Ryder

  Tap-tap-tap.

  It’s hot. It’s dark. And I feel like I’m going to suffocate.

  My hands slide against smooth walls right beside my body. And when I raise them, I hit a hard surface, directly overhead—I’m in a coffin. And someone’s nailing it shut.

  Breaking out in a cold sweat, I push against the ceiling. I try to scream, but not a sound emerges from my mouth.

  Yet the tapping doesn’t let up. Tap-tap-tap. Stop. Tap-tap-tap again; each time louder than before. Unable to bend my knees, I shove against the walls, against the ceiling. I have to get out of here.

  But to my shock, the walls start squeezing me in, the ceiling is coming down, threatening to crush me.

  No!

  I gasp for breath and jerk up.

  It was a dream.

  Opening my eyes, I confirm I’m still in the same bed. And it appears I’m naked, my lower half covered by a blanket.

  My heart racing, I flick the blanket off me and wipe the sweat off my forehead.

  And then I hear it. The tapping—it is real.

  It takes me a second to locate its source. It comes from the window.

  Grabbing my pants off the floor and pulling them on, I hop across the room. The curtain yanked away, I prize off the bottom slat and squeeze my hands in between the window. As it opens, I feel a cool breeze and hear the chirping of birds—it must be early morning.

  I squat down and look out the window, and straight into Meifen’s eyes. To my shock, they are filled with anxiety, and my chest tightens.

  “Hey, what’s the matter? Are you okay?”

  She nods. “I’m okay.”

  “Did—did they take your baby?”

  “No, no. They leave him. You help me. Thank you.” A smile touches her lips.

  I let out a breath, relief overtaking the feeling of guilt that washes over me.

  “That’s okay. I’m just glad they didn’t hurt you or your baby.”

  She looks around her furtively before whispering, “I want help you.”

  “Help me? How? What can you do?”

  “I find phone. I send message. What you want me to say?”

  My heart surges. A phone! I could get a message to Elle with my location.

  “Is it a cell phone?”

  She nods.

  “I’ll give you my girlfriend’s number. Try to call her. If she doesn’t answer, send a text message with my name, Ryder, and our location.”

  “I don’t know where. In China, close Hong Kong,” she says, shrugging her shoulders.

  “Tell you what. Write the text message and make an attachment. It looks like a paper clip. Press on it and find ‘Location’. If there’s no paperclip, find a Maps app on the phone and send our location to the number I’m going to give you.”

  I repeat it a few times, hoping she gets it, as I’m unsure how familiar she is with technology. Meifen has a good me
mory, though, for she has no problems remembering Elle’s number.

  “And don’t forget, after you’ve sent it, delete the message.” I smile at her. “Thank you, Meifen. I promise you, when I get out of here, I’ll do anything to set you free. And if you like, I’ll help you go to America.”

  She nods vigorously, and I add, “Be careful,” before she turns back to cross the courtyard.

  After I close the window and put back the slat, I sit on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, head in hands. I hope she gets to the phone, I hope it’s a smartphone, I hope she can send the message.

  I let out a deep sigh—is it too much to hope for?

  I lift my head—there are voices outside my door, getting louder as they approach. One of them sounds like Flat Face. I quickly lie on my back, not a second too late, as the door opens, and his familiar bulky shape appears in the opening. Switching on the light, he steps in, and behind him follows a skinny, bald man with glasses who is carrying a tray. They both ignore me until the thin man sets the tray on the table, and Flat Face points his gleaming knife at me, letting out a dry cough. I sit up, eyebrows raised.

  The knife gestures to the chair.

  “You want me to sit there?” I say.

  Grunting, Flat Face steps towards me, yanks me by the arm, and steers me to the chair, plonking me down. The blade of his knife feels cool against my neck.

  From the silver tray in front of me on the table, the skinny man picks up a stethoscope. He places the tips in his ears and the chest piece over my heart. After a minute or so, he returns the stethoscope to the tray and takes a penlight that his slightly shaking fingers use to shine into my eyes.

  Next he picks up a syringe. I instinctively shrink away, but Flat Face immediately increases the pressure on the knife’s blade. I’m forced to watch as Skinny grasps my arm, pushes up my sleeve, and taps my vein before inserting the needle and drawing three vials full of blood. No gloves, no alcohol wipe, nothing sterile. But before I can get worked up about his standard of hygiene, I find a small plastic container with a yellow lid thrust into my hand. Skinny points at my groin, then at the bottle as Flat Face yanks me up, shoving me towards the bathroom.

  What the hell are they up to? Are they planning to mutilate me as part of some scheme of revenge? But why this medical exam?

  After I fill the container with Flat Face guarding me in the doorway, I hand it back to Skinny, who points at the bed. He mutters something in Chinese, and Flat Face forces me on the bed, on my back. More examinations: sweaty fingers probing my stomach, examining my crotch.

  Finally, he gives a sharp nod and turns back to the table, where he collects his tray and makes his way out the door. Flat Face’s eyes remain on me until he disappears, at which point he follows him out, coughing all the way. The door shuts with a click of the lock.

  What was that all about? First they send Meifen in, then this medical. It doesn’t make sense to me at all. Clearly, this isn’t a straightforward abduction—my life in exchange for the ransom.

  What if—? The thought is so ridiculous that I almost allow it to slip my mind. What if they wanted me to impregnate her and sell the resulting product? The baby trade is a lucrative business. And a Eurasian baby would fetch a substantial sum, especially if they had a medical report with proof of good health. Or—would Michael want to keep the baby? He did mention it’s not only about money for him; this could well be what he’s after. Perhaps he’s sending Elle on a wild goose chase, as a stalling tactic to make sure I produce the result he’s seeking.

  I close my eyes. What have I gotten into? If this is no straightforward kidnapping with a ransom demand, then who knows what else they have in store for me, and for Elle? She may also be in grave danger. I need to get out of here, as soon as possible.

  My thoughts turn to Meifen. Has she found the phone and sent out a message? Has she remembered the number and my instructions? God, let this work out, not only for me and Elle, but also for Meifen. If—no, when I get out of here, I’ll take her and her baby with me.

  A click breaks the silence in the room. My pulse jumps. The lock—are they coming in again? My eyes trained on the door, I grip the sheets to brace myself for another personal invasion. But to my surprise, the door doesn’t open. I quirk my brow. Did I imagine it?

  I swing my legs over and stride to the door. I reach for the door knob.

  It turns.

  My heart surges. This is my chance!

  Slowly, I push open the door until it is open just wide enough that I can sneak a look behind it.

  Left—right: an empty hallway.

  Yes! Someone must have opened the door for me. Who else but Meifen? I send out a ‘thank you’ to her in my mind before I open the door wider and step out into the hallway. Closing the door softly behind me, I turn left on the gray, threadbare carpet, one hand on the dirt-streaked wall. Passing paint-chipped doors on both sides, I proceed down the hallway quietly, cautiously. The strip light at the end is bust, and when I tread in the shadows I notice it turns right into another hallway. Voices from around the corner force me to dash back to where I came from.

  I try the door to my right—locked. On the opposite side, there’s another door—also locked. The voices are getting louder, and a feeling of panic overcomes me. A few more steps, and they’ll turn the corner. Last chance before they spot me: a door to my right. I reach for the knob, and to my relief, it opens. I quickly slip in and close the door behind me. Heart racing, I press my back against the door.

  The Chinese-speaking voices grow louder and pass my door. But only when they fade in the distance and turn to silent after a slam of a door, do I exhale a breath of relief.

  I swivel around, flicking the light switch on the wall, and inspect the room I’m in. It is bigger than mine—almost double—, with a single, curtain-covered window, and lined with a lino floor instead of carpet. A double bed is pushed against the opposite wall, next to a cabinet with open shelves. In the middle of the room, right below a pendant lamp, stands a rectangular formica table with hooks on the sides and the end. I knit my brow at the sight of what is set up between the bed and the table: a silver tripod and a black metal stand with a light attached to it, like those used by professional photographers.

  I cross the room toward the shelves on which some unmarked boxes are stacked. Next to them I spot a silver tray, similar to the one the skinny guy carried into my room, including the stethoscope and penlight. Only the syringe and my blood and urine samples are missing.

  But what catches my eye is on top of a blue plastic box with a handle. It’s a container carrying two rows of vials and syringes, some of them filled with a yellowish liquid. I pull out one of the vials and read the label: “Sildenafil citrate”. It sounds familiar, but I can’t for the life of me recall what it is used for.

  I open a box on the shelf. It contains an assortment of first-aid supplies: bandages, gauze pads, scissors, gloves, and alcohol swabs. I find similar contents in the box underneath it, but before I can examine the other boxes, a scream sounds from somewhere out in the hall. Damn. I grab a filled syringe and slip it in my pocket. Who knows if it will come in use later.

  I retrace my steps, flipping off the light, and position myself beside the door, so it will conceal me if it opens. The screaming briefly gets louder, but stops abruptly after a bark of a terse command. Footsteps, accompanied by a muffled sobbing, pass on the other side of the door.

  When the silence returns, I slowly pull open the door and step into the hallway. I walk back to where I was before, the shadowed space where the hall bends into another. After ensuring the coast is clear, I round the corner to the left and find a hallway similar to where I came from. At the end of it is a brown door. When I come closer, I notice it looks different from the others, with a lock above the handle: it’s a main door. I hasten my step, trying to keep pace with the frantic beating of my heart.

  I reach for the lock. God, let it open.

  My shaking fingers turn it clockwise.
It doesn’t budge.

  Counter-clockwise—a click. Yes!

  Holding down the handle, I push at the door, but it still doesn’t open. I scrub my hand over my face. This has to work. I’ve come this far, dammit if I give up now.

  I fiddle with the lock, keeping the handle down, and shove at the door again, more forcefully.

  It opens.

  A blast of hot, humid air hits me in the face, and I blink, briefly blinded by the bright sunlight. When my eyes adjust, they fall on a patch of dirt surrounded by an expanse of green fields—rice fields—in all directions, as far as I can see. Apart from the occasional whoosh of the rice plants, it is quiet. Too quiet for my likes, absent of any sign of modern life—cars, planes, engines.

  I’m in the Chinese countryside, in the middle of nowhere.

  My heart sinks. The chances of me making a successful escape are slim. Where can I go? Without a means of transport, it will take me hours and hours to reach the nearest village or town. And if I do, the people who live there probably won’t speak any English. In the meantime, my abductors will have noticed my absence. And they’re sure to retaliate somehow, no doubt carrying out Michael’s threat to me: hurt Elle. I can’t let that happen.

  And what about Meifen? They may suspect it was she who helped me escape. They’ll punish her, take her baby away, or even worse. The thought sends shivers down my spine.

  No, I’ll have to trust that Meifen has managed to send the message. And once Elle receives the details of my location, she’ll get me out of here. Knowing her, she’s probably already on her way. If I’d escape from here, it may interfere with her rescue plans.

  Gritting my teeth, I force myself to step backward. Closing the door, I swivel around and march back into the hallway. I turn the bend and continue my stride until I reach a door on my right.

  I open the door and step inside, switching on the light.

  What the hell am I doing?