The Best Friend

by K Larsen

  I nod and start digging through paperwork.

  We’re down to four properties after half an hour of digging through records. I stare at each location willing the ink to somehow indicate which one to pick.

  “I’ll take these two.” Liam slides two files toward him.

  I shake my head. “No. I don’t want you involved any more than you already are.”

  “It’s not a request, Mike. We don’t have time to check out all four together.”

  He’s right. My stomach clenches. “What will you do if she's at one of them?”

  “Call Salve.” His answer is quick, as if it’s the only one. His eyes snap to mine. “What the hell were you thinking?” I look away, unwilling to give him details. “We’re finding her, and calling Salve. That’s the play here. You can’t seriously think there’s another way.”

  “How are we going to explain to Salve how we found her? Why I didn’t call him the second I knew she was gone?”

  Liam’s fingers dig at his scalp. “You mean without implicating you.”

  Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I nod.

  “I guess you’d better hope you find her first, cause right now, I’m not making any promises to you, Mike.” The disgust on his face feels like a sucker punch.

  “Fair enough. Drop me at my car and let’s get this over with.”

  For a split second Liam’s death glare softens. A small bubble of hope roots in my gut that maybe our friendship can weather my destruction. Then again, maybe it’s just pity in his eyes.

  I scoop up the two files from the floor and commit the addresses to memory on the drive back to my car. Liam barely slows to a complete stop before I yank the handle and swing the door open.

  “Mike,” he says.

  “Yeah?”

  He clears his throat and says, “Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Just find her Liam. Do whatever you have to do.”

  I swing the car door shut and jog to my car. Liam’s tires spin out as he pulls away. Leaning over, I open the glove box and retrieve the pistol and silencer from it before starting the car. I screw the silencer on and set the gun in the passenger seat.

  35

  Aubry

  At the window of my room, I stare out across acres of field and woods through the boards nailed over it. As if I would jump out a second story window. A twenty-foot drop seems like a broken bone waiting to happen which is pretty useless when trying to escape. I pace the room. The floorboards creak beneath my feet every so often. There’s chatter downstairs. Chairs scraping, men talking. My heart pounds in my chest.

  I lean against the door and slide to the ground. I counted at least six men on my trek from the first floor to my room. I can’t take six men. I don’t even know if I can take one. Banging the back of my head off the door I let every emotion course through me. I thought having courage meant not being afraid. I thought vulnerability was a weakness. But, I realize courage isn’t the absence of fear, it's acknowledging it and walking toward it anyway.

  There’s a shaker style wooden chair in the corner of the room. I push away from the door. I squat down next to the chair, inspecting the legs. A grain of hope blooms within me. This could work. I lift the chair and place it upside down on the bed. Doing my best to stay quiet, I manage to dislodge the center rung between the legs and begin wiggling and smacking one of the legs until it comes loose enough for me to yank off. I hold the chair leg in my hand, letting its weight become familiar. A wooden club is as good as it gets in terms of weapons currently. I swing it through the air, the hushed whoosh it makes, satisfying. A small smile forms as I imagine someone besides me getting hurt.

  Boots clomp up the stairs, igniting my senses. I put the chair back. Luckily, wedged in the corner with three legs it stands upright. I tuck the leg I broke off under the stained mattress on the floor before pressing my back along the wall furthest from the bedroom door.

  The sound of a padlock unlocking causes me to lean into the wall more firmly. The door swings open, handle smacking the wall behind it with a thud. Alexei saunters in carrying a plate and wearing a smirk. He cocks his head at me.

  “Lunch.”

  “I’m not hungry,” I tell him, shaking my head.

  “It’s not a choice. You eat.”

  “Why bother feeding me? You’re going to kill me anyway,” I spit out.

  He laughs as though I’ve genuinely amused him. “If the boss says you eat. You eat.”

  I cross my arms over my chest and shake my head. Alexi’s pleasant tone vanishes.

  “Eat, Fighter, or I’ll give you something to fight about.”

  “Just leave it.”

  “This isn’t like before,” he says. A chill sprints up my spine. With animal speed he’s inches from me. I freeze, stuck against the wall. His enormous bicep flexes as he grabs the sandwich in one hand and tosses the empty plate on the mattress. “I said, eat.”

  Trembling, I remain glued to my spot on the floor. Fisting the sandwich, he crushes it to my mouth with such force that my scalp smarts from the spot he’s pinned me to against the wall. I keep my mouth sealed and shake my head as he attempts to force the soggy sandwich into my mouth. He pulls back and relief rushes my veins before I can register his movements. With one swift motion his fist connects with my temple. White light bursts behind my eyelids as I crash to the floor.

  Degradation isn’t for the faint of heart. There are things you think, no you know, you would never do. But that’s just speculation until you’re in the situation. As humans, we love to say, ‘Oh, I’d never do that or I’d fight, or I’d take a beating’ when talking about a difficult scenario, but in reality, you have no idea what you will choose to do until you are faced with actually choosing in the moment.

  When I open my eyes, Alexei is sitting on the mattress. The mangled remnants of my sandwich scattered on the plate beside him. Groaning, I hesitantly touch my temple. That’s when I notice a bare arm. My bare arm. Humiliation pummels me as I let my gaze wander. My pajama bottoms are still on. Internally I breathe a sigh of relief. Heat floods my cheeks as I realize I am shirtless and braless. Sitting up, avoiding Alexei’s raunchy stare, I cover my breasts with my arms.

  “Are you ready to eat now?”

  Weighing my options, I decide to take the food and save whatever’s left of my modesty. I nod and extend a hand for the plate but Alexi chuckles coldly and shakes his head.

  “Crawl to me.” Every bone in my body rejects his words. Hate builds, clawing through my bloodstream. “You lost the right to eat like woman. Now you eat like dog.”

  He’s sitting just opposite the end of the mattress where I stashed the chair leg. Swallowing thickly, I get on my hands and knees. My breasts sway with each crawl toward him. He grins, enjoying the show. Inches from his knees, he commands me to stop.

  “Kneel.” I rest my rear end on my heels and cover my breasts. His hand darts out, slapping my hands away. The sting of his slap makes me yelp and leaves my arms dangling at my sides as I hold his gaze. “Good girl. It’s funny you’re here now. You were never supposed to be one of our girls, but you know, we can’t have loose ends. It took a while for the bosses to decide what to do with you. Kill you or see if you were worth any money. And of course, no one was allowed to touch you while they deliberated.” He snorts at the thought.

  A shudder rolls through me. He pinches a clump of sandwich from the plate and brings it to my lips. I don’t immediately open for him. His free hand palms my breast and on the horrified gasp that leaves me he stuffs the bite into my mouth. Pinching my lips together he says, “Chew.”

  A man walks by the open bedroom door and says something in Russian while making a lewd gesture. Alexei laughs and roughly kneads my breast while saying something back to him. I’m teetering on a knife’s-edge of tears. Bile creeps up my esophagus as I try to chew. I am not cut out for this kind of humiliation. The man in the hall’s footfalls fade as he heads downstairs. I try to swallow but can’t. I open my mouth and vo
mit violently launches from me. Alexei yells and jumps up from the mattress, cursing and swatting bile from his lap. I lean left, sliding my hand under the mattress. My fingers wrap around the chair leg and I drag it out into the open.

  Alexei is facing the door, shouting downstairs. Rising to my feet I take my makeshift club, channel my limited softball playing skills and swing at his head. The sound it makes against his skull makes me gag. The chair leg breaks. His hand shoots to his temple as he drops to his knees on a half-grunt, half-gasp. I hit him again with what’s left of the chair leg. The thud of his body against the wooden floor is sharp and makes my stomach flip but I don’t stop. I lift the chair leg and bring it down on his head.

  36

  Mike

  The first location was a bust. A small house in the middle of a slum with one guard sitting on the porch. I waited and watched for an hour. There was no movement inside, there were no other men patrolling. There was absolutely nothing going on. I was so hopped up on adrenaline that I’d almost lurched from the car, shot the man on the porch and busted my way inside to check it out just because, but somehow I’d manage to control myself.

  My phone vibrates on the seat next to the gun. Liam.

  I swipe the screen. “Do you have her?” The words rush from my lips.

  “No. I’m on my way to the second property now.”

  I swallow past the ever growing lump in my throat. “Me too. There’s nothing here.”

  Hanging up the phone I eye the guy on the porch for a moment before putting the car in gear and pulling out. Two down, two to go.

  The drive to the second property allows entirely too much time to think. I’ve made so many needless mistakes. Told so many lies. And all to the people I care about most. If Liam finds Aubry, and Detective Salve is called, I mentally vow to come clean and take whatever punishment is served. I never thought my piece in all this would be as severe or hit as close to home as it has. Smuggling was for fun. A cheap thrill and spending cash. I assumed it was drugs, which is bad enough, but if I’m honest, I didn’t really care about that. I never would have participated had I known I was smuggling people. A wave of nausea slaps me as I think about all the needless lives I’ve potentially ruined. I’m sincerely hoping Liam isn’t the one to find Aubry. I don’t want him implicated in my mess. I don’t want to face the look Nora will give me if I do. Irritation at myself and my choices eats my insides like a cancer. Before I could ignore the clawing dissatisfaction in my stupidity, my need for recklessness, but now I’m buckling beneath it. I focus on the road, my mind racing, my body on high alert.

  I drive past the property the first time because there is no good place to pull off and park that is hidden. I leave the car a mile up the road on a dirt path between some trees. I hike toward the back of the property, mouth dry, heart pounding. From the tree line of the once stately farmhouse, I watch. Two guards circle the house, rotating clockwise. All muscle and masculinity. A thick silence settles around me. I itch to make a move but I need to do this right. I can’t make a single mistake. If I do, Aubry will suffer. I text Liam to let him know there’s a lot of activity at this house then set my phone on silent and tuck it in my back pocket.

  Moving through pockets of waist deep grass, I crawl toward the house. Moving so slowly makes me feel like a caged animal. I’m ready to pounce. Halfway there I rip a piece of my shirt off and tie back my hair which keeps flopping in my eyes. When I’m close enough that I’m confident, I wait in the grass for the first guard to pass by me. Waiting is agony.

  The first shot is a miss, and even with the silencer on the shot makes far too much noise, I stand, trying not to panic and take aim as the man scans for the source of the sound. My second shot pierces his neck. He drops his weapon, clutching at his throat as blood rapidly begins to seep out. My hands shake, my eyes dart and my body twitches as I watch him try to call for help. Unable to watch a man die, I crouch back down in the grass, waiting for the next man to swing around the house.

  On one, I inhale, at two, I exhale, and on three, I stand, take aim and hold my breath when I pull the trigger. The second man drops to the ground, thick brown oozing from his head. Breathing hard, completely drained, I run to the house and press myself against the wood board siding. I allow myself a bone-deep sigh before I begin to slink around the exterior of the house. My hands tremble and I fight to slow my rapid breaths.

  At the front, I’m surprised to see no one standing watch. I creep up the porch steps and listen. Shouts ring out, although I can’t understand them. Russian is a language I’ll never learn. I peek through the window closest to the front door.

  Her swings are short and full of urgency. Aubry is at the bottom of the stairs with a short stick, standing nearly bare between three men. Her teeth are bared like a trapped animal and blood trickles down her temple. She’s wild. Pure rage and survival. My heart kicks into overdrive. No one touches her. No one.

  My mind drills down until I can’t see anything but that what’s immediately before me.

  Door knob.

  Twist.

  Push.

  Man.

  Trigger pull.

  Man.

  Trigger pull.

  Man.

  Trigger pull.

  Aubry.

  I pause and blink away the strange sensation of rage and tunnel vision. Her shoulders quake. Tears sprout from her eyes. She hurdles at me, slamming to a stop against my chest and sucks in a pained gasp. I’m dazed but manage to wrap an arm around her and hold her to me.

  “Put the gun down.” The voice is throaty and menacing. My gaze snaps to the sound to find a pistol aimed at my head. Aubry whimpers in agony. Her wounded mewl snaps me from my stupor.

  Yuri.

  “Let us go.” My voice is firm but not menacing. He could. He could let us walk out of here.

  37

  Aubry

  Yuri’s laugh is thick sounding. “Not a chance.” They stare at each other both high on the electric charge of the moment.

  Mike seems to draw all the light and air to him. His unruly curls are tied in a bunch with a hank of shirt, and intense blue eyes shine like high beams as he glares at Yuri. My limbs cling to him and my eyes wildly dart between the two men and the carnage on the floor around us.

  Mike came for me.

  “How did you think this would end, Mike?” Yuri asks.

  Mike squeezes my front to his torso. “With you out of the picture.”

  Yuri laughs again. “That sounds strangely like what I had in mind.”

  Stressful moments are weird. Time slows down. Senses become heightened. Everything moves in a way that almost seems choreographed. The shot rings out before I register that it’s even been fired. Mike violently stumbles out of my grasp. I know the scream piercing the silence between the three of us is mine, yet I don’t feel it. I’m clawing at air, being hauled backward. I slam against something mushy but solid and howl in despair. Mike lies on the ground, part of the carnage now. Choking on sobs, I struggle to breathe. An arm grips tight around my shoulder and chest.

  “We’re leaving,” Yuri grunts. Panic grips me. I bite at his arm across my chest. The exertion of it making me grunt like a feral animal. He yelps but his grip doesn’t loosen. I stomp on the top of his foot. I kick awkwardly behind me at him. Clawing at his arm as he mutters under his breath, trying to keep control, I lose all semblance of sanity. He’s dragging me into the kitchen while cursing at me in Russian, and I fight with everything I have. But he’s big. So big. And strong. And I’m still not one hundred percent recuperated from before. I clutch the doorframe to stop him from gaining any more distance from the foyer when I notice Mike. He’s wobbling, but standing. Clutching a gun in one hand and his thigh with the other. His pants are soaked red. Sirens ring out in the distance and I wonder who had the forethought to call the police.

  Surely not Mike.

  He lifts his arm and takes aim at, me, because I am blocking Yuri. I pull harder on the door frame to get out of Yuri
’s grasp but it’s futile. “Shoot!” I scream. Mike balks at the command and shakes his head.

  “Motherfucker! Just shoot!” Whatever hint of doubt Mike had before disappears at my tone of voice. I duck my chin to my chest and wait for the searing pain to come.

  The pressure of Yuri’s arm disappears and suddenly I’m free falling forward. I catch myself on the floor by the heels of my hands. When I look up Mike is skidding to a stop on his knees in front of me. His hands roam my head, neck and shoulders, furiously—searching.

  “Are you hurt?” He tugs his shirt over his head, then pulls it down over mine. I slip my arms into the sleeves before adhering myself to him and shaking my head into his chest. “Are you sure?” His hands still seek wounds but I don’t feel any pain.

  “You didn’t hit me.” I pull back, peeling myself from him and glance over my shoulder. Yuri lies flat on his back, a hole in his face. A shudder rips through my body.

  “Don’t look,” Mike says pulling my chin to face him.

  “You came,” I whisper. Distant sirens are now flashing lights close enough to see. “What do we do?”

  He smiles agonizingly at me. “Nothing. We wait, I guess. There are two more bodies outside. Just know Aubry, that I love you.”

  Dawning bitch-slaps me painfully, he’s saying goodbye. I look around frantically at the mess surrounding us. Blood and bodies. Thinking on the fly I push away from him, gnaw on my bottom lip and devise a plan.

  “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.” I push past him toward the door.

  “Wait, Aubry, what are you doing?” he calls after me.

  38

  Mike

  The crime-scene investigators troop through the entranceway. They cross the gravel courtyard and to come into the house. I’ve left a trail of mistakes. They glare at me from every corner of the entryway. I push myself against the wall and avert my eyes as the techs from the medical examiner’s office take Aubry’s captors away in body bags.