by LP Lovell
“Ah, little bird.” A twisted smile pulls at his lips as his eyes flick over me. I say nothing, although a warped part of me craves this conversation, no matter how repulsive. “I hope you are finding your accommodations suitable.”
I glance at him. “I’ve had worse.”
He grins. “Ah, yes. A sex slave to the Sinaloa, but not before a stint with Alexandru Dalca.” He lifts his brows, and I inwardly flinch at the sound of The Master’s real name. My stomach churns uncomfortably. “He’s a man of rather…specific tastes, is he not?” I don’t answer, and his grin only widens. “And he does pay well.” This man is at the top of the Bratva, which makes him responsible for taking and selling me, just as he stole my sister all those years ago. I fear him almost as much as I’m disgusted by him.
“Why are you here?” I ask.
He folds his arms over his chest and leans against the wall next to the door. “Rafael D’Cruze.” My chest tightens at the sound of his name on this mans lips. “What is he to you?”
I swallow heavily, trying to force my mind to think. “He took me in when Nero bought me from the Sinaloa.”
His icy blue eyes narrow. “So he is loyal to you?”
I shrug one shoulder. “He may feel a duty of protection.”
“But you are loyal to him.”
“This has nothing to do with Rafael. He only took me in at Nero’s request. This is about my sister and Nero Verdi.”
He smirks. “I have your sister.”
That takes me off guard. “You do?”
“Yes, soon my little dove will be restored to her former glory.”
“If Una is here then why do you still want me?”
“It seems Rafael D’Cruze would like you back, but I have much better uses for you.” He claps his hands together and pushes off the wall, coming over to the cot. Sitting on the edge, he reaches out and strokes a cold finger down my cheek. “You are my little dove’s sister,” he says with almost childlike glee. “Such prize genetics. You know, children are the easiest to mold. The younger you train them, the more loyal they are. The better soldiers they become.” He sighs. “I regret that I did not find my little dove sooner.” A chill sweeps over my skin at his words. Child soldiers. It’s so wrong. “But imagine if you bred soldiers…” I freeze, my heart rate ticking up as the gravity of what he’s saying sinks in. “You will breed the next generation, little bird. Your sister will give me a child, and so will you.”
“No.” I shake my head, backing away from him, but there’s nowhere to go. Only this room.
He grabs my hand, smiling at me. “You will be well taken care of.” He says it as though this will reassure me. He stands, and I pull my trembling hands against my stomach.
“I can’t have children!” I blurt. It may be a death sentence, but I don’t care because I know what comes next.
He smiles indulgently. “Oh, you will, little bird.” He walks to the door and raps over the metal. It opens with a high-pitched squeal, and he beckons someone inside. A man steps forward, his back ramrod straight and his hands clasped behind his back.
“Sir,” the man says, his absolute undivided attention on Nicholai.
“You are to impregnate her.” He points at me, and my chest tightens until I can barely suck oxygen into my lungs. Squeezing my eyes shut, I will myself to calm, to find the numb indifference I used to fall into so easily. My pulse hammers against my eardrums in an erratic rhythm. The deafening bang of the door slamming shut echoes through my mind, and I open my eyes. The soldier is standing in the middle of the room, his expression devoid of anything whatsoever.
Marching over to me, he grabs my ankles and pulls until I’m flat on my back. He tears the tracksuit pants down my legs before unbuckling his belt. It’s methodical and detached. The panic is rising, creeping higher and higher until he presses his body between my legs. This isn’t happening. Not again. I can’t.
“Please. No.” A choked sob leaves me, and I push against him, trying to fight him off, but it‘s pointless. I’m weak and unprepared for this. He holds me down and forces himself inside me, tearing through all my barriers. My walls crumble, and my world turns to rubble in a matter of seconds. I thought I was safe. I’ll never be safe. My mind dives into a flat spin, and I start to free-fall, plummeting helplessly towards the ground so fast, I can’t even process the descent. My mind blinks, like a light flashing on and off before it finally checks out completely. I sink into the cold dark waters in the depths of my very self, allowing them to drown out everything. Instead of fighting it, I welcome the darkness with open arms, and it falls over me like a warm blanket, swaddling me in its embrace. I barely register the rigid, awkward movements of his body.
It’s over almost as quickly as it started. He simply gets up and leaves, the door slamming shut behind him. The sliding of the lock signals that I’m once again alone in my imprisonment. Awareness gradually creeps back in, and I wish it wouldn’t. Dragging myself off the bed, I make it to the toilet in the corner of the room before throwing up the entire contents of my stomach.
I thought I’d escaped this life, but now I’m right back here, forced to endure it once more. And for what? To carry a child I’m incapable of conceiving? It was the first thing The Master did: sterilize me. Nicholai wants a child, which means I will have to endure this over and over again until he realizes it’s pointless.
I slide to the ground, my bare skin hitting the concrete floor. Hopelessness consumes me again, and even though I know it’s for the best, I hate it. Squeezing my eyes shut, I think of Rafael and tears streak down my face. What would he think of me now? Even if I do ever escape this place, will he still want me when they’re done with me? This feels like a betrayal to him, and I hate that I’m not strong enough to stop this.
I hate myself.
17
Rafael
It’s been over two months since Anna was taken, and with each day that passes, I get more desperate, more despondent, and more violent. The cartel is corrupt and dangerous, but my world has never been as dark as it has the last two months. Una’s plan failed, and I’ve been trying to enact a plan B ever since. We’ve made every effort to contact Nicholai Ivanov, only to come up with nothing. The simple fact is, if he wanted to deal with me, he would. He’d rather keep Anna.
I tighten my hand around the steering wheel, the ever-present tension riding me even harder than usual tonight. “It’s here,” Samuel says quietly, breaking the silence in the car. He hands me the night vision binoculars, and I take them.
I pick up the radio and hold down the button. “Move in, get ready.” Looking through the binoculars, I see the grainy image of the cargo plane hovering only meters above the runway before the wheels bump over the ground. It barrels along the tarmac before finally slowing and coming to a halt.
The ramp at the back lowers, and several vehicles come down the runway, heading towards it. I pick up the radio again. “Grenade launchers. Snipers.”
It all happens before my eyes like a perfectly executed dance. Several grenades fire across the distance from the tree line to the approaching cars. All three vehicles explode into a huge fireball, and I no longer need night vision to see because the entire airfield is lit up. Men rush from the back of the plane only to fall like puppets with their strings snapped under the bullets of my snipers. The plane engines start up again, and I sigh. There’s always one. I watch as a lone figure darts across the runway to one of the wheels, before retreating. The plane moves forward several feet before the wheel explodes and the wings tilt at a precarious angle, the left wing colliding with the tarmac. It’s nothing but anarchy, death, and destruction, and I revel in it right now. The longer she’s gone, the less of my humanity I feel. I crave this kind of madness. I want everyone and anyone associated with the Russians eviscerated—for them to bleed and burn just as surely as I am. I’ve never been so unhinged, and I can’t find the will to give a fuck.
“Get them to load the guns,” I say to Samuel. He gets out of t
he car, and I pull away, winding the SUV through the snowy woodland on the edge of the Russian runway. It’s really too easy, all of this. No wonder the Bratva are so wealthy. The government is even more corrupt than in Mexico. Guns and drugs run through this country as plentiful as food or water. The Bratva have so much power that no one could or would stand against them. In the two months that we’ve been attacking their gun and drug shipments, I haven’t seen any police presence at all.
Of course, we don’t have to stop the drugs so much. Carlos is handling that from our end. We’ve allowed the cartels to keep selling to the Russians, keeping our involvement silent. But as soon as those shipments are past the border they’re fair game. We’ve stopped most of them, not to mention, exponentially increasing our own stocks. I’ve even had to steal my own shipments because I can’t stop supplying them, or it would raise suspicion. Dimitri is getting increasingly more fractious as his supplies continue to dwindle. Their business is suffering on all fronts, and of course, he blames Nero.
The Italian has been on the rampage, declaring war in a big way. And still, there’s no end in sight. Nicholai still has Anna and Una, but not her child. I know very little of the details, only that Una managed to get help on the inside. The child was smuggled out to Nero. You’d think that would ease him somewhat, but I think it’s done the opposite. Perhaps he has even more to fight for: his son’s mother.
The Russians are fleeing his city in droves because no one is safe from Nero’s wrath right now. All this, and still nothing. I’m starting to lose hope.
The tires of the car bump over the rough ground, and I pull onto the country road that leads away from the airstrip. I don’t pass a single car for miles until I reach the outer limits of Moscow. The barren countryside gives way to civilization, the low orange glow of street lights giving a somber air to the bleak, snowy streets.
I follow the streets, pulling the car into the driveway of a nondescript-looking house at the end of a cul-de-sac. Getting out, I traipse through the snow to the front door, my footsteps marring the white blanket. The house is cold, and I swear every floorboard creaks when I step inside. We’re renting it while we’re here in Russia. I could have left men here to stop the gun shipments, gone home to the desert and the heat, but I can’t. It’s like there’s an invisible chord bolted to my chest, attached to Anna. The further I am from her, the more I feel as though it’ll snap, and the moment it does, I don’t know what I’ll do. Being here, in Russia, I know I’m under the same sky as she is, and it brings a small comfort.
I tell myself that I need to be here. The truth is, I’ve abandoned my cartel and dragged my men up to this frozen hell and for what? My own personal obsession. They never complain though. I honestly think they’re happy if they’re getting to blow shit up and steal guns.
I toss the car keys on the old side table by the door and go to the kitchen, taking the bottle of vodka off the worktop. I unscrew the lid and tip it back, watching the bubbles drift upwards as the burning liquid trickles down my throat. I swallow several mouthfuls before setting it down and taking a cigar from my pocket. I’ve always been a man of vices, but I find them more of a crutch these days, leveling out the extremes of so much violence. This isn’t my cartel, there’s no business angle, no political agenda, no reason to be tactful in any way shape or form. As long as we get the guns, it doesn’t matter how we do it, and I find myself craving the bloodiest methods possible. Hatred for these people festers away at my soul, driving me to lose all sight of reason. And in the wake of so much unrestrained aggression, I seem to reach for the bottle, allowing it to level me out, to keep me from losing it completely. This is the vicious circle of my life without Anna—without her gentleness, her innocence. I spent a long time trying to escape the man I’d been forced to become, and she made me want to be better. Now…it’s like the free-fall into hell with nothing but fire awaiting me.
I sit there in the kitchen, drinking and smoking until the door bangs open. Samuel and ten of his men are staying here. They’re a specialized team, military, trained, regimented. They all disappear like an apparition that never existed. None of them ever linger in my presence for too long, except Sam. Maybe he’s just a glutton for punishment.
I pick up the vodka bottle and take another heavy swig, willing that hazy fog to descend and numb my mind.
“Someone will be here in the morning to pick up the guns. There’re a couple of missiles in there as well.”
I lift a brow. “Fucking Russians and their dodgy shit.”
He snorts and takes the vodka, tipping it back. “God, I hate this damn cold. How can these people live like this?”
“They’re vampires.”
He snorts. “Yeah, something like that.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I take it out, glancing at the screen. Unknown number. On a frown, I answer it.
“Yeah?”
“Rafael D’Cruze,” the man on the other end purrs in a distinct Russian accent.
“Yes?”
“I believe you’ve been trying to contact me.”
“Nicholai.” The tiniest spark of hope ignites in my chest. He’s calling, which means he must be open to a trade. Samuel stiffens beside me, his eyes locking with mine.
“I hear you have a port you are willing to trade for Anna Vasiliev.”
I rub at my throbbing temples. “I tried to contact you with that offer two months ago.”
“Oh? Well, I had other uses for her, but it seems I have no need of her.” He laughs. “Is it now off the table then, so to speak?”
“No. I want to talk to her.”
“Tsk, tsk. I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
“I need proof of life.” I hate to say it, but I don’t trust him for shit.
He laughs again. “So demanding, but I think I hold all the cards, no?”
“Do you want the port or not?”
His laughter cuts off. “Yes. My people will be in touch for a meet. Oh, and Rafael…I suggest you stop taking my guns, or I will simply kill your precious little slave.” The line cuts off, and I stare at the phone in my hand as though it’s a mirage. He’s willing to make a trade. Two months, and he’s willing to make a trade.
“Well?” Samuel asks.
“He wants to meet.”
“And proof of life?” I shake my head because I can’t stomach the idea that she might be dead, but I know it’s entirely possible. “You can’t give him too much,” Samuel says hesitantly. My fists tighten. “Not without proof. He could screw you over.”
“I know that, Sam!” I snap.
“I’m only looking out for you, Rafe, before you fucking destroy everything we’ve built. Even just giving him the use of that port will cause anarchy across the cartels.”
“I know!”
“Well, then don’t give him the deed for a dead girl.”
I pick up the vodka bottle and launch it across the room until it smashes against the worn yellow wallpaper. Liquid drips down the wall, pooling around the glass. “Don’t fucking say that,” I growl.
“You have to face the facts, Rafe!” That tiny little rational fissure of my mind knows he’s right, but it’s so drowned out by everything else.
“If she’s dead, he won’t get anything from me other than a bullet in the head.” He nods, and I get up, finding another bottle of vodka in the freezer. I go upstairs and shut myself in the drab-looking master bedroom. For the first time in a long time, I drink to the possibilities, to the fact that Anna may be within my grasp.
I send a text message to Nero.
Nicholai wants to meet and possibly trade Anna.
I toss my phone to the side and collapse back on the bed, allowing the alcohol to pull me under into a weightless sleep.
Anna stands across the other side of the pond, her blonde hair whipping around her in the warm desert breeze. I start to walk around the pond, but every time I do, she moves as well, keeping it between us.
“Avecita.”
A sa
d smile pulls at her lips, and she opens her mouth, but only silence greets me. Her face crumples, and she starts to cry, her tears morphing to blood, streaking down her beautiful cheeks.
“Anna!” I jump the low wall into the water, wading through it as I try to reach her. My fingers are a breath away from touching her when she collapses on the ground. “No!”
I jolt awake to a loud buzzing. My breaths are ragged, my heart hammering. It takes me a confused moment to locate the source of the sound. My phone dances over the wooden surface of the bedside table.
I pick it up and answer. “Yeah?” My voice is raspy and broken.
“Tell me everything.” Nero.
“He just wants to meet. I asked for proof of life. He wouldn’t let me talk to her.”
“What does he want?”
“I have a port…” I hesitate. “I got a tip-off that the Russians are looking for a foothold in Mexico. A way to get arms over the American border from the south.”
He’s silent for a moment. “Offer him whatever you have to, Rafael.” He sounds every bit as strained as I do. There’s a sound in the background, a high-pitched cry. “With Anna out of there, Una is far more likely to come back.” I feel bad for him. Anna was taken, but Una went willingly, and then sent him his baby. Does she ever intend to come back? It’s one thing to lose someone through force. It’s another when they choose to abandon you.
“I’ll do whatever I have to, to get Anna back.”
“I know.” There’s another screaming sound and Nero sighs. “I have to go. The baby’s awake.”
“I’ll keep you informed.” He hangs up, and I toss the phone on the bedside table again.
This has to work, for all our sakes. I need Anna, he needs Una, and that kid needs his mother. Everything is riding on this one tiny olive branch the Russian has extended. It’s not enough, but it’s all we have.