Say the Word
Page 42
Smash-Nose laughed. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“Where are you taking me?” I tried again.
“Boss wants to see you,” Smash-Nose gloated.
“That wasn’t my question.”
He tapped the partition with the barrel of his handgun. “I don’t fucking care what your question was, bitch. Boss wants to see you. Did you really think you could just walk into Labyrinth on the arm of Boss’ fucking son and not be noticed?” He laughed in condescension, enjoying his taunting. “I guess it’s true what they say about blondes.”
“Shut up!” The Neanderthal growled at his partner, glaring daggers in his direction. “How many times do I have to fucking tell you? Don’t talk about Boss in public. Ever.”
“We aren’t in public,” Smash-Nose said, a cruel smirk crossing his face.
My hands were beginning to tingle from being held aloft, the blood struggling to circulate up my arms with each pump of my racing heart. I played Smash-Nose’s words over in my mind, struggling to comprehend his meaning.
“Boss’ son,” I whispered, my thoughts drifting to Sebastian.
Smash-Nose laughed contemptuously. “Oh, you didn’t know? You didn’t realize you’d nearly staged a little family reunion the other night?” His eyes were wide with amusement. “That’s even better!”
The Neanderthal reached out with one beefy fist and cracked Smash-Nose across the cheekbone. The smaller man cried out in pain, reaching up to cup his injured face and emitting a loud howl of pain that made me flinch in my seat.
“Senator Covington is the boss.” I hoped my voice was audible through the small phone speaker. I hoped Conor hadn’t already hung up. I hoped, somehow, that help was coming.
At my words, Smash-Nose quit his whimpering and turned his eyes to me. A smile crept across his face as he undid a latch and slid the plastic partition open. He leaned forward through the open space, his gun extended menacingly.
“You’ll see soon enough, bitch.”
That’s when everything went dark.
***
I awoke with a dull ache in my temple. Either Smash-Nose had hit me with the butt of his gun and knocked me out, or I’d been drugged. Judging by the throbbing goose-egg that had swollen my right eye half shut, I was willing to bet it had been the former.
I cracked my eyes open, surprised to find that I was in a well-appointed parlor of sorts. The room was small but fully furnished with red velvet drapes shielding the window and an ornate, white Victorian-style sofa directly across from me. The priceless Persian rug beneath the legs of my chair was lush, its vibrant red strands thickly woven into a breathtaking pattern. On my right, I saw a small dining table with seating for four. On my left was what appeared to be a closed door, constructed of the thick insulated metal I imagined one might find inside a cold-storage meat locker or a deep-sea submarine. The strange door was totally out of place amidst the refined furniture adorning the room — welded with rounded edges and set deeply into the wall, it was more industrial than Victorian chic. In place of a traditional knob was a broad metal lever that looked like it had to be rotated if one was to open the portal.
The odd door made me wonder where I’d been taken, but I didn’t dwell on those thoughts for long. As far as I was concerned, an exit was an exit — and getting out of here was my only concern at the moment.
Disoriented, I tried to stand but soon found that I couldn’t move. The fog began to clear from my mind as I looked down and saw that my hands had been bound behind me, the thin cords holding them looped through the wooden rungs at the back of my chair. I pulled with all my strength, but the ropes didn’t give in the slightest — the more I tugged, the harsher they dug into my wrists.
I inhaled deeply and tried to get my bearings. I was still in my gown and heels but my purse was on the small table next to the sofa, nearly ten feet away. My phone was nowhere to be seen, either still lying on the back seat of a taxicab somewhere in the city or tucked into my clutch. I twisted in my chair, trying to get a look at my right wrist to see if I was still wearing the tracking bracelet Conor had given me, but I couldn’t crane my neck enough to tell.
My heart began to pound as I realized how perilous my situation was. I knew, at any moment, that door might open and the man who walked through would be more than happy to make me suffer.
And Andrew Covington had made me suffer more than enough for one lifetime.
I’d never be able to turn the door lever with my hands bound. But if my cellphone was still inside that clutch, I might be able to call for help before anyone returned to check on me. It was a long shot — but it was also my only shot at escape.
With that thought, I took a deep inhale and tried to rise to my feet with the chair still strapped to my back. My heeled feet wobbled as they attempted to support the awkward, crouched position I’d heaved my body into, and within seconds the chair legs smacked back down against the carpeted floor with a low thud that made me wince. I froze, listening for sounds of anyone approaching. When a minute passed in unbroken silence, I tried again.
Rocking my body forward, I rose once more, bending my torso nearly parallel to the ground. I teetered slightly but managed to steady myself, holding my breath as I focused on remaining upright and not tripping over the long train of my gown. In a series of slow, shuffling steps, I made my way across the rug with my eyes trained on the carpet’s sumptuous weaving. After what felt like an eternity I reached my destination, the small sofa table coming into view inches below my nose.
Taking care not to move too fast and jeopardize my precarious balancing act, I leaned forward slightly, opened my mouth, and clamped down on my small clutch, my teeth digging into the bejeweled fabric. Suppressing the small flare of hope in my chest, I retraced my shuffling steps back to my original spot and dropped the chair legs to the ground.
I sighed. Now, for the tricky part.
Once my chair was back in place, I maneuvered my body as far forward as I could manage on the seat, creating a small gap of space between my back and the rungs of the chair, where my hands had been bound. I took a deep breath through my nose to steady myself and took aim, tossing my chin and releasing the bag from its hold between my teeth.
My heart skipped a beat as I watched my small clutch drop like a stone through the air, landing on the edge of the seat and nearly tumbling to the floor, where it would be both useless and unreachable. When the dangling bag steadied on the brink, I exhaled in relief and shifted backwards on the chair once more, using my body to maneuver the bag, inch by inch, away from the edge.
When my fingers brushed the jeweled satin, I nearly wept with relief.
Pulling the clutch between the rungs, I worked at the zipper, my tied hands making it difficult to gain purchase on the fabric. In my clumsy attempts, I almost dropped the purse to the floor and lost my only chance at freedom. When I finally managed to work the zipper open, I was disheartened to feel nothing but satin and plastic inside.
No cellphone.
I fought off a scream of frustration as my only escape method went out the window. I was tied to a chair, totally defenseless, about to face the man who haunted my nightmares. And I was armed only with a clutch purse and Simon’s plastic “emergency kit” of makeup supplies.
My breath caught in my throat.
The “emergency kit.” Hadn’t Simon said there was a sewing set inside? A pair of scissors?
The ropes binding my hands weren’t too thick — with enough sawing, even a small pair of scissors might be able to cut through. With newfound energy, my fingers tugged at the clutch. Closing my eyes to better sort the shapes inside, I opened the plastic bag. I felt a small, smooth tube — the mascara — as well as a thicker, indented tube — the roll of breath mints. My fingertips scraped against several stick-like things — makeup brushes — and finally came to rest on something cool and metallic.
Scissors.
I smiled as I worked them from the bag and pushed my clutch back through the rungs onto the seat so I c
ould devote all my concentration to slicing the small blades against my bindings. The smile dropped from my face when I heard the scrape of metal on metal, my head twisting left to watch as the door lever twisted counterclockwise and the thick portal swung inward.
Smash-Nose stood in the doorway, grinning. “Boss is here.”
He stepped aside to allow the “Boss” to enter the room and winked at me through the crack as he pulled the door closed with a metallic boom. I sat immobile, blinking like an idiot, as I came face to face with the ringleader of the Labyrinth organization. My wide, disbelieving gaze swept from the immaculately styled blonde hair to the icy blue eyes, which hadn’t changed in the near decade since I’d last seen them. I struggled to reconcile what I was seeing with what I knew to be true.
The “Boss” was Judith Covington.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Now
Judith stared at me with the cool gaze I remembered so well. She strode several feet into the room, her black sling-back heels clicking quietly against the carpeted floor. Her navy pantsuit was pristine — not a single wrinkle marred the elegant outfit, as though she’d just stepped off the runway at a fashion show.
“Lux.” Her tone was cordial and disapproving all at once. “I thought you’d learned your lesson seven years ago about what happens when you stick your nose places it doesn’t belong.”
I blinked at her, stunned. “You’re the Boss.” I couldn’t quite keep the note of incredulity from creeping into my tone.
She laughed, a brittle sound ringing out in the small room, and walked over to the white settee. She sat and crossed her legs in a polished gesture. “You say that with such surprise. Why is that, I wonder?”
“You’re exploiting innocent girls. It was bad enough when I thought it was your husband, doing this. But for a woman to be the leader of this kind of organization…. To do this to other women…” I trailed off, staring at her as disgust twisted my features into a grimace. “It’s the worst kind of evil there is.”
Judith’s eyes went arctic. “My husband doesn’t have the brains to run an organization like Labyrinth. He was far too busy with his whores and his mistresses to do his own job in the capital, let alone take the helm of a multi-tiered institution.”
“How could you do this?” I asked, my eyes narrowing on the woman seated across from me. “Why would you do this?”
“It’s so very short sighted of you to ask me that question. Why? Why would I do this?” She leaned forward, her voice intent and her eyes suddenly gleaming. “I’m the wife of a U.S. Senator. The arm candy. The Stepford Wife with a great complexion, good breeding, and no brains in her head. Right?” She laughed again, and I flinched at the harsh sound, my fingers clenching against something metallic. Abruptly, I realized I’d been so stupefied by Judith’s appearance, I’d forgotten I still held the scissors in my hand.
“That was my role. Sit still, stay quiet, look pretty.” Judith’s eyes narrowed. “It didn’t matter that I had twice the brains of my senator husband. I’d never have been elected. Do you know why, Lux?”
I shook my head as my fingers worked silently, angling the scissors to saw at the bonds holding my wrists. Progress was painfully slow — I knew I had to keep my arm muscles as immobile as possible to avoid detection.
“Let’s play a game,” Judith suggested, uncrossing her legs and folding her hands delicately in her lap. “For every answer you get correct, I’ll let you stay in here a little longer. Too many wrong answers, and I’ll have you taken outside. And, believe me, Lux, you don’t want to go out there until it’s absolutely necessary. Understand?”
Seeing no other options, I nodded. My right hand began to grow tired and I feared the small blade was growing duller with each stroke, but I kept sawing anyway.
“How many U.S. Senators are there?”
A third grader could’ve answered that one. “One hundred.”
Judith nodded. “Good. And when was the Senate founded?”
That was a little harder. I thought back to the history classes I’d taken in college, racking my brain for the answer. “1789?” I guessed, holding my breath until I saw Judith smile coolly.
“Someone knows her history. Very good,” she praised. “And today, more than two full centuries later, how many women have served in the Senate? Any idea?”
I swallowed roughly. I had no clue — not even the shadow of an inkling.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, finally feeling one of the bindings on my wrist begin to split.
“Well, that’s unfortunate.” Judith rose from her seat and walked to the curtained window. Pulling the velvet drapes aside, she stood before the pane. I craned my neck, but could see almost nothing in the black night outside the window. A few industrial lights, some metal fencing — nothing I could properly make out.
“It’s getting late. We’ll be leaving soon.” She turned back to face me. “The answer to my question is forty-four.”
I stared at her in silence.
“Forty-four women have served on the Senate.” She walked closer. “Not this year. Ever. In the history of our country. In two and a quarter centuries.”
“I didn’t know that,” I whispered, feeling one of the cords holding my wrists sever completely.
“There are twenty female senators serving this term. Twenty, out of a hundred. It’s considered a banner year for women.” She sat on the sofa again, glancing at her watch with a sigh. “And yet, you ask me why I would run an organization like this.”
I bunched the loosened bindings in my hands so they wouldn’t fall to the floor and give me away, sighing lightly as I felt circulation begin to return to my freed fingers. “I’m sorry, Judith, I still don’t understand how the underrepresentation of women in our government could possibly justify the things you’ve done to young, defenseless girls.”
“I’ll spell it out for you, since you’re clearly not intelligent enough to put it together yourself,” she said, her eyes coldly excited — as much emotion as I’d ever seen from her. “The answer is simple. Power.”
As she spoke, I was beginning to realize she wasn’t just a shrewd, unfeeling businesswoman — she was totally unhinged. Now that I was free from my bonds, I could make my escape at any time. But I knew the element of surprise was the only thing I had working in my favor. Plus, if I wanted to hear her motives, I needed to bide my time.
“I control Labyrinth, which means I control every secret that goes on inside its walls. I know about every major business deal and political decision before it happens. I know which senators prefer the underage brunettes, and which congressmen most enjoy the busty blondes.”
Her voice dropped to an impassioned whisper.
“There may never be equality for women in positions of power, and I may never be elected to office — but what does that matter, if I can pull the strings of the most powerful men in this country? I’m the puppeteer — the female puppeteer — who holds the end of all their chains.” She laughed. “Perhaps, if they’d been able to keep their peckers in their pants for more than twenty minutes, they wouldn’t have found themselves in this situation.”
“But… you’re talking about women’s rights. About the need for gender equality….” I shook my head in disbelief. “And, all the while, you’re snatching girls from their families and selling them to the highest bidder. How is that remotely sane?”
The smile dropped off her face. “What are the lives of a few immigrant girls in comparison to women finally, finally, having some power in this country? I shape national policy. I make sure your right to vote, to choose, to work in a professional field stay in tact. And you have the audacity to question that.” She glared at me. “You should be thanking me. Not working against me.”
Her voice dropped lower and her eyes turned to blue chips of ice. “Not turning my only son against me.”
“I had nothing to do with your son’s feelings for you.” I glared back at her. “You managed to alienate him all on your own.”
I lifted my chin and refused to give her the satisfaction of a reply.
“I’ll remove you again — but this time, I’m afraid it will be much more permanent.” She leaned forward. “You were never meant to be a part of my son’s life, you little white trash whore. Where you’re going, be sure to remember that. And, by the way, your parents?” She smiled again and I felt my heart drop into my stomach. “They’ll be out on the streets by tomorrow morning.”
Hatred swirled through my veins as I contemplated the woman before me. “No matter what you do to me,” I whispered, smiling back at her. “Sebastian will never let you back into his life. You’re toxic — you poison everything you lay your hands on. And getting rid of me will only drive him further away.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. She rose, strode quickly across the room, and cocked back her arm in preparation to slap me.
I saw the look of total surprise on her face when my own arm flew up to halt her motion midair. I rose quickly to my feet and used the momentum from her swing against her — one sharp tug in my direction sent her stumbling off balance, her heeled feet catching on my vacant chair’s legs and sending her crashing to the ground in a tangle of uncoordinated Chanel-clothed limbs. On her way down, I lifted my right knee and watched with more than a little satisfaction as her temple cracked against the unyielding bone with a harsh thud that I prayed wasn’t audible through the thick metal door. I looked down and saw her lying on the floor, silent and unmoving, and realized with a detached sort of awe that I’d knocked her unconscious.
Holy crap. That had gone way better than I’d anticipated.