by Roxie Rivera
"John, man, let her go." The other guard's voice wavered with nervousness. "You know what he said about this one."
He? The man who smelled like cloves? Was he the one with all the power?
John, the mean guard clamping his hand over my mouth and nose, finally let go. I sucked in a lungful of air and sputtered. Still dazed, I couldn’t fight back as John pushed me against the wall. Sandwiched between his paunchy body and the tile wall, I could barely move.
"What's so special about you, girl? Huh?" His dirty hands moved over my naked body. Glad for the blindfold, I closed my eyes and tried to pretend I wasn't there, that this disgusting asshole wasn't putting his hands on my breasts. "Is it true this little pussy of yours hasn't been poked?"
I cringed at the filth coming from his mouth. When he tried to slide his hand between my thighs, I clawed at his arm and slapped his face. He hissed with pain and gripped my neck, squeezing so hard I thought I might pass out.
"John! Damn! Stop!" The other guard rushed toward us. "You're going to bruise her. You know they hate it when the pretty ones are bruised. This one is our big payday."
Their big payday? Oh God.
John loosened his grip on my neck but snatched my wet hair instead. He jerked me around so hard I felt hair ripping free from my scalp. A big boot smacked my bare bottom. "Get her back in her cage, Robbie."
"Come on, kid." Robbie, the other guard, took my arm and hurried me out of the bathroom. As we walked down the hall, I heard the other women again, clearer this time. How many of them were there? It sounded like so many. Dozens, maybe.
Would I soon be one of them? Would I be passed around between paying customers? My virginity, the one thing I'd guarded so carefully, the gift I'd wanted to give to my husband on my wedding night, would soon be cruelly and despicably taken from me. There would be no love, no gently spoken words and soft caresses. I'd be taken roughly and harshly, abused and beaten.
"Hey, kiddo, it won't be so bad for you."
Even though I couldn't see him because of the blindfold, I whipped my gaze toward Robbie. Was this guy insane?
"You're not going to one of the brothels. They're going to put you on the auction block. Some rich old bastard will buy you. I hear they treat some of these slave girls really nice."
Really nice? I wanted to puke. How could a man grow so callous? How could he keep all of us locked up here and not think about what the hell he was doing? Didn't he see us as human beings? Were we just a commodity to be sold and traded?
Shoved back in my cage, I slid into the far corner and hugged my knees to my chest. Still shivering with cold and soaking wet, I rubbed my hands up and down my naked skin. The door to my cage opened unexpectedly and a towel was shoved against my hand. I snatched it quickly and hurriedly dabbed at my slick skin.
But, as I dried my hair, I couldn't help but wonder if I wouldn't have been better off letting myself die from hypothermia. Would that have been a kinder, gentler end than what I faced once they sold me?
The sobs I'd been able to hold at bay suddenly broke free. I draped the towel around my shoulders in a desperate search for some warmth and dropped my forehead to my crossed arms. I cried into the small hollow between my folded knees and arms.
I'd find a way to make it through this. I wasn't as weak as everyone seemed to think. Somehow, someway, I'd survive whatever awaited me.
But not knowing whether or not Nikolai had survived the attack threatened to crush my spirit. I desperately wanted to believe he was alive. If any man in the whole world could survive that nasty beating and stabbing and live to rescue me, it was Nikolai. He'd do anything to get me back. Anything.
I only wished I'd been brave enough to tell him how much I loved him.
Chapter Six
Fighting to surface through the haze of drugs and pain proved more difficult than Nikolai had expected. He came awake in the early morning. The grey skyline visible through the hospital window had only started to lighten. Try as he might, he couldn't concentrate long enough to stay awake. The strong arms of sleep dragged him back down into the silent abyss.
When he managed to surface again sometime later, Nikolai thought for sure he was dead. There was no other explanation for the sounds of prayer filling his ears. Blinking, his vision cleared enough for him to spot the darkly garbed man sitting at his bedside. Drugged and foggy from the head trauma, it took him a few moments to recognize the man as Father Semyon, Vivian's priest.
Why the hell would a priest visit him? A terrifying thought struck. Was Vivian dead? Had the holy man come to break the news to him?
Pain tore through Nikolai's gut and punched his heart. "No!"
"Easy," Father Semyon urged and took his hand. "You're all right. You must rest. She needs you whole."
Calmed somewhat by the priest's assertion that Vivian still needed him, Nikolai succumbed to the lull of the familiar Russian chants of the older man's prayers.
The next time his eyelids fluttered apart he spotted Ivan sitting next to his hospital bed. His slight movement drew his friend's attention. In an instant, Ivan was on his feet and leaning across him. "Kolya?"
His hand trembled and felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds as he tried to grasp the front of Ivan's shirt. "Vanya, they took her."
Ivan's harsh face turned sympathetic. "I know."
"Ransom?"
"Nothing yet."
Ivan's answer stabbed through his gut like a hot knife. If this wasn't about money…
"We have to find her."
Ivan gripped his hand. "We're looking. Everyone is looking. Dimitri, Kostya, Santos and the police—we're all looking for her. Yuri put out a reward. We'll find her. You have to rest."
"I have to get up." He tried to push himself into a sitting position but the medications dripping into his veins left him woozy and weak. Scowling at the IV lines running out of his arms, he reached over to rip them out, but Ivan's powerful hand stopped him.
"No. You're no good to her like this. Rest. Heal."
Nikolai started to fight Ivan but the bastard hit the dosing button on the medication pump. What little strength he possessed fled him as the drugs poured into his bloodstream. He angrily smacked at Ivan but it was no use. Sleep gripped him and wouldn't let it go.
But the next time he jerked awake, Nikolai immediately sensed something was different. His entire body throbbed with pain. The top of his aching head threatened to pop off at any moment. He hissed as the raging discomfort made his stomach churn.
Out of nowhere, a hand holding a pink plastic basin appeared. Bracing his gut with his arm, Nikolai retched into the basin. His whole body protested with spasms that cut him to the very core.
"Are you finished?"
Nikolai lifted his bleary gaze to Detective Santos' stony face. Wiping at his mouth, Nikolai nodded. "Da. Yeah."
"I know you're in pain and I'm almost sorry for it, but I had to shut off the drugs. I need you awake." Santos dropped the basin in the sink across the hospital room. "Can you walk?"
"I'll crawl if I have to," Nikolai growled and jerked the sheet from his body.
"We don't have a lot of time. Dimitri and Ivan are out there running interference with the nurses and the rookie posted to your room." Santos slid an arm around Nikolai's shoulders and helped him to the edge of the bed. He backed away long enough to grab a plastic bag filled with clothes. "One of your men gathered your things."
Nikolai cast an untrusting eye toward the detective. "Why are you helping me?"
"Because you're the best chance I've got of getting my cousin back. Even if you did lose her," Santos added angrily.
"I didn't lose her. She was taken from me." The vise-like grip around his heart tightened as the memory of her terrified scream ricocheted in his head. It was a sound he would never forget.
Nikolai grabbed the bag and dropped it onto the bed. He'd been in hospitals enough times to know how to remove his catheter and IV. Moving slowly, he embraced the discomfort that accompanied every twitch
of his battered muscles. He deserved those gut-twisting jabs of pain for putting Vivian at risk and failing to protect her and keep her safe.
Why had he asked Sergei to bring her to the warehouse? Why had he picked a fight with her over the paintings? Why hadn't he fought harder to protect her? How could he let those monsters take her?
Distraught with his failures, he finished dressing. Putting on his shoes nearly made him black out but he pushed through the pain. The detective peered around the door long enough to ascertain they were in clear before waving his hand for Nikolai to follow. Still a bit woozy, Nikolai put a hand to the wall for support as he slipped out of his hospital room.
Looking back, Santos shot him a brief glower of irritation. The detective reluctantly put an arm around Nikolai's shoulders to help him move faster. He grudgingly accepted Santos' aid.
Out in the cold, wet December night, he found Kostya and Sergei waiting near an SUV parked in the loading zone around the rear of the hospital. Not a word was spoken as they climbed into the SUV. He hissed with pain and put a stabilizing hand against his ribs.
"Here." Kostya shoved a couple pills and a bottle of water into his hand. "Take these. They'll help with the pain but keep your mind clear."
He trusted the medicine dropped into his palm. Before coming here, Kostya had been a biochemist who worked research and development in one of Europe's mega pharmaceutical firms. His keen knowledge of science was the key to his excellence in the field of cleaning.
A few blocks from the hospital, three different cars joined them, each one packed with his soldiers and captains. Voice gravelly, he ordered, "Tell me everything, Kostya."
"There isn't much to tell." Kostya didn’t sugarcoat it. "We've gone to the usual suspects. Everyone is talking. They're all scared shitless that they'll be blamed or caught in the crossfire. No one has given us anything good until now." Kostya turned in his seat. "And the old man called twice. He's threatening to send Grisha."
The last complication Nikolai needed was Maksim, their boss, sending one of the Moscow boys down to Houston. Though Grisha had been the man who brought Nikolai into the family fold as a teenager, he didn’t trust the captain to keep this nightmare from spiraling out of control.
Grisha had always been the type to favor a violent answer to every problem. Once, Nikolai had been that stupid and immature but with age came wisdom. He'd learned that the best way to handle these types of situations was calmly and quietly.
More distressingly, Maksim had been signaling his displeasure with the way Nikolai ran Houston. While Nikolai had been consciously moving their syndicate into cleaner, easier business, Maksim had been looking to grow into riskier, higher earning areas. Nikolai's refusal to open Houston to some of those opportunities hadn't gone over well with the old man.
If Maksim thought this was his chance to wrest control from Nikolai's hands, he was dead wrong. Nikolai knew his men. This would push them closer together. They would rally around him now.
"You let me handle the old man." He gestured toward Sergei with a tip of his chin. "Where are we headed?"
"Besian called. He says he has something you'll want to see."
The Albanian wasn't the kind of man who would waste Nikolai's time. More importantly, Kostya and Sergei wouldn't have let the detective break him out of the hospital if this lead wasn't promising.
He glanced at Vivian's cousin. The younger man looked as if he hadn't slept in days. His tense expression told the story. "The Marshals intercepted a call between someone in the Calaveras' club house and Romero. It was a quick call and a simple message. 'He has her.' It's useless as far as intel goes but I thought you'd want to know."
"Not that useless," Nikolai murmured. "He? Romero knows who has his daughter. He was probably expecting her to be taken."
"Do you think he set it up?" Santos hesitated. "Maybe prison has softened the old bastard. He might have had her snatched up to keep her safe while he makes whatever move he's planning to make by flipping."
He snorted derisively. "A man who used his child to run drug shipments around Houston doesn't suddenly grow a conscience in prison."
"I suppose you are the authority on the intersection of conscience and prison terms."
Nikolai let the dig slide. Instead, he insisted, "Romero didn't take early release from the pen just because he wanted to flip on his old crew. He's running another game, a game those Marshals probably don't even suspect."
"I'm sure they've studied it from every angle. They wouldn't have given him a deal otherwise."
"And I'm sure that police officers and lawyers don't think like criminals." Irritation laced his voice. "You have to stop thinking with your cop brain. What does a man like Romero want?"
"Money? Power?"
"Yes, but he also wants something even more precious. He wants freedom."
Santos blinked. "Freedom? From prison?"
"Nothing that simple," Nikolai replied. "You can't possibly understand it but there's a heavy price that's paid for a life like Romero's. He's fifty years old but he's still got someone yanking on his goddamn chain and telling him what to do. How high to jump and how fast. It wears on a man. It makes him hungry for freedom. For the chance to make his own decisions."
Santos studied him. "And what's the price of freedom these days?"
"Too high," Nikolai murmured. Glancing out the window, he remembered what Ivan had survived to get out of the life. Despite Nikolai's attempts at shielding his friend and lessening the pain involved with clawing his way out of the family, Ivan had suffered terribly. The beating he'd taken at the hands of his own crew had been one that most men would not have survived.
Shrugging off those terrible memories, Nikolai thought of Vivian. "They took her to show me and Romero that we're not in control. This is about fear and power."
Santos laughed harshly and in disbelief. "Is there someone out there that scares you? That scares Romero?"
"We all have our boogeymen." He glanced at the detective. "Even you." He considered where they were headed. "Do you understand what happens if you stay with us tonight?"
Santos held his gaze for a long moment before turning back to his window. "Tonight, I'm not a cop. I'm just a man trying to save his family."
Nikolai understood the detective's motivation but he wouldn't allow the man to cross that line. When they had Vivian safely home, she would never forgive him if she learned he'd allowed her cousin to compromise his career and his personal integrity.
Sergei drove them to one of the repair garages the Albanians used as a front for their chop shop trade. They pulled into one of the bays. A couple of men in mechanic's overalls tugged on the overhead chains to lower the doors and give them privacy.
Though his body throbbed mercilessly and his head pounded, Nikolai climbed out of the SUV without allowing a hint of his pained state to cross his face. He made his way to the center of the garage where Besian waited. Flanked by their men, they greeted one another with silent looks.
"Shit." Besian winced at the sight of him. "They really did fuck you up." His gaze shifted to Santos. Eyes narrowed, he asked, "Why the hell is he here?"
"I didn’t realize I needed your permission to conduct my business as I see fit."
Besian put up his hands. "No need to be so touchy."
Not in the mood for chit-chat, Nikolai cut to the chase. "Do you have information on Vivian or not?"
Before Besian could answer, a side door opened. Sergei and Kostya, both on edge, immediately pulled their weapons. The sight of guns drawn from jackets spurred Besian's crew to do the same.
"Hey! Wait!" Besian stepped to the side, putting his body in the line of fire. "I promised Lorenzo Guzman this guy would have safe passage. If you want to kill him, do it on your own turf. For now, he's protected."
Julio Jimenez, one of the Guzman Cartel reps, stepped out of the office with both hands held high. Nikolai had worked with Julio when trying to secure Joe Cruz's release from the cartel's clutches. If Lorenzo had g
iven an order to take out Nikolai and kidnap Vivian, Julio would have been the man who carried it out.
And Eric Santos knew that. The detective stepped forward but Nikolai managed to stop him with a stern look. Reminded of his place, Santos clenched his jaw and stepped back into line.
To show that he was unarmed, Julio slowly spun around while lifting his shirt. "I'm only here to talk."
Nikolai flicked his fingers. Sergei and Kostya lowered their weapons but didn't holster them. Besian's crew followed suit.
Showing some reluctance, Julio joined them at the center of the garage. He swept both hands out in front of him before declaring, "We had nothing to do with this. We don't want trouble with you. Lorenzo wanted me to assure you that we're interested in protecting and continuing the business relationship we've enjoyed."
"You can tell El Jefe that until my Vivian is safely delivered there will be no business. Me entiendes?"
"Absolutely," Julio replied with a saccharine grin.
"If I find out the Calaveras were behind this attack and kidnapping, I'm going to put an end to that club."
"We understand that's the cost of doing business—but I can assure you the club wasn't behind this."
Nikolai studied Julio. The man was as slick as they came but he had a clear tell. Tonight, Nikolai didn’t see it. Julio was telling the truth—or, at least, what he knew to be the truth. "We'll see."
A strange noise startled all of them. Their gazes snapped to the maroon sedan nearby. This time the noise that emanated from the trunk was louder and easily identified as a man shouting into a gag.
He glanced at Besian. "What's in there?"
"Your gift," the Albanian answered with a smile. "And my reward."
He arched an eyebrow. "Reward?"
Kostya cleared his throat. "Yuri offered a big reward for information on Vivian. It was triple for her safe return."