by Wendy Byrne
"I met this guy, Francois, on the internet. He said he was studying in Paris and dabbled in modeling. It sounded so…fun. We had a lot of things in common. My parents were pressuring me to stay in college. I wanted to travel." A trickle of a tear slid down her cheek. "I figured I could do both."
Her story sounded familiar. The name and the ploy used were different, but the results were the same. "It's not your fault, Liz."
A sob traveled through Liz's body. "Francois said he wanted to meet me. I took the train into New York. The next thing I remember is waking up here…I'd give anything to be back home right now."
Before Sabrina could respond, a man threw open the door. "I see our guests are awake." With thick, dark hair and beady eyes, he looked to be around thirty-five or so, and spoke English with a German accent.
Sabrina brought her knees closer to her chest to at least partially hide her nakedness. "You might need to work a bit on your hosting skills, Marco or Francois, or whatever your name is today." She stared back at him and immediately determined what she'd already suspected. He didn't have the swagger of a man who might run this type of operation. And most times the Man-in-Charge didn't like to get his hands dirty. This guy was definitely a middleman. Probably one of many at Trinity Modeling Agency. But if she could stay here long enough to break into his records, she might be able to figure out where they'd taken Caitlyn.
He bit off a cynical laugh. "A sharp tongue won't serve you well where you're headed." He shook his head and smirked. "But I'm guessing you're one that has to learn that the hard way."
"And I'm sure, based on your looks, you have a hard time getting dates. But kidnapping, really?" She needed to think. And apparently she needed to think fast.
"Your smart mouth is going to get you in trouble." Marco stalked close enough that Sabrina thought he might hit her. The deep creases in his forehead told her he was angry, but he had enough restraint to keep from acting on it.
She'd become accustomed to physical pain over the years. And right now a part of her welcomed it like the comfort of an old friend. Wounds healed over time: broken bones mended, scars faded, muscles became strong again.
"It's freezing down here. We need blankets." She wanted to rattle him and figured asserting herself might be one way to do it.
Liz shivered and made a moaning sound, making Sabrina all the more aware of her own words and their impact. Fear radiated like a sound wave off Liz's body, bouncing off the walls of this dungeon-like place.
Another man hissed as he walked inside the room. Sabrina couldn't determine if it was anger or frustration fueling his movements as he dropped blankets over both of them.
"If they catch pneumonia, they won't be worth shit," the man recited in perfect German.
His look intensified as he examined her as if searching for any chink in her façade. Goosebumps rode down her arms as she fought through the inspection thrown her way. At least for right now, the bone-chilling cold sweeping through her body had abated a bit.
"Always worried about the bottom line, Evan. I like that. But they'll be long gone before pneumonia sets in." Marco let loose a creepy chuckle.
Sabrina kept her face impassive. They didn't need to know she understood every word they'd said. Feigning ignorance might help her survive this ordeal.
Evan took a position next to Marco, hands clasped behind his back in military fashion. Unlike Marco, Evan didn't look German. Even though he spoke the language perfectly, there was something off—the slightest pause that might not be obvious to most people, but it gave her a clue. Definitely not his first language. In Europe that wasn't saying much. Most people spoke several languages. She spoke English, French, German, Italian, a mishmash of Serbian, Croatian, and Bosnian, and knew a little Czech as well.
With her plans for escape, she had to weigh her opponents carefully. Look into their eyes, Saby. Study their body language. Examine their weaknesses so you may be victorious.
Evan was tall and muscular; probably at least six inches or more taller than Marco. Definitely bodyguard size, and had that intimidation face down to a T. His eyes told the real story. There was something in the way he stared that differed from the maniacal look in Marco's eyes. She liked to think she'd spotted a hint of compassion there, but that might be pure folly on her part.
As a physical threat, he would be a challenge. Much more so than Marco, based on size alone. But with timing, skill, and a whole lot of luck, she could do it if the opportunity presented itself.
Marco would be the easier mark, although she doubted he would ever put himself in a position of vulnerability. He definitely had a bit of a paranoid vibe emanating around him. Maybe drugs. Maybe pressure from those above him on the food chain. She couldn't tell for sure.
"Where are we?" If she knew for certain their location, she'd have a thread to hang on to. Right now that was all she craved so she could plan an escape for Liz, and information gathering for her.
Marco sized her up, as if contemplating whether to give her the information, before he finally spoke. "My home in Austria."
Confirmation of what she'd assumed. That meant connections to people who could be bought or blackmailed. Even though she'd suspected as much, an organization this big could make her and anyone they wanted to disappear pretty quickly. Which only meant she needed to act fast if she hoped to save Caitlyn.
"And me without my passport. Guess you'll have to take me back to the States," Sabrina said.
"Very funny. You're quite a comedian, Grace, aren't you?" He placed his hands on his hips and eyed her.
"And you're just a flunky, aren't you, Marco?"
He moved in close. So close she could see the flaring of his nostrils and smell the coffee on his breath. "I'm somebody who could make your life a living hell should I so choose."
"Into sex trafficking?" She winced, knowing the impact her words would have on Liz. While no doubt the girl knew where this whole thing was headed…denial is a very powerful tool to the human psyche. Petrovich 101. Don't let yourself get sucked into it.
"Bing. Bing. Bing. Very clever girl."
"Not all that clever. Waking up naked and shackled was a big clue."
"But after all the trouble you gave my men, you should consider yourself lucky to be alive." He chuckled at his own vile personal joke.
This cat-and-mouse game was starting to get wearisome. Her stomach growled, signaling its thoughts. "Grateful is not quite the word I'd use."
He laughed again, the sound much more menacing this time. "You should be. You damn near killed me with the knife hidden in your clothing."
"I would have been successful if I wasn't strung out on the drugs you gave me." A vague recollection of pulling her knife trailed around her brain like a whisper.
He bit out a laugh. "It's your fault you're here."
"A little twist on the blaming the victim."
"You modern American women, always ready to claim victim when in fact we both know that's not true."
"So we're both clear, I'm nobody's victim. But to make this whole thing fair, you could un-handcuff me. Believe me—that would separate the men from the boys, so to speak."
He laughed again, the cynical sound reverberating within the confines. "I'm no fool."
"That's funny, I was thinking the opposite."
"I haven't been around this long without having the ability to size people up. Maybe I'm a soft touch…maybe you remind me of somebody. After your display in New York, it's your luck I thought I might find a use for you, besides feeding the fish. Given the proper incentive and motivation, and maybe a few choice drugs, I'm sure you'll be more than willing to cooperate with anything asked of you. Besides, some of my clients enjoy their women with a little spunk."
Sabrina gritted her teeth and denied the vile implication. "I'm feeling awfully cooperative right about now." Her fingers flexed while she tried to restore blood flow. Even though she was playing into his hands, she couldn't help herself. She needed to tone down the rhetoric and conce
ntrate on being a sheep. But that had never been part of her makeup. And it seemed that even having been half drugged out of her mind, it hadn't been either.
Marco drew in a breath, "What do you want, Grace?"
"Right now I gotta pee. I'm losing circulation in my arms and legs, and I'm damn uncomfortable." She tsked, rolling her shoulders.
"I'll show you I can be reasonable." He flicked his finger in a command gesture. "Evan, escort these ladies to the bathroom."
"Wait a minute. I'm not being picky, but taking a leak is a solitary kind of moment," Sabrina said. She needed time to plan and another place to search for a weapon, or at least something to get rid of these shackles binding her.
Marco shrugged. "Don't be confused by my friendly demeanor. I always take the necessary precautions."
Without further word, Evan helped both her and Liz to their feet and unlocked the chains tethering them. The blankets he'd covered them with earlier slipped to the floor, and he brought them up around their shoulders once again.
"Where did you put those clothes, Marco? They might as well get dressed while they're in there," Evan said.
Before Marco could respond, the walkie-talkie clipped to his side sputtered to life. The conversation began with a string of English expletives then reverted to Czech. While it was hard to catch every word, Sabrina picked up the gist of what was said.
Something about getting the women ready and making sure they behaved. Neither comment made her happy. Marco didn't seem real happy either. Maybe he didn't trust her, or maybe he didn't like being told what to do.
That Evan guy remained impassive, staring at some spot on the wall as he awaited further orders. His hands laced behind his back, he presented the epitome of tough and in charge. Once again, she calculated her odds with him as an opponent. He would not be an easy mark.
Marco's conversation on the walkie-talkie came to an abrupt halt. Another man appeared at the door seconds later. Dressed in dirty fatigues and boots, his hair a greasy mess, he looked downright nasty. A scar cut through his left cheek to the corner of his lip, stopping in a ragged half-circle right under his eye, almost as if someone had attempted to remove it. Based on the leer he graced upon both her and Liz, Sabrina could understand why.
Pig.
Scar Man handed Evan the clothes, but he kept an intimidating eye on Liz. Sabrina felt powerless.
But as the Scar Guy left, Sabrina found something to admire. Strapped on the guy's back, like a big old present on Christmas morning, was an AK-47. If anybody could figure out how to relieve him of that, it was her.
HARD TO KILL
available now!