by Gray Gardner
“Just wait. Just calm down.”
“I will not calm down!” she shouted, grabbing her hair and staring at the door.
“You need to remember what you’ve learned!” he shouted, trying to be heard over her shrieks. “You learned how to render a man unconscious, right?”
She paused and thought back to her lessons in the basement of the CIA facility in Langley. “Well, y-yes.”
“Then knock the fucker out, undress, and lay next to him so he thinks you… whatever… and then fell asleep. You control it. Don’t let him get the upper hand.”
See? Even big bad Connor couldn’t bring himself to say it. Several profanities popped into her head, but she knew she shouldn’t say any of them. She sighed heavily and stared at the wall.
“Connor, I’ve seen horrible things.”
“Just, kid, I know, and if I could come in and rescue you I would, but these agents seem to think that you’re capable of doing this. And I know you are.”
She smiled and looked down at her shiny black shoes. He always knew how to make her feel good. He knew she could do it. And she could. She had to.
Then she suddenly remembered something.
“Mr. Wolinski, Brent Tracy and some guy named Manny.”
The lock on the door clicked.
“In a port city in Florida!” she quickly said, hanging up and sitting up straight as an attractive man in his forties walked into the room. He didn’t look like he needed to buy sex.
“Katya?” he asked, setting his coat down on a chair and smiling.
She looked at the floor and nodded. Her stomach flipped. Oh God, she couldn’t do this. Why did she ever join the Army? Why couldn’t she have eaten tubs of ice cream and watched chick flicks when her fiancé cheated on her? Why did she always have to be so damned different?
The man sat next to her and placed a very forward hand on her leg. “Don’t be afraid of me.”
Definitely American English. He had a nice suit and an expensive tie on. She didn’t know why that made him creepier but it did.
“Just sit here next to me and we’ll talk for a little while, okay, honey?”
She nodded but couldn’t look at him. For some reason, she was afraid she’d start crying if she did. She wasn’t getting paid enough for this shit.
“Do you speak English?” he finally asked.
Oh man, she’d been acting like she’d understood him this whole time. Stupid! She slowly nodded and gave him a slight smile this time. Maybe it would throw him off.
“Do you understand what I’m saying or are you fresh off the boat?”
She nodded, and he finally gave a short laugh. She felt relief for a second, then stiffened when his hand ran up her thigh. Ew. Ew. Ew.
He leaned over to push her back on the bed and she squealed as she leapt to her feet and applied pressure at the nape of his neck, pressing her forefinger and thumb in the precise locations that would knock a man of his size clean out.
He fell back in a limp pile on the bed. She danced around the room for a couple of seconds, swiping his germs off of her sleeves and legs as she tried to regain her composure.
“Gross, gross, gross!” she cried, pacing around and trying to calm down. She rubbed her shaking hand over her eyes as she tried to devise a plan. Anyway she looked at it, though, Connor was right.
Slowly and painstakingly, she pulled off her dress, leaving her white bra and panties on, kicked off her shoes, and slid under the covers of the bed. Then she realized he was fully clothed. Exhaling loudly, she jumped up and yanked his pants off. His wallet fell out and she got a glance at his license, as well as a glance at something else.
Ah, that’s why he needed to buy sex. She turned her head, eyes closed, and worked off his shoes and tie, then unbuttoned his shirt. Then she dove under the covers again.
He didn’t wake up for an eternity, but when he did, she rolled over and moaned.
“Katya?” he groaned, pushing up on his elbows. He held his head like it hurt.
She nodded, bashfully holding the covers up to her chin. He gave her a small grin and held her cheek, leaning down and kissing her on the mouth.
It could be worse, she told herself, trying not to look too repulsed when he finally pulled away. Ugh.
“You’re amazing, honey. Worth every penny and more,” he grinned standing up and stretching. “I wish you understood me.”
She turned her head and pretended to gather up her clothes as she tried not vomit. He quickly dressed and left after squeezing her ass. She threw her dress on and stomped her feet into her shoes as she dialed Connor’s number again.
“The john’s ID in his wallet says Mark Pollock,” she mumbled. “Pick him up and get him to talk.”
“Did he… hurt you?”
“Mark Pollock!” she shouted, slamming the phone into the bedside table before she hung it up. What did he expect? A full blow by blow? Ew.
This was miserable. She shuffled out of the room and had just entered the lobby when Wolinski greeted her. He waved at the concierge and led her out to the suburban.
“Everything go okay?” he asked, opening her door.
She nodded, trying to look pure as the driven snow, though for some reason thoughts of her passionate nights with Connor flashed in her head. She cleared her throat as she looked out of the window.
“It won’t hurt next time,” he replied, in a very self-important way.
This was ridiculous. He assumed she was a virgin. He acted so casually about taking it away, too. She continued silently staring out of the window. Asshole. When the time came, she was going to fuck him up.
Who’s The Boss
Weeks went by just like that day with Mr. Smith. Apparently, she was a popular little number and word of mouth in the kidnapped-child-sex-slave scene was spreading like a wildfire.
Men met her in that hotel, she put the ol’ sleeper hold on them, and then woke up undressed next to them with a modest yet satisfied look on her face. Unfortunately, all of the men seemed pretty white collar, like they had respectable jobs in the community. Not that it made it any worse or better, but she had seen a fair number of wedding rings and baby pictures as she undressed the johns.
She had also made a few pretty incredible discoveries in their suburbia basement prison. Since they were apparently at a high profile “service” she had recognized a couple of faces from the news and put it all together during their time in captivity.
One was the little girl, Victoria Vance, a London native on vacation with her parents and taken from the hotel room right out from under them. She was adorable and only five years old.
The second girl she recognized had caused such a media frenzy that school policies across the United States had been forever altered after she’d been kidnapped. She’d know that face anywhere, since it had been splashed for weeks on the news. It was Whitney Calloway, the girl on a senior trip to Aruba who’d just vanished one night. Shit. While Victoria’s parents were still searching for her, Burton knew Whitney’s parents had already given up. There was even a funeral.
This whole operation was entirely too big for just one agency to bring down. And they rested it all on her shoulders? Idiots. She’d need help. She’d need time and help. She stopped wondering why they’d forced her to help. There truly was no one else…no other way. They were desperate.
She had realized that it was nearly May when a john had brought a newspaper with him. When Wolinski met up with her and brought her home he told her some good news.
“You’ve impressed my boss,” he said, sharing coffee and mixed fruit with her around the kitchen counter.
She had liked this new routine, partly because it meant Wolinski liked and trusted her, but mostly because it got the attention off of the rest of the kids. She had already decided when she busted all of these inter-state operations she was going to take her inheritance and personally fund a home for these children to live in until they could find better-than-adequate homes. She would see personally to
that, too.
“And when you impress the boss, you have a meeting,” he said, eating a piece of pineapple.
Burton sipped her coffee and nodded. Just sound casual. “So when do I meet the boss?”
“Today. I’m taking you in thirty minutes.”
She tried to act indifferent, but her stomach was turning. This was it. This was the person the CIA had sent her in to nab. This would confirm their suspicions of who was behind the international child slave ring. She caught her breath as she set her coffee cup down.
Was she really ready? There was so much she needed to do. Things she wanted to do. Who would look after those kids? Who would get Victoria back to London and Whitney to Alabama?
“Don’t be nervous,” Wolinski said, looking concerned. He should be concerned. She was, after all, his prized possession.
“I’m sorry,” she choked, turning white. Oh God, she couldn’t screw this up. It was the most important day of her life. She looked desperately up at Wolinski, for some reason, for comfort.
“Okay,” he said in English, shaking his head and remembering he had to speak Russian. “Let’s go right now. I’ll get you a gelato from the street vendor.”
Ice cream. He seemed to really be trying to get her comfortable.
“That sounds good,” she quietly replied, trying to smile. Trust her, trust her, and let her go without walking her to the room, she prayed.
And he did. No blindfold as she sat in the back of the heavily tinted suburban. He gave her a five and dropped her off at the corner, repeated instructions for her to go inside and to which room while he parked the car and got fresh flowers. She nodded obediently as she leapt out of the car and happily bounced to the gelato vendor on the corner, watching as Wolinksi drove around the corner.
“What’ll it be?” the ice cream man asked.
“No English,” she replied, backing up and looking desperately around. Come on. In her experience, shady people always hung out in alleys in big cities.
She spotted a blue van with a man in a sweatshirt lingering in an alley across the street. Feeling the hundreds in her pocket she’d just lifted from the rich john the day before, she jogged over and slowly approached.
“Get out of here,” the large man with brown and gray whiskers and a black sweatshirt snapped.
She pulled the folded money out of her pocket and fanned it out with one hand. “What have you got?”
He eyed the money momentarily, glanced around, then pulled out a rack covered in various weapons from the back of the van, both legal and illegal. She sighed and looked at them, wondering what she could actually use on this boss that would actually instill fear.
“Do you… Well, do you have anything scarier?”
To her surprise, the man smiled and pulled out a small block of gray clay, with colored curled wires next to it, and what looked like a remote control for a toy car.
“Plastic explosives,” he grinned, showing his yellow teeth. “It’ll scare the hell out of anybody you come close to.”
“Sold,” she grinned, handing over the money and stuffing the paraphernalia in her big coat pouch. For good measure she took a Beretta, though the moronic vendor didn’t sell bullets, so she’d have to go for the deterrent factor.
She ran across the street, through the elegant lobby, into the elevators, and emerged on the level with the suites. She confidently entered the room and waited on the edge of the bed as Wolinski burst in.
“Good, everything’s set,” he huffed, holding a vase of spraying flowers and arranging them on the round table in the middle of the room. “Do these look good here?”
“Yes,” she nodded, still sitting on the bed.
“I’ll pick you up in oh, five hours or so.”
“That long?” Burton asked, widening her eyes.
“The boss takes,” he stopped himself and gave her a sympathetic look, “I’ll be back at nightfall.
That wimp. He had actually looked worried about her. She glared at him as he left. It would really have helped her to have some help, or back up, at least. She picked up the phone and called Connor.
“This is it.”
“Are you sure?”
“The boss wants to meet me. This is it. Wolinski was nervous as all hell and he even left me here before the boss came…this is it.”
“Burton, you listen to me. If things get out of hand…you scream at the top of your lungs and get the hell out.”
“Connor, I’ve made it this far.”
“I’m serious, Kid,” he said, lowering his voice. “You know how much I love you.”
She smiled and sighed, “I love you, too.”
The door clicked, and she quickly signed off. This was unexpected.
A man and woman in expensive, and what she came to find, Armani suits entered the room and regally strolled to the sitting area. Never out of style.
“Katya, I presume?” the woman asked, cropped brown hair styled perfectly into place. Her Russian was excellent.
“Yes, ma’am,” Burton replied, still sitting on the bed.
The man took his suit jacket off and loosened his tie. “I’m calling Ellie, Darling. You want anything in particular today or the same?”
The woman gave one shake of her head and the man dialed into his cell, texting as far as Burton could tell, then turning his attention to the mini bar. The woman stepped towards her. She didn’t know why, but she felt she couldn’t quite place the couple. Which was absurd. Why would she ever have met these people before?
On the other hand, she had lived only a short ride from DC for a long time. It was very possible these people knew her late parents. She squinted as the woman paused in front of her. She placed a manicured nail under her chin and lifted her face up.
“You are very popular these days, young lady. And I’m going to see if you’re worth it. As it is, I’m going to have to filibuster just to block a bill that will create a separate task force for pedophile crimes.”
Oh. God. Burton knew why she recognized them. The guy, not so much, but the woman, most definitely. It was US Senator Lilly Ford. Good Lord, she was a master-mind behind an international child sex slave ring? Wasn’t she the head of the individual liberty police or something?
Burton tried not to show her surprise as the Senator stared down at her. Then she lazily turned her head to her husband.
“Is she bringing X, Charles?” she asked in English, closing her eyes in annoyance. Burton seemed to remember that look from watching C-Span for school.
The man looked up from his texting. “Ellie ought to be here in twenty minutes, and she said she had it. She has a Geometry test, though, so she can’t stay.”
“Too bad,” Senator Ford sighed, grinning affectionately at Burton.
Double ick. She was creepy, and they had a drug dealer meeting them in the suite who was in high school? Several things about this situation were terrible, but if that girl entered the room, these perverts might not be able to keep their hands off of her.
It was time to grab life by the balls and take action.
The Senator and Charles both walked towards her at once. She stepped back and fell onto the soft yellow comforter of the bed, but continued backing up on her elbows until she hit the padded headboard. She couldn’t sleeper hold both of them without one seeing her. What the hell was she supposed to do?
The Senator suddenly grabbed her ankles and flipped her over to her stomach, pulling her back towards the foot of the bed, so she instinctively reacted. She kicked the heel of her shiny shoe around her body and rolled onto her back, nailing Senator Ford right in the face. When Charles reacted and stepped forward, she grabbed his arm, jammed the palm of her hand up his nose, and kneed him in the groin. His reaction was expected.
Now what? She eyed the couple’s sex bag on a chair and quickly threw it open. Ugh. Duct tape? Maybe this was perfect. As they were groaning and sitting up on the plush carpeted floor, she ran over and twisted the tape several times around their bodies, back to back.
Before they knew what was going on, she’d ripped more tape off and placed it over their mouths.
They tried to yell and gave her angry looks as they struggled to stand. She shook her head and pushed them back onto the corner of the bed, then pulled the plastic explosives out of her pocket. Their eyes widened, and they stopped mumbling behind the tape.
Burton pulled a chair up and rested her foot on it, balancing the explosives on her knee and sticking the cords into the clay-like block. Then she stood up, holding it in one hand and the remote in the other. The guy who sold it to her said it would definitely scare people, but she shouldn’t expect it to explode. The charges weren’t powered by anything.
“Senator Ford, Mr. Ford, we’re going to spend the next four hours having a little Q and A, sound good?”
The pair frowned at her perfect English, then simultaneously closed their eyes in the realization that they’d just been caught in a sting. Burton beamed with satisfaction. She had them. They would spill everything. She snapped a picture of them with Mr. Ford’s phone. She was going to make them sing until they begged her for mercy.
That was her plan, at least, until the door opened and a high school girl in a dark green uniform danced in. The little drug dealer.
“Hey, Mr. Ford. I got what you asked for,” she sighed, coming around the corner and dropping her bag on a chair, concentrating on her cell texting as her strawberry blonde pig tails swung around. “I really wish you would have met me in the lobby, though. I’m going to be late.”
She paused when she looked up and took in the scene. The Senator and her husband were tied back to back with duct tape and were crying through their gags, and a young looking girl in a pretty dress was standing over them with resolve in her eyes and plastic explosives in her hand.
“Uh,” the high school drug dealer stuttered, eyeing the girl’s hands.
“Ellie, I presume?” Burton asked, raising her brow.
“Y-yes,” the girl in the uniform nodded. “What’s uh… what’s going on here?”