Trey

by Shandi Boyes

  Part of me wants to believe the man from the pantry lowered his gun to my stomach before taking his shot was because he was aware the likelihood of surviving a bullet wound to the stomach was far more probable than one to the head. He also pushed me out of the line of fire after taking his shot.

  It all seems very heroic… until I recall the hell his gallantry put me through.

  There have been many times I’ve wished to be dead since that day. Death was far kinder than anything I’ve faced after India told Achim what I had done. He said I was a whore, and as such, he would treat me like one.

  That was the first time I was raped.

  It continued a minimum of once a month for the next six years, growing more violent with each one. I’ve been abused both physically and mentally, defiled, and had my family name shamed all because, for the first time in my life, I acted on impulses instead of orders. And now, just as I’m on the cusp of being freed from the torment, the same man is about to steal it away from me again.

  I can’t let that happen. I’m barely surviving as it is. The thread is extremely thin. If I don’t fight for my freedom now, I may never get the chance again. That’s how dire things are, and it’s the sole reason I slip Trey’s cell phone off the table next to him and punch in three words into a messenger box I never thought I’d use.

  “I have Ana.”

  Eleven

  Trey

  The guilt eating me alive gets a moment of reprieve when a faint tap hits the edge of my boot. Peering down, I spot an untouched orange teetering back and forth next to my covered foot. It’s from the bowl of fruit the women devoured within a second of it being placed in front of them earlier today. It’s untouched because the person lucky enough to scavenge it up doesn’t trust anyone.

  How fucked is it that the only person K trusts is me? A drug-fucked idiot who got so possessive about a woman he hardly knows, he hurt her to prove a point. I’m not talking about the chlorine in the jacuzzi. I truly did forget about the welts on K’s back when I slid into the warm water with her in my arms. I’m talking about how I made out with whores after spotting K’s unexpected entrance into the main living area of Clarks.

  Seeing Eight’s arm wrapped around her shoulders snapped something inside of me. It fucked with my head even worse than the drugs I took to try and pretend I hadn’t attempted to end K’s life as I wish someone had my miserable existence years ago.

  I don’t recall much of the night Nikolai’s crew found me in a dungeon starving, naked, and shackled to a stonewall like winter wasn’t below freezing. However, I do remember pinning Nero to the wall of my holding cell with a shank I’d made in case anyone was game to walk in with my moldy, undercooked food once a week, instead of sliding it under the door as they had the previous three years. I wanted them to kill me, to free me from the torment I hadn’t built the courage to end myself. My father raised me with so much self-worth, no matter how many times I pierced the shank through my frail skin the prior twelve months, I couldn’t end my life as Cole had tried years earlier.

  Nikolai saw straight through my ruse. He knew I was taking the coward’s way out, so instead of killing me as I was hoping, he walked out of my torture chamber, grunting that Nero would have been dead if I had truly planned to kill him.

  I dug the tip of my shank in deeper, determined to prove Nikolai wrong.

  All it did was display the courage I assumed I’d lost.

  Upon seeing this, Nikolai gave me two choices. Kill Nero and remain captive in a compound now controlled by Russians, or put down my shank and join him in returning rightful order.

  “I’m British,” I said to him that night, speaking for the first time in years.

  Nikolai smiled a grin that revealed he had once been as broken as me. “Bloodlines mean nothing when kingdoms are merely conquered provinces.”

  When confusion bombarded me, I received help from the last person I expected.

  “He means princes don’t necessarily wear crowns,” Nero said, unconcerned about the sharp, rusty blade piercing a vein in his neck. “And darkness is a realm that needs more than one leader.”

  With uncertainty higher than my wish to die in that instance, I lowered my shank before collapsing to the ground, my exhaustion too apparent to ignore for a second longer. I had hit rock bottom that day as I did last night, yet K still rolls the orange she’s been holding the past hour my way, hopeful I’ll prove it isn’t tainted with drugs so she can eat it.

  Even after ensuring Dok dressed her wounds without touching her in a way that could be deemed unacceptable, and sitting by her bedside for hours on end to ensure her slip into a deep, dark void for the second time wasn’t interrupted, I don’t deserve her trust. I hurt her even knowing she’s been hurt in unimaginable ways.

  That makes me a fucking monster.

  That makes me unworthy of her faith.

  But more than anything, it makes me want to protect her even more. Not just from additional harm but me as well.

  Knowing K will never eat until the food she’s consuming is proven safe, I bend down to gather up the orange. When I bite into the tangy, bitter fruit without bothering to peel it, K’s eyes drop to watch the bob of my Adam’s apple. Once the clump of citrus is sitting in my stomach, she returns her eyes to my face, soundlessly begging for me to return her orange.

  I should roll it across the floor like it isn’t dirty, pretend I don’t care she’s eating food too acidic for her shrunken stomach to handle, but for some fucked-up reason, I can’t. Just like I couldn’t walk away last night, I can’t this morning, either. I’m drawn to her. I just have no clue why. For years, I’ve cared about no one but myself.

  Panic floods K’s impressive eyes when I spin on my heels and walk out of the room. I’m clutching her orange in my hand, hopeful the gall I saw in her eyes in less than a nanosecond is as strong as I’m anticipating. If she wants to eat, she’ll have to bring out her strengths again because only someone strong enough to leave the darkness unaccompanied deserves a second chance.

  I learned that the hard way three years ago when I followed Nikolai out of the dungeon I’d been held captive in for three years. He wasn’t giving me a free pass. I worked for everything I’ve achieved. It wasn’t fucking easy, but glory doesn’t come to those too scared to fight for victory.

  “Let them wander freely. They’re not prisoners here,” I say to Rory who’s manning the corridor with an AK-47 in one hand and a packet of cigarettes in the other. “Just remember, no one is to make a move until Nikolai says so.”

  I wait for him to lift his chin in confirmation before heading for the kitchen at the back of Clarks. When I enter the industrial-size space, my jaw gains an involuntary tick. Instead of flour coating the wooden chopping blocks the cooks prepare food on, cocaine is.

  “Get that shit out of here.” Rick’s wide eyes lift to mine for the quickest second before he scoops the coke into his hands like its worthless and hightails it out of the kitchen. The three girls he’s hoping to get doped up enough they’ll forget he’s a bottom-dweller quickly chase him down.

  I’ve only just cleared away the mess that will have K being more distrusting of her food than she already is when a second body joins me in the fragrant-smelling space. Regretfully, it isn’t who I’m hoping. It’s Logan instead of K. He’s looking smug like the drugs he encouraged me to binge on last night didn’t fuck with his head as well as they did mine.

  I’m still as high as a fucking kite.

  I shouldn’t be surprised. The Popovs only sell the good shit.

  “How you feeling this morning, T-Man? You were pretty shit-faced last night.”

  Logan musses my hair like he’s not in my shit-book for the stunt he pulled last night. I’m not talking about the blow. If I weren’t down with getting high, I wouldn’t have dabbled in my drug of choice. I’m talking about his overfriendliness with K. I warned him earlier she was off-limits, yet he still acted like a man who’s never had his dick sucked last night when s
he was placed on his radar. He was so up in K’s business, I could smell his aftershave on her face before I threw her over my shoulder. Why do you think I was so desperate to get her clean? I hate that she smelled like him. It fucked with my head more than the drugs I use to forget.

  A note for future reference, just because you’re taller than someone doesn’t mean you’re tougher than them. They’ll put you on your ass as I do Logan five seconds after his fingers leave my hair. “What the fuck, man? I was just saying hello.”

  After working his ribs over good enough he’ll feel me for a week, I pin him to the industrial-size fridge by his throat, then get up in his face like he did K’s last night. “You messed with my head, Logan. I don’t fucking like it. Do it again, and I’ll have Leroy pummel your ass… and I don’t mean with his fists. He’s been dying to stretch your puckered hole for years, and I’m about in the right frame of mind to let him.”

  My taunt is delivered with the menace I was aiming for. Regretfully, it isn’t just Logan quivering in his boots. So is the woman who built the courage to walk through a compound full of murders just for the hope of eating a half-chewed orange for breakfast.

  “K…”

  She rockets out of the kitchen as fast as her quivering legs will take her, aware my threat was more honest than a scare tactic.

  After imprinting the fridge with Logan’s body, I take off after K. I reach her just as she enters the corridor leading to the dormitory the other women are in. I hate that she woke up there this morning, but considering she snuck out of my room in the middle of the night, there wasn’t much I could do about it. She didn’t tell me she was too scared to remain sleeping in my room. I could see the fear in her eyes when I found her in the dormitory after my frantic search this morning. It maimed me as much as the whimpers she releases when she’s sleeping.

  Confusion draws my brows together when K takes a right halfway down the corridor instead of left. My shock is pushed aside for worry when the sound of glass shattering booms out of the bathroom she entered two seconds later.

  When she returns to the corridor, clutching a shard of glass so tightly blood drips from her hand, I hold mine out in front of my body. Her eyes are murderous, and she doesn’t just have me in her sights. She waves her shiv around as if it’s a knife, threatening anyone stupid enough not to feel the fight to live beaming out of her.

  “K… put down the glass.”

  The commotion of her shattering the mirror has gained her an audience. The once-captive women eye her without a peep escaping their lips. My brothers are much more vocal. They tell her to drop the glass, or they’ll shoot her. One even goes as far as saying he looks forward to fucking her corpse when he sends her to hell for her stupidity.

  He’s the dumb fuck I take down first.

  K was smart to snatch-up the apple corer last night. It makes a quick and clean entry point to Bailey’s neck. If multiple strikes to his juggler don’t kill him, he’ll bleed out long before Dok can save him.

  While wiping Bailey’s blood from my face with my equally bloody hand, I warn the rest of my brothers that I’ll remove their stomachs via their nostrils if they don’t immediately back the fuck down. “I swear to God, if anyone touches her, I’ll gut you like Bailey,” I add to my threat, lessening the number of guns in the corridor from a dozen to four.

  Once I’m confident I have the situation under control, I step closer to K. She isn’t eyeing me like the violent killer I am. If I’m not mistaken, she looks pleased I stood up for her.

  Her admiration has me tempted to kill again. I would if it weren’t Nikolai’s men surrounding me. Nikolai has only just seized his throne. He needs all the help he can get. Furthermore, half of these men aided in my recovery, so even with my desire for a rampage the strongest I’ve felt, it’ll have to stay on the backburner—for now.

  With my eyes locked on K’s, and my hands held out to ensure her I mean her no harm, I say, “I need you to put down the glass, K. I can’t protect you if they think you’re a threat.” When she remains quiet, I step even closer. “Do you want me to protect you, K? Do you want me to keep you safe?” The tightness around my chest slackens when she dips her chin a few seconds later. I honestly hadn’t expected her to say yes. “Then, I need you to put down the glass.”

  I don’t understand a word she replies while shaking her head. Her voice isn’t just faint since it’s barely used, she’s speaking a different language. “Vzal ji. Zlý muž ji vzal.”

  “If this is about the orange, there’s a heap in the fridge. I was getting you a fresh one. That’s why I walked away.” I’m lying, and she knows it. I wanted her to show the strength she’s showcasing now. I just wish it were being done in a non-violent manner. One life should never be worth many, but as I stand here right now, I’ll kill them all if it guarantees K walks away uninjured.

  She’s been hurt enough.

  I can’t let her suffer more.

  My voice is rougher when I ask, “Tell me what you want, K. Let me help you.”

  “Jako jste tehdy tehdy? Nikdo mi nemůže pomoci.” Her already gaunt expression grows worse when she garbles out, “Chci být volný. Bez Ana to nedokážu. Tentokrát mě zabije. Zemřu.”

  I can feel the fear beaming out of her, taste it on the tip of my tongue, but I’m still fucking lost as to what has caused the swift change in her composure. If it has anything to do with the nail-wide scratches scoured down her arm, I’m about to become as violent as her, if not worse.

  Desperate for answers, I say, “I can’t understand you, K. You need to speak English.”

  “Byla tady. Právě tady. Přišel a vzal ji,” she replies, stepping closer to the room where the women are huddled. Her change in position allows Dok to drag Bailey out of the hallway to check him for a pulse, but it does little to ease my hesitation. She still has four red dots on her chest. That’s four too many.

  “I want to help you, K, but I don’t know how. You’re not making any sense—” My words stop, shunted by the shock of K redirecting the glass to her throat.

  “Měl jsi pravdu. Měl jsi mě zabít. Zasloužím si zemřít.” As tears fill her eyes, she locks them with me. “Ale pokud umřu, tyto ženy také zemřou. To jim nemůžu udělat, Trey. Nenuťte mě, abych jim to udělal. Prosím. Jsem unavený. Tak velmi unavený.”

  “Step back!” I scream at Nero when he lines up the perfect kill shot. “Don’t shoot. She won’t hurt anyone.” I stray my eyes back to K, aware she is seconds from death but determined to get her out of this alive. “You won’t hurt anyone, will you, K? You just want to help them, right?” When she nods, agreeing with me, I suck in my first breath in what feels like hours. “Then you need to tell us what you want.” And for how fucking long you want it. With my last comment being more a personal reflection, I only say it inside my head.

  My neck cranks to the side when a voice at the end of the hall murmurs out the last name I expected to hear in this confrontation. “Justine.” Eight walks gingerly down the hall, still feeling my anger from last night when he arrived at my room with Dok. I worked his ribs as good as I did Logan’s minutes ago, ensuring he knows K isn’t a gimmick to toy with me. “She understood K last night. Perhaps she will today as well.”

  As much as it kills me to admit, he’s right. Justine communicated with many of the women last night, so perhaps she can help me get K out of this alive.

  I jerk my head to the quad bikes stationed outside. They make the trip to the Popov compound ten times quicker than a normal mode of transport. “Good idea. Go get her.”

  “Fuck no,” Eight instantly replies. “I don’t have a death wish.” He peers at K with the tip of the glass pierced through her skin before doubling the shake of his head. “You might survive Nikolai’s wrath from bringing his girl into this situation, but I most certainly won’t. I like my nuts, so I’d rather keep them a little longer.” He returns his eyes to mine. They’re brimming with an equal amount of truthfulness and cheekiness. “If Nikolai punishes
me instead of killing me, I doubt he’s a finger-removing type of guy. I’d rather be dead than lose my nuts.”

  “Fine.” Over his humor in an extremely volatile and dangerous situation, I shift on my feet to face Nero. “If anyone touches her, even you, disobeying Nikolai’s direct order will be the least of your worries. Do I make myself clear?”

  Nero has no problems holding his own. He is as feared by Nikolai’s men as he is respected, but he also knows I’m not one to be messed with. If you want to fuck a whore straight after me, go ahead. If you want to cut up my drugs with shit that could kill me and I’m stupid enough to give them a go, that’s fair as well. But if you mess with something that’s mine, which for some fucked-up reason is exactly what I consider K as—mine—you sure as fuck better be prepared to die for it.

  “They won’t touch her.” Smirking, Nero strays his eyes over the two dozen or more men huddled around us. “I warned them this morning she was your girl, so they’d do best to listen.” He returns his eyes to mine. They’re tougher than stones. “But you’ve got to know I ain’t lowering my gun until Nikolai gives me the order. One life is never worth more than another. You know that better than anyone.”

  Not in the mood for another one of his lectures, he’s worse than Roman when his gums get flapping, I jerk up my chin. After giving K a final reassurance that she is safe, and that no one will touch her, I hightail it to one of the many quads surrounding Clarks. The motors were built to give maximum performance, but I still thrash the living shit out of it over the rugged, sandy plains.

  When I arrive at the Popov compound only minutes later, my brows stitch. It’s different than it was only twenty-four hours ago—as am I. It’s more settled, somewhat heartening.