by Lauren Dawes
“Don’t cry,” the female warned. “If you cry, they hurt you. If you scream, they make you bleed.”
A whimper bubbled up her throat, kept at bay behind Katie’s tightly-pressed lips. Her pulse was still fluttering too quickly in her chest, the scent of her fear mingling with the acrid stench of urine and unwashed bodies.
She tried to focus on something else, anything to take her away from this horrific scene. She wished Neve were here with her, to guide her. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to think about what her cousin would do.
Stay calm. Take in all the details. Try to figure out your location.
Neve’s voice whispered like a phantom through her mind, and Katie swallowed, trying to pay attention to what was around her. Turning her head, she let her senses roam. The air was damp, a chill coming up from the rough concrete floor. The room felt like it was subterranean, a basement maybe?
She tried to sift through the sounds and scents, her cat coming forward in her mind. There were a number of females and women in the room with her, maybe half-dozen not including her and her cellmate.
Your first instinct is usually correct.
She let out a shuddering breath, her throat clogged with panic and abject terror. Her fingers slowly curled up, as if trying to get a grip on reality. The thing was, her reality looked a lot like abduction and imprisonment on a mass scale.
Turning back around, she whispered, “How long have I been unconscious?”
The female shrugged. “I’m not sure. Time moves…differently here.”
“What do they want with us?”
Shaking her head, the other female tightened her arms around her legs.
“What’s your name?” Her voice was barely a whisper on the damp air, but there was the shuffle of feet behind her.
“Elsie,” her cell-mate replied.
Edging a little closer, she asked, “How many of us are down here? Shifters?”
“At least two more.”
“And…” Katie swallowed, trying to ignore the pressure building in her chest. “What do they want with us?”
“It’s better that you don’t know.” Elsie buried her face into her arms, shutting down the conversation.
Katie shuffled back on the concrete pad until her back hit the metal bars. Strips of frigid steel transferred their chill into her body, making her shiver. She was still dressed in a light sweater and jeans with her favorite silver glitter Keds on her feet. The cold was seeping into the backs of her calves, her thighs, her ass. She shivered, and the cold started to make her drowsy. Like hypothermia. Maybe she really wasn’t here. Maybe she’d crashed her car, and the cold she was feeling was just the night air kissing her skin. Katie fought to keep her eyes open, but in the end, her body won out. Her lids closing, she shut out what she prayed wasn’t her new reality.
* * *
Katie woke up to the sound of an anguished scream that chilled her down to the marrow. The broken sound barely had a chance to start before it was quickly muffled.
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll know not to do that again,” a male voice hissed. Katie remained still, barely breathing, as she cracked open an eye and saw what was happening to Elsie.
“Get up,” the guy said, yanking at her cell mate’s arm and dragging her to her feet. Tears streamed down Elsie’s face as she tugged against her abductor’s hold. His hand was wrapped tightly around her upper arm, and even in the murky filtered light, Katie made out the bones of his knuckles standing out in stark relief. The peaks and troughs of those bones reminded her of the Wyomings. Would she ever get to see home again?
Gather information and use it to your advantage, Neve’s voice whispered through her mind. Shoving the fear away, she focused on what she could see, what she could smell and hear. The man was only human, so he shouldn’t have been able to handle Elsie so easily, which meant she was compromised in some way—that maybe all of them were compromised in some way.
She inhaled, tasting gun oil and metal, her eyes skimming down his body to find the weapon he was carrying. His jacket flapped open, revealing a gun on his hip. He wasn’t using it to threaten Elsie, though, so he was either too cocky, believing she wouldn’t hurt him, or he was confident she couldn’t. The guy dragged Elsie toward the cell door, grabbing a hank of her lank hair when her knees buckled. With a small cry, she was yanked from the cell, the door slamming shut behind them.
Katie’s throat burned as tears threatened to fall, and she bit her lip to stop herself from screaming. She flinched when the sound of clothes tearing rent the nearly silent air. Pain tore through her chest as she realized what she was about to witness. Elsie began to beg, pleading with the man not to do it. A crack fractured her litany, followed by a snarled, “On your knees, or next time, I break your jaw as well as your nose.”
Blood perfumed the air, and Katie squeezed her hands into fists, keeping them locked down under her body. She didn’t want to listen. She wanted to cover her ears, but she was terrified of moving, of drawing attention to herself.
She didn’t want that to happen to her, too.
8
Avah wiped her hands down the front of her pants and let out a breath. She glanced at the glass, brick, and gray stucco façade of the modern Italian restaurant and tried to fight the urge to turn tail and run. Gianno’s was on South East Division Street, cozied up with a half dozen other Italian restaurants. The green and cream awning out front reminded her of the one and only Italian restaurant in the small town where she’d grown up. When she stepped inside, she’d be sucked back in time to her adolescence.
“Come on, Avah,” she told herself. She wasn’t normally one who needed a pep talk, but dating had the effect on her. Blind dating only made it worse. The receptionist at work had set her up, had told her the guy was her cousin and was lovely and sweet and had a good job.
She regretted saying yes now, though.
As she pulled open the glass and chrome door, a wall of noise, warmth, garlic, and oregano hit her. Lighting fixtures resembling oversized Tic Tacs hung from the ceiling. Their light reflected off the mirrors stretching horizontally over the pass through.
A woman wearing a shirt in the same green and white pinstripe as the awnings approached with a too-bright smile.
“Good evening and welcome to Gianno’s. How are you this evening?” she greeted.
“Fine. Thank you.” Avah glanced around the restaurant, fighting the internal urge to just turn around and walk out the door. What the hell was I thinking? “I’m here to meet someone.”
The hostess smiled, flashing those pearly whites. “Of course, ma’am. Your name?”
“Avah Carter.”
The woman looked down at something behind the hostess podium, then grabbed a highlighter and drew a line, presumably through her name. “Ah, yes, there you are. The other member of your party is already here.”
Party. That sounded like it was supposed to be fun, but anxiety made her stomach turn sour. Avah followed the young woman around to the booths that faced the kitchen, counting the couples as she went. The hostess stopped in front of the only man sitting alone and indicated they’d arrived.
“Would you like something to drink?” she asked.
“Just water will be fine. Thank you.” Avah stepped forward, and the guy rose, holding out his hand to her.
“You must be Avah? I’m Stephen.”
She slid her hand into his, and they shook. “It’s nice to meet you, Stephen.”
“Likewise. Terri has told me a lot about you.” He gestured for her to sit on the bench seat opposite him.
Placing her bag down, she slid onto the burgundy velvet and picked up the leather-bound menu, trying to ignore the comment about Terri.
“Wow, you’re more beautiful than my cousin made out.”
Her head jerked up, her fingers tightening on the side of the leather-bound folio. “Oh. Umm, thanks. Terri’s a real sweetheart,” she replied. “So, tell me about yourself, Stephen. All Terri’s told
me is that you’re a lawyer. What kind of law do you practice?”
“Environmental, actually.”
Big brownie points for that one. Avah was all about reducing waste, green energy, and keeping the oceans clean.
“Wow. Really?”
He nodded, launching into the details of his studies and the firm he worked at. He barely paused to take a breath when their server came to take their order, and he certainly didn’t stop to ask her about her or her work. So she sat there, enjoying her free dinner and wine, and contemplated what she’d do when she got home.
Probably binge watch America’s Next Top Model.
As their dinner plates were cleared, Avah took a sip of her water and considered the merits of getting dessert.
“Do you have any room left for something sweet?” he asked, finally taking a breath. She blinked, startled to see his eyes were heavy, like he was picturing eating his dessert off her.
“I think I’m okay, actually,” she replied with a saccharine smile. “I’m pretty stuffed from dinner.”
Amusement filled her as his chest deflated, clearly upset that his little innuendo hadn’t been picked up and carried away with joyous excitement. Yeah, she bet he got lots of women into bed that way. Well, that and dropping the lawyer card.
“But I can stay while you get some dessert,” she offered.
“No, I’d better not.” He shifted his gaze over her shoulder right before a small smile appeared on his face. Avah looked over to find a blonde staring at Stephen, but she ducked her eyes when she saw Avah watching. No skin off her nose, she was more than happy to bow out on this one. It wasn’t like she planned to see him again. Picking up her bag, she began searching for her purse.
“Leaving already?” Stephen asked, somewhat hopeful. She glanced again at the blonde who was carefully not eye-fucking her date.
Turning back, she said, “Yeah. Early start tomorrow and all that.”
She pulled out some cash, but paused when he said, “Please. It’s on me.”
With a smile, she nodded. “Thank you, Stephen. I appreciate it. Well, I’ll leave you—No, don’t get up.” She squeezed his shoulder as she passed him and waved goodbye to the hostess. Pausing outside the window, she waited for the blonde to rise. Not even two minutes, and the woman made a beeline for him.
With a shake of her head, Avah started back in the direction of her house. Saturday night was in full swing around her, people on dates, out with friends, talking, laughing, drinking. What would it have been like to have such close friends? Those types of relationships weren’t present in her life. She’d been too busy at dance classes and ballet workshops and camps to have the time to cultivate any meaningful relationships with other women.
Besides, ballerinas weren’t known for being nice to one another. There was always this constant in-fighting, a stab-in-the-back mentality that had eventually led her to quit. As her mother used to say, she could’ve been great, but life has a way of leveling your playing field when least expected.
As she crossed the road and began down 34th Avenue, she hugged her coat a little more tightly around her body. Winter was definitely on its way, and knowing Portland, it was going to be bitterly cold and wet. Still, it wasn’t as cold as Seattle could get, and that was just another reason why she chose to relocate here five years ago.
As she approached her little three-bedroom house, she pulled her keys from the pocket in her bag and fanned them through her fingers like a set of metal claws. She wasn’t afraid of anyone attacking her here—the neighborhood was a little too close to Division Street to be bad—but she never really let her guard down.
She wasted no time letting herself in before she locked the door behind her. Her bag slid from her shoulder and thumped to the ground. Tonight had gone just as she’d predicted it would. It wasn’t Stephen’s fault, or hers. Relationships just didn’t seem to be her thing, and she was too close-minded to engage in casual sex, although everyone she knew was into it.
Maybe she should just stop looking, stop hoping to find Mr. Right, and settle for Mr. Right Now? Although appealing, she knew she wouldn’t ever be able to follow through because she was a heart and soul kind of girl—one who wanted all in or nothing at all. She’d only had that once in her life. It was back when she was still dancing, and really, when falling for anyone had been a bad idea for her career and the relationship in question. Ballet demanded attention and dedication one hundred percent of the time. Relationships automatically cleaved that dedication in two.
He’d been different, though.
With short brown hair and green eyes, Alek had been her heart and soul. They danced in the same company, and after all those hours of long days and longer nights rehearsing, she knew she was done for. Their relationship burned too brightly, though, too quickly, and eventually the cracks began to show…
She cleared her throat and looked away from the past, focusing on her future here and now in Portland. Aside from her dancing career, which had been cut short by injury, journalism was her other true passion and she was going to make it work, dammit. Placing her bag onto the small entryway table, she checked the locks were in place once more, then wandered through to the kitchen. Despite exhaustion running through her, she was too wired to sleep. She couldn’t help but think about the article she’d read on Friday night, the one about the homeless population dying. There was something more to it than what was on the surface, because her intuition was raging and she always listened to it.
Always.
After making herself a cup of chamomile tea, she settled onto her overstuffed sofa and turned on the TV. It was still on CNN, which wasn’t a surprise because it rarely left CNN unless America’s Next Top Model was on, then she was all about the drama of the women who were chasing their dreams.
“Police are currently investigating the disappearance of Bethany Scott, daughter of wealthy landowner Marshall Scott. Ms. Scott went missing less than twenty-four hours ago…”
Avah sat up in her seat. Missing persons cases never made the news unless they were days old and the cops had no leads, or the victims were wealthy and white.
“…never returned to her Sherwood home after leaving the house of her long-time boyfriend and Olympic Snowboard gold medalist, Shane Spears…”
“The boyfriend totally did it,” she muttered to herself. She’d seen enough of these stories to know that when a girl goes missing, she’d more than likely been killed and the victim knew the murderer. Man, she was a cynical bitch.
Navigating through her recorded shows, she brought up some episodes of ANTM that she hadn’t watched yet and hit play, settling down to enjoy the fireworks.
9
“I don’t care. I want her home with me, now.”
Jett held the phone away from his ear, wincing at the volume of his mother’s voice. He’d picked up Luce on Friday night, and it was only now—thirty hours later—that his mom had sobered up enough to notice her youngest daughter was gone. He shuddered to think how much she’d snorted in an attempt to maintain the high—at least every six hours, according to what Luce had told him. If she were human, she would’ve been long dead by now. A decade of abuse. A decade of slipping. A decade of self-loathing and punishment.
“She’s my daughter, Jett, and you will return her to me.”
He laughed derisively. “If you gave a damn about Luce, it wouldn’t have taken you this long to demand to have her back.”
In the background, Richard ran his mouth, filling her head with words and ideas that were only meant to be used to intimidate him. The thing was, he’d seen it all, heard it all. Hell, he’d lived through it all himself too, so there was no way the threats worked.
He glanced away when he felt eyes on him. Luce sat on his bed, the piece of furniture dwarfing his little sister until she looked like a doll propped up against the pillows. He didn’t want to send her back to their mother, back to that trailer with the drug paraphernalia being used as decor, but Drake had been very clear that
Luce couldn’t be at the compound when the meeting went down. Returning her home, though, didn’t sit well with him either.
“Jett, you will bring her home, or I’ll call the authorities.”
He smiled grimly. “I am the authorities,” he snarled. “Human police have no jurisdiction here. We do.”
There was a sound like the phone being passed to someone else, and he braced to go for round two with Richard. He opened his mouth, ready to spit words so vile that he’d have to see a priest after, but stopped when he heard Katya say, “Jett?”
“Katya.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck. Thank fuck you’re home, Kat.”
“I’m home,” she whispered.
“How are you?” Apart from a brief text chain, he hadn’t spoken to his sister since he’d picked up Luce. All he knew was that Kat was happy Luce had gotten a break from the toxic environment.
“I’m okay,” she lied.
Like hell, he thought.
“I’m sorry you’re playing intermediary.”
“I know. But…” she hesitated. “Mom is okay now. You can bring her home.”
Jett’s free hand curled into a fist at his side as a pounding headache started between his eyes. “What if this shit happens again?”
“I promise it won’t.”
“How can you make that promise? You work nearly fifty hours a week to support Luce and yourself.”
“I’ve asked for my vacation time. I get two weeks of paid leave.”
“And after that?” he asked, desperately looking for a way out of the fucking hole his mom and Richard had dug with their drug habit.
There was a pause, and then a door was shut. When Katya spoke again, her voice was a bare whisper. “I have some money saved up.”
Jett’s stomach twisted. He hoped their mom didn’t hear that. “How much are we talking, Kat?”
“Enough to get us into an apartment somewhere, enough for the first and last month’s rent. It’ll be enough to get out of this depraved shithole she’s forced us to live in for ten years.”