Nadia's Salvation

by K. A Knight

  I always get the secrets, my man…

  I will get Nadia Amor.

  Like a fly in my spider web, tightening until she doesn’t even realise it’s too late.

  But who will come out alive?

  Chapter Three

  Nadia

  Scarlett pulls the plug then goes to get me some fresh clothes while I wrap a big, fluffy, yellow towel around my body. I step up to the bathroom mirror and wipe my hand across the condensation there, spotting myself in the steamy glass. My mascara has run down my face, split with tear tracks, and my eyes are black like a panda’s from the water. My lipstick is smudged dramatically across my face, and under it all I look pale, even for me. So pale and small.

  I want to punch the mirror, I want to crack the surface so it’s as broken and as fractured as I am. The only thing holding me back is that this is Scarlett’s place and it would make her worry. Instead, I lower my head, unable to look at myself. I stare at the white porcelain sink, analysing the imperfect white of the basin as I try to keep it together, to keep it all inside.

  All this...this chaos.

  Breathing shallowly, I force it down, force it away, and when I feel more human and put together, I straighten and slick my hair back, staring into the mirror once again. I plaster a fake smile on my face and nod at myself.

  We got this.

  Turning away with more confidence, I open the door, and spot the clothes laid out on the floor, waiting for me. I grab them and get dressed quickly, letting my wet hair drip down the back of the comfy, orange knitted sweater hanging low over the black leggings. She even brought me some orange fluffy socks. I pad down the hallway searching for her. I find her pouring two teas, and when she sees me, she smiles.

  “Won’t be a minute, babe. Grab a seat.”

  I’ve been here plenty of times, so I don’t turn the big light on, just the lamp, and instead of sitting inside, I open the patio doors, sucking in the crisp, clean air as I step out in sock-covered feet onto the cold balcony.

  There are two black, wrought iron chairs out here with yellow and blue cushions, and a matching table between them. We have often sat out here on a night, especially when Max wasn’t around and she was heartbroken.

  I slip into the farthest one, shivering from the cold, and stare out into the bustling city above the buildings, the lights on the street below masking the dark. The sounds reach us here—the beeping of horns, the cars driving, and the people talking and laughing. I love it, it soothes me like nothing else. The madness matches me.

  She comes out with two mugs, places them on the table, and disappears back inside only to reappear a moment later with a blanket, a huge one, which she spreads over us both, warming us as she takes her mug and sips it as she stares out into the city with me.

  I grab my mug, holding it between both hands to warm them, and drink the fruity tea, no doubt a new one she’s found. It’s sweet with a tart aftertaste, but I swallow it down anyway, wishing it had something a little bit stronger in it than just tea.

  We sit in silence long after we have finished our mugs, the night air chilling me but also waking me up from the cold, dark place I’d gone to. Out here, I don’t feel as alone, as broken and cold. Strange.

  “Goodnight, Nads,” Scarlett whispers. “Don’t stay out here all night, okay? At least sit inside,” she begs, and I nod.

  “Course, just a little longer, it’s peaceful.”

  She sighs, squeezes my shoulder, and wraps the blanket more securely around me before heading to bed, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

  I sit there for hours, time passing without thought, and just watch and listen. The moon is full above me, lighting up the night sky and the lifeless stars there. I always thought they were so beautiful until I found out they were dead...can beauty be found in death?

  When my teeth start chattering, I force myself onto numb legs, dragging the blanket inside and shutting the balcony doors quietly. I tiptoe down the hallway and slip into the other side of the bed. Scarlett is already curled up asleep, but she must sense me because she flips over, throwing her arm over my waist. I stiffen, thinking she believes I’m Max, but her eyes blink open sleepily. “Get some sleep, Nads.”

  I nod, close my eyes, and let the comforting weight of her arm hold me down so I don’t float away again, and before the sun rises, I slip into a dreamless slumber.

  I wake up early. I must have only had a few hours of sleep. Scarlett’s back is pressed to mine, trying to comfort me even in sleep. The sheets are tangled around my legs, so I must have been restless, yet I don’t remember any of my dreams. I slide from the bedding, cover Scarlett back up, and sneak from the room, heading to the kitchen. I boil the kettle, grabbing the strong coffee she keeps here for me, and wait, just staring at the steam coming from the spout. My eyes start to wander...until I spot them—the bottles above the fridge. Before I know it, I’ve grabbed the bottle of jack and poured a dash into my coffee grounds in the mug. I think I deserve it, after all.

  I add the water and stir, clutching the mug and heading back out onto the balcony. I sit in the early morning sun, watching the world come back to life as everyone wakes up. It’s quiet, the quiet before the world wakes, the type that’s so silent, so...earthy and alive, that you can hear yourself think. Like the world has taken a pause...and then it stops, and everything comes back. The birds chirp, the cars start up, alarms go off.

  I sip my coffee, just observing, wondering when my pause will stop and I can restart like this. I’m not due back at university for a week. I emailed my lectures and they told me to take some time off. I quit my job when Gammie got sick to help look after her, claiming carer’s allowance, so I don’t even have that to fall back on to distract myself. I don’t need it, not really. I worked full-time while I was at school and college, and saved up so that when I moved out for university, I would have enough money to comfortably live on...only, I never moved out so the money is sitting there untouched.

  I should pack up her things.

  Yet, even the thought has me recoiling, I can’t. I don’t even want to go into that room, her room, right now, and packing it all will only make it more real. Fuck, I don’t even want to go home, I realise with a start, to that cold, empty, ghost-filled house. Like a tomb trapping all those bad times and her ending. Just waiting for me to walk in.

  The coffee has a kick to it, a warmth flowing down my throat and starting in my stomach until it’s all gone, and I stare sadly down at the empty mug, too tired to get up and grab another, even though I desperately need it.

  “Hey, babe, want some coffee with that whiskey?” Scarlett calls, and I blink, looking up to see her framed in the balcony doorway, shivering as she wraps a long cardigan around herself.

  “Sure.” I grin, thrusting my mug at her. She takes it and disappears back inside, leaving me to my thoughts until she returns with another steaming mug for me and one for herself.

  She curls up into the other seat as we sip our coffee, and I wonder if hers is spiked as well. “What do you want to do today?” she asks, looking at me over the edge of the blue-rimmed mug.

  “Nothing, everything.” I sigh, looking over at the city. “I want to forget. It sounds pointless, but I do. I just don’t know how…I also don’t want to be around people at the same time. Does that make any sense? I don’t want to see their pitying looks and stares, hearing them whispering behind my back.” I shut my mouth, cutting off my rambling, and take another sip of the coffee/whiskey combo.

  “Okay, no people, help you forget. How about we sit around in our pyjamas, get wasted, and watch trashy movies?” she suggests, and I look at her with a smile curling my lips.

  “Sounds kind of perfect,” I agree.

  “Yes! Okay, I’ll go get snacks and lots and lots of wine. You want anything else?” she inquires, standing up and draining her mug.

  “Chocolate, lots and lots of chocolate,” I murmur, and she nods, heading inside.

  I drain my mug too, and force myself t
o stand up, not wanting to catch a cold sitting out here again all day. Plus, it will only make Scarlett worry, and she’s trying really hard to look after me. I don’t bother getting dressed, but I do clean up from last night, and then grab her duvet, lug it into the living room, and throw it onto the sofa. I load up the worst feel-good movies you can, nothing sad, and wait for her to return. I hear my phone ringing somewhere and groan. Following the vibration, I find it in my coat pocket and pull it free as it stops ringing, a missed call flashing up.

  I scroll through all the notifications. There are lots of messages on Facebook and texts telling me how sorry people are, that they’re here for me. Yet, I bet if I messaged half of them, they would panic and not know what to do. I have missed calls from some friends, but I don’t have the energy to call them back and fake doing well. With Scarlett, it’s different, she’s not a friend but family. Ignoring them all, I put it on mute and place it back in my pocket then climb under the duvet again, wrapping it around me like a burrito, closing my eyes for a minute.

  The next thing I know, the door is shutting. I sit bolt upright and Scarlett looks at me and winces. “Sorry, were you sleeping?”

  “No.” I cough to clear my throat. “Just resting my eyes for a minute. Need a hand?” My voice is rough from sleep, so I clear it again, throwing back the duvet and standing to help her with all the bags.

  I help her get unpacked, raising my eyebrows at the vast amount of wine, chocolate, cookies, and donuts she’s bought. “Feeding an army?” I tease, and she laughs.

  “Well, you eat like one,” she fires back.

  “Rude, don’t you know I have to keep up these curves? It’s more cushion for the pushin’,” I joke, grabbing a cookie. I stuff it into my mouth and chew, moaning dramatically. We grab it all and take it to the coffee table, pouring ourselves a glass of wine. “It’s five o’clock somewhere, right?” I quip, and she nods, sipping on the rosé.

  “It’s like drinking mimosas for breakfast.” She grins and we clink our glasses together.

  Two hours later, one movie down and the other playing in the background, we’re laughing hysterically. Three empty bottles of wine clink around on the floor, and the snacks are half eaten as we stare at each other and burst into laughter. It does take my mind off everything though, the wine numbing me against the pain. We spend the day like this, joking and laughing, making fun of the movies. The wine continues to flow, and by late afternoon we’re drunk as hell. Max comes to check on us and Scarlett jumps on his back, whispering dirty things in his ear as I laugh and chase Milo. Max groans and puts us both to bed, having to tuck Scarlett in at least three times when she tries to get free and strip for him. He has the patience of a saint, especially when I just sit there laughing, watching his pained face as he puts her shirt on and places her back in bed.

  “Sleep, both of you,” he snaps, and shuts the door, making us giggle.

  We do eventually fall asleep, and when I wake back up again to the smell of cooking, my head is pounding and my body is covered in that fine sheen of sweat you get when you’re hungover.

  Great.

  The door bangs open then, and Max stands in the light, grinning evilly. “Rise and shine!” he yells loudly, making us both moan and grab our aching heads as we burrow deeper into the covers. “Time to get up!” he shouts cheerfully, and then slams the door forcefully.

  Scarlett throws her pillow at it. “Asshole, he isn’t getting laid tonight,” she grumbles, making me snort out a laugh, which in turn makes me moan in pain.

  Wine hangovers are the worst.

  Chapter Four

  Keanu

  “So, how’s Nadia?” I ask as casually as I can, both of us sitting side by side in the shady bar downtown, run by a fellow named Pinky, who handles the bribing of the men at the docks where the women are being transported to. It’s getting worse. Every time we shut them down, they find a new way in, and we strike out, hitting who we think is in charge only to find it’s a setup and a farce. They know we’re after them and they are always one step ahead. It’s infuriating. I’ve never had this much trouble hunting anyone down before, but I know I’ll get them. In the meantime, more and more women are being shipped in, and they have now started kidnapping girls on our own soil to sell. At least thirty have already been taken, all different MO’s, and no traces once they disappear.

  Some were taken at the gym, others while on nights out, basically anywhere they can grab them without being seen. They play it smart, they avoid as many cameras as they can, and the one I managed to track in the van on CCTV through the city drove into a blind spot and swapped vehicles. I found the van tossed and cleaned without so much as a fingerprint or hair fibre left behind.

  These men are professionals, and powerful for sure.

  I managed to get some information from the dock workers. I used their family as leverage, and when I left one of the dock workers sobbing in that abandoned warehouse, I’d been given just one name—Pinky. It took me two days to track him back to this bar, but now we’re here. Donald insisted I bring Max with me for backup as well as an extra pair of eyes and ears—it chafes my control. He’s like a shotgun, all brawn and no finesse, but I don’t tell him that. Instead, I use the time to find out some information on my girl. She’s been quiet since the funeral. She’s been staying with Scarlett since yesterday, and I want to make sure she’s okay. I don’t even bother justifying why to myself.

  I know she hasn’t been online, since the trace I put on her phone shows me no activity. Nadia’s even ignoring calls and text messages. It makes me worry and wish I could at least catch a glimpse of her just to check how she is. This...this annoying need to assure myself of her well-being would disappear then, and I could concentrate on what matters—work, this job, and stopping these men before more women are taken and lost to their grasps.

  Max grunts, rolling the cold beer between his fingers, picking at the label every now and again as he watches the football game on the widescreen TV above the sticky wooden bar we’re perched behind. The man serving drinks looks bored, a big fellow covered in tattoos. I know he used to be in prison, his name is Lison Green, and he was put away for armed robbery and assault with a deadly weapon. Served fifteen years and released for good behaviour, and now he runs this down and dirty bar where those who want to hide from the law can. He asks no questions, looks the other way, and didn’t blink when he spotted the gun Max is carrying. He didn’t even look at us twice, just assuming we’re another pair of thugs out for a drink.

  “They got drunk yesterday. When I got there in the afternoon after finishing the Kato job, they were running around the apartment in their panties. Scarlett kept trying to get naked and jump me, I had to put them both to bed,” he grumbles, and I try to contain my smirk, I really do.

  “Oh no, how horrible, having your fiancée wanting to have sex with you,” I tease, my eyes scanning the bar like always.

  “Don’t fucking start. Nadia is fine, stalker boy. She’s hurting, but she has Scarlett,” he growls with a shrug, and I frown. That’s it? That’s all the information he has to share? He looks at me then with a grin, bringing the beer to his lips, his meaty hands wrapping around it. “What’s the matter, asshole? Feeling all out of sorts?” he taunts.

  My lips tug down at that. “No, was just concerned for your friend is all,” I reply, turning away and sipping my beer, grimacing when my shirt sleeve sticks to the bar.

  “Uh-huh, concerned with your cock more like it. I don’t know why the fuck you didn’t make a move at the party.” He snorts, looking back at the TV.

  “She’s not my type,” I snap, without looking at him.

  “What, a real woman? I knew it, you’re into robots, aren’t you? It’s all that time spent around your computers.” He slaps a hand on my shoulder. “Admit it, you like her.”

  “I do not, she’s...wild and crazy with no concern for her own safety and the way others see her,” I scoff.

  He laughs, turning away. “Bullshit, you
’ve got it bad, I bet you stalk her on your little computers. The Spider tracking his prey, it’s only a matter of time.”

  I roll my eyes and he turns serious. “I tried the same thing, to stay away, and look how it turned out. I nearly lost the best thing that will ever happen to me. Now? I’ve never been happier. I go home every night to a woman who loves me, an amazing woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

  “Wuss,” I retort, a smirk tilting my lips, and he rolls his eyes.

  “Asshole,” he mutters. “Fight it all you want, you’re only trying to fool yourself.”

  Just then, a door opens and slams shut, and we turn slightly, keeping our bodies relaxed but our eyes alert. A man emerges from down the hallway to the left of the bar—Pinky. He’s a big man, filled with more muscles than brains. His head is shaved and shining under the stark lighting, with a teardrop under his left eye, and his neck and shoulders filled with tattoos and on display in his white wife beater, which is tucked into some loose, low hanging blue jeans and white trainers.

  As his name implies, he’s missing both pinky fingers. Rumour is he lost them when he was tortured for information from a gang and he refused to give it up. I almost grin at the challenge he presents. It could be a front, but we’re about to find out and I can’t wait. All this waiting…I’m usually patient, but I’m feeling antsy, and I can take that all out on him.

  His squat face is angry as he storms past. He’s probably pissed at the phone call he received from the dock worker we threatened, saying he won’t sign off on the deliveries anymore. I throw back my beer and place it on the bar, tossing some bills and a generous tip down as we both stand, following the man as he leaves the building, the wooden door slamming closed behind him. We calmly trail after him and head around the back of the bar where he’s climbing into his truck, swearing and grunting with fury. I almost smile. It won’t start buddy, but he doesn’t know that...yet.