by Nicole Fox
“The house looks beautiful,” I assure him.
Rick smiles at me over his shoulder, and it is genuine.
A lot of the guys in our business do not appreciate Rick’s particular talents. They respect that he keeps them out of prison, but they find him a bit too eccentric.
And to be fair, he is eccentric. Borderline obsessive. But I am willing to look past personality flaws if someone is loyal and a good worker. Rick is both, so he has earned my respect.
Rick leads me into a sitting room. The furniture is white and crisp. Every throw pillow is resting at the perfect angle as though he measured to ensure the coasters on the coffee table are each exactly one inch from every corner of the table. The room looks like it belongs in a museum.
“It has been a long time since I’ve heard from you,” Rick says, gesturing for me to take the chair closest to the fireplace while he sits in the direct center of the couch. Rather than sink back into the cushions, he perches on the edge like a nervous bird. “You usually call.”
“I’m usually not in the midst of an emergency,” I say.
His brow furrows and his hollowed cheeks take on an even more sunken look. “Are you in need of a cleanup?”
“No, not today,” I say. “Actually, I just need information.”
Rick waves me away. “That isn’t my specialty, Luka. You know I am a businessman, not a point of contact.”
“And under normal circumstances, I would accept that response, but I’m afraid I can’t today.” I sit forward and rest my elbows on my knees. “I need to know everything you can tell me about the LeClerc Cartel.”
He takes a deep breath in, and his eyes sag as he exhales. “I’m sorry, Luka. You understand. One of the many unfortunate dangers of being a powerful man such as yourself.”
“You are a powerful man, too,” I say. “You have a lot of information that could be very useful to me. Crucial, even.”
He gives me a sad smile and shakes his head. “It is a key part of my business plan that I don’t share any trade secrets with anyone.”
“I know, Rick—” I start.
“I mean,” he continues. “Imagine how it would look for someone like me, who is dependent upon every criminal in this city trusting him, to throw all of that away. And for what?”
“Justice,” I say. “I know justice isn’t always clear. It looks different to everyone, but you know me. We’ve worked well together in the past, and I’d like to think you trust my judgment. So, if I tell you I need to know where the Cartel is holding their auction, I hope you’ll believe me when I say it is dire.”
I haven’t allowed myself to think about Milaya much. Not directly, anyway. I can think about the fact that she is gone, but dwelling too long on what she is going through is simply too much. It starts a fire in my chest that is impossible to douse. But right now, I fan the flames. I let my veneer crack, revealing the desperation beneath. I want Rick to see how much I need his help. Because I want him to help me willingly. I don’t want to hurt him.
“I do trust you, Luka,” Rick admits, twining his fingers together. “And you know I would love to be of help to you, but—”
“But nothing,” I say, cutting him off. “All I need for you to do is tell me everything you know about the LeClerc Cartel.”
“Can you tell me why?”
I shake my head. “No.”
Rick’s mouth closes, and his eyes meet mine, and I know he understands how bad things are. And for the first time, I think I understand it, too. Getting my family back won’t be easy.
“Please,” I say. I’m not begging, and Rick knows it too. His eyes follow my hand down to my waist, and he can see the bulk of my gun tucked away beneath my waistband. He knows what I am capable of. After all, he has cleaned up plenty of my crime scenes.
He sighs and stands up, folding his hands behind his back. “If we are going to get into this, I at least need some tea.”
He turns and walks away, gesturing for me to follow. “Join me in the kitchen, and I’ll tell you what you need to know.”
If he had recently eaten lunch, there is no trace of the dishes now. The marble countertops are spotless and shining and the stovetop looks like it could be brand-new. Rick grabs his electric kettle, fills it, and then flips it on. He turns around when the kettle whirs to life.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything,” I say quickly. “Anything you can tell me. As much as you can tell me.”
He hums. “What do you already know?”
“The LeClerc Cartel deal in human trafficking,” I say. “They sell mostly to the elite, so it is a classy operation, at least as far as those things go. But honestly, that is about the extent of it. I’m in the dark here, Rick”
“Okay.” The kettle clicks off, and Rick drops a tea bag into a mug, fills it with steaming water, and then turns back to me, his fingers curled around his tea. “Do you want any?”
I impatiently decline and bite my tongue as he takes a cautious sip of his tea. Then, he leans against the counter and takes a deep breath.
“The LeClerc Cartel auction is going to be a five-day event at the Crooked Tree Inn. It’s a historic place. Very upscale.”
“Five days? Why so long?”
He shrugs. “The men there are going to spend a lot of money, so the Cartel likes to make it worth their time. Plus, it gives them time to peruse the selection.” He looks at me nervously and then brings the cup to his lips, taking a small sip. “And sample what they may want.”
Heat floods my chest, and I clench my hands. Breathe, motherfucker, I tell myself. “How do I get in?”
Rick sets his mug down on the counter and crosses his arms over his narrow chest. “It is exclusive, obviously, but bidders can vouch for one another.”
“Are you a bidder?” I ask.
Rick nods and then turns and walks out of the room without another word. For a moment, I think I’m supposed to follow him, but then he returns with something in his hands. When he holds it up, I realize it is a mask.
“They send these to the bidders a few weeks early,” he says, turning the black mask over in his hands. Printed on the right temple is a small line drawing of the Cartel’s symbol—cracked bull horns. “I wasn’t originally on the list, but Levi Cornish gave it to me.”
“The thief?” I ask. I’ve never met him, but I’ve heard his name around. Like Rick, he works with everyone, going wherever the money is and stealing whatever he is assigned.
He nods and then chuckles, holding the mask out to me. “He thought I needed to get laid, but clearly, you need this more than I do.”
The mask is sturdier than I expected. It is a hard plastic covered in a durable, smooth fabric. I hold it up to my face for a moment, looking out from the eyeholes, and then pull it away.
“Is the mask just a ticket or do I need to wear it?”
“Both,” Rick says. “It should be enough to get you through the door no questions asked, but you need to wear it once you are inside. This event is attended by a lot of other men on your side of the law. Many of them have worked together before, so as much as possible, the Cartel likes to avoid any bad blood or vendettas rising to the surface. So, everyone covers their faces. It isn’t a perfect system, but it usually provides the right level of anonymity to keep the men inside calm.”
“You sound like you’ve been before.”
“Once,” he admits. “Right when the event first started. But once was enough for my taste. And if we are being honest, I’m surprised you are interested in going at all.”
“I wouldn’t be going if it wasn’t necessary.”
He nods and then tilts his head to the side. “Is everything okay with Eve?”
The mention of her name sets me on edge, and I grit my teeth. I do my best to smile. “As far as I know.”
He pulls his brows together. “Word has been going around that you’ve been domesticated. Everyone thought you were enamored with your partner. I’m only surprised you’d be
interested in another woman so soon after the birth of your daughter.”
Rick may be guessing at the truth, wondering if my urgency might hint that something is wrong with Eve, but I can’t reveal anything to him. As he has made clear, his loyalty is not with me, but his career. If someone were to come along and offer him a sizable amount of money, I have to assume Rick would sell out my plans in a second.
And I can’t blame him.
He owes me no loyalty, therefore, I do not owe him the truth.
Plus, the truth feels like a sucker punch to the gut.
I let my family be taken. I allowed myself to become complacent, and now my family is paying the price. It is a shame I’ve never felt before, and I’m not keen to share it with anyone else.
“It is never too early to spice things up,” I joke, acid rising in the back of my throat with every word. Then, I reach into my pocket. “I assume this information isn’t free. What is your going rate right now?”
He waves away my wallet, and I’m momentarily stunned, thinking he is refusing payment. Then, he wrinkles his nose. “I don’t deal in cash. It is absolutely filthy. A one-dollar bill is covered in more germs than a public toilet seat.”
I slide my wallet back into my pocket.
“A money transfer will suffice,” he says. “Five hundred and we’ll call it even. Only because you didn’t actually pull your weapon.” He raises a brow in mild amusement.
“I wouldn’t have actually shot you, Rick,” I say warmly.
Rick shakes his head. “Don’t lie to me, Luka. Keep your secrets but be honest with me when you can. You’d shoot me in an instant. We both know it.”
I tip my head towards the recognizable bulge at Rick’s own waist. “You are not unarmed.”
“I’m not,” he admits, glancing down at his hip. “But I never lied about my intentions. If you had pulled your weapon on me, I would have fought for my life.”
I laugh as he leads me towards the front door. “Then let’s pray my draw will always be quicker than yours.”
He opens the door and ushers me out. “And I’ll pray the same.”
I step outside but before I can turn around and say anything else in parting, Rick slams the door and slides the bolt into place.
Our conversation is over.
5
Eve
I’ve been in the Morrisons’ mansion for hours, but I haven’t seen anyone since Cole’s father came to see me.
I watch the sun move across the sky through the wall of windows and try to focus on anything other than my gnawing hunger and thirst, but it becomes more difficult as time goes on.
Then, I hear a distant door open and close.
For a moment, there is a flood of relief.
Finally, another person to talk to. Someone to explain to me what is going on. Maybe someone coming to take me to the restroom or feed and water me. (I’m ashamed at how quickly I’ve acclimated to my environment—already describing my needs like an animal in a zoo.)
As the quick footsteps grow closer, however, fear opens up like a pit in my stomach.
What are they going to do with me? Cole’s father told me I would be sold. Are they coming to take me now?
Even though I know what their plans are for me, part of me expected that Luka would arrive to save me before any of that happened. A small part of me clung to the idea that I would be rescued before anything truly egregious happened.
Now, however, I’m not as sure.
Especially because, if I know anything about Luka, he’ll be looking for Milaya over me. I know he loves me, but I also know how much he loves our daughter. And he knows how much I love her, too. He knows that I would want him to find her over me, so that is surely what he is doing.
I sit tall in my chair, stretch my aching spine, and lift my chin.
I will just have to save myself.
Cole’s father appears in the open doorway, and his face is twisted into a mask of rage and anger. His eyes are almost black with it.
“What is going on?” I ask, unable to help myself.
He pauses for a moment in the doorway and then stomps towards me, his footsteps shaking the table and the china in the cabinets.
I lean back in my chair until the back cuts into my spine, but there is nowhere to go. Nowhere to escape. My wrists and ankles are raw from trying to break the zip ties, so I know there is no use.
He pulls out a water bottle, wielding it like a weapon, and I shake my head. “What are you doing? What is going on?”
He charges towards me, barely stopping in time to avoid running me over, and then grabs my hair. I scream, my neck snapping backwards painfully, and then the bottle is at my lips. The water floods my mouth and throat, and I cough against it, trying to breathe.
“Drink it!” he yells, shaking my head by the hair. “Drink it.”
Moments ago, I was desperate for water, for anything to quench my thirst, but now, I just want air.
“Stop fighting it,” he says, tipping my head back farther.
I try to swallow the water in my mouth but the angle of my head makes it difficult to swallow. I force myself to quell the panic in my head, get my shit together, and make my throat do its job. It’s either that or drown.
Once my mouth is clear, he releases his hold on me slightly—only to yank my head back again and start the process over.
I do my best not to resist, but Mr. Morrison jerks me around so forcefully that my instincts scream at me to fight. I tense up, trying to protect myself even though I do not have any way to do that.
More and more water is poured down my throat, and I swallow it until my stomach hurts. Until I miss the feeling of being thirsty.
When the bottle is empty, Cole’s father crumples it in his hand and throws it under the dining room table. He turns to leave, and I call out to him.
“Wait, please,” I cough. Droplets and drool run from my mouth. I feel utterly exhausted all of a sudden.
He turns slightly, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.
“I have to use the restroom,” I say.
“Go ahead,” he says, tipping his head towards my chair. He turns to leave again, and I’m desperate to keep him in the room. Right now, he is my only connection to the outside world, and I don’t want to go back to being alone again.
“Where is Colleen?” I ask.
I can’t believe I remember Cole’s mother’s name. Though, considering his name was inspired by hers, perhaps it isn’t so surprising.
Cole’s father turns to me, eyes narrowed. “My family is no longer any of your concern.”
I would like to disagree with him, but my head feels fuzzy, and I can’t find the words.
In the brief window of time when I was Cole’s intended, and I hadn’t decided I could never marry him, I hoped his parents would become family to me. His mother was a cold woman, but I could tell she loved her son, and I hoped that would include me someday. Though, now that her son is dead, and I am partially responsible, I have to assume she hates me as much as her husband does.
Before I can find the words to keep him in the room any longer, Cole’s father turns and leaves. A few seconds later, I hear the front door open and close. And then I’m alone.
My bladder is full and uncomfortable and my body is stiff from being in such a strange position for so long, but I tip my head back and stare up at the ceiling. The tiles begin to bend and blur and spin, and I let my blurry vision distract me.
Until I realize what is happening.
My body is growing heavy and numb. My mouth is sagging open. My eyelids are drooping.
I’ve been drugged.
Clearly, I wasn’t being force-fed water for my own hydration. They were drugging me. There was something in the water to knock me out. But why?
My heart stutters in my chest.
Was it poison? Is this how I die?
I shake my head, trying to calm myself down. They wouldn’t kill me this way. Alone in a room, tied to a chair. After the
way I’ve been treated, they clearly have bigger plans for me. Plus, Cole’s father mentioned the auction. I am to be sold. They wouldn’t kill me if they wanted to make money off me.
Strangely, the thought calms me for a moment. I’m only being sold into human slavery, not murdered.
Woo-freaking-hoo.
If nothing else, at least it means there is a chance I’ll see my family again.
My eyes drop closed, too heavy to stay open another second, and in the blackness, Luka and Milaya appear.
He is cuddling her to his chest, rubbing his nose to hers, and he waves me over. I move towards them, hand outstretched.
But just before I reach them, the image swirls like smoke and is gone.
As soon as I wake up, I take in my surroundings and realize I’m alone.
Then, I throw my weight up and forward, scooting my chair forward.
Before this moment, I was too afraid of being heard to try anything so daring, but I’m not afraid anymore. Sometime in the night, my drugged mind came to the realization that the Morrisons can’t hurt me. Not really, anyway. They can tie me up and leave me without food, but I’m supposed to be sold. No one will want to buy me if I’m bruised and broken. So, there is no reason not to try and escape.
The handles on the china cabinet are in the mid-century style. Long horizontal metal handles with sharpened points. Perfect for cutting through plastic zip ties. If I can just get to them, then I can break through the zip ties and escape.
I’m not sure exactly where I am, but it is my best chance.
I use my toes to counterbalance the chair when it starts to tip and then throw my weight again, scooting forward an inch.
It may take me an hour to get to the hutch, but I have to try.
Based on what I can see through the window, early morning fog is settled low over the ground and the trees, so hopefully no one will be in to check on me for a while.
I scoot forward again, the chair legs scraping and banging on the wood floors, and then again. It is noise, but the house has been empty so far, so I have no reason to believe anyone is inside.