Trafficked

by Alexis Abbott

  I gulp down the lump of fear in my throat. He takes a step closer. This time, though, I stand my ground, staring at him intently. If I’m going to die on this stupid boat, I’m going to do it facing my enemy, not turning and running away like a frightened squirrel or whatever. Besides, what have I got to lose? My eyes flit to the door behind him. It’s closed, but I bet if I bolted for it, I might be able to outrun him. I just need to get closer first, but without arousing his suspicion.

  “Do you know who brought me here?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Thugs, I assume. Bad men. Stupid men.”

  I nod slowly, impressed. “Yeah, well. I think that’s a fair assumption. But I meant… do you know who they are? Their names? Who they work for?” I press him.

  “What, you think just because I am Russian, I must know every other Russian there is in existence on the planet?” he teases, half-serious, half-amused.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” I sigh, “I just… I want to know what’s happening to me. What’s going to happen to me. Can’t you tell me anything?”

  “Sorry, no. I do not know. You are a mystery to me,” he admitted, stroking at the dark stubble on his chin.

  “What is this boat, then? Is it yours? How did I end up in there?” I ask.

  “You have many questions I cannot answer,” he groans, putting his hands on his hips.

  I tear my eyes away from him and start to look around the room again in earnest, looking for any clues that might tell me what my purpose here is. I look at the walls, my eyes scanning over the beautiful paintings, the tapestries… and then I notice something strange.

  A long black whip with a knotted cord, perched on the wall. I frown, blinking my eyes in confusion, wondering if it’s just a bizarre art installation. But then I see something else that puts me on edge. On each of the bedposts, there is a tie, similar to the ones that used to bind my wrists together. On the ceiling is a mirror, and sitting on the dresser across the room are several small, shiny items. A pair of handcuffs. Tongs. Knives. Various toys of a… sexual nature. My heart sinks so low I feel like it might disintegrate into my stomach.

  “No,” I breathe, shaking my head. “No. I know why you’ve brought me here. You’re going to do things to me. Bad things.”

  The man follows my line of sight to the items on the dresser and it dawns on him that I’m realizing what kind of danger I’m in, specifically. “Der’mo,” he swears to himself, and starts to move toward me.

  I scream and throw the splintery bit of wood at him, giving myself just enough of a distraction to dart past him to the door. My hands tremble violently as I turn the knob and stumble out onto the deck of the boat, which is bigger than I expected: a yacht. Screaming my head off, I rush up a flight of a few steps to a higher deck and run to the front of the bow, waving my arms and crying out. Through the sheen of tears blurring my vision, I can see that the coastline is shrinking away rapidly, the yacht surrounded by choppy dark water on all sides.

  “Help! Help me, please!” I wail, straining my vocal cords to their extreme.

  But nobody can see me. We’re too far out for anyone at the docks to even notice I’m here. And moments later, I feel a pair of impossibly thick, muscular arms wrap around me, pulling me back from the bow, dragging me away.

  Vladimir

  I feel her thrashing against my firm grip as I step away from the side of the ship with her. She’s panicking, and I know better than most that people will do insane, self-destructive things when they’re in the middle of such a frightful panic as this girl is.

  She kicks and screams through the hand I have over those full, soft lips, and the remaining few traces of her perfume fill my nostrils as I keep hold on her. She’s an energetic little brat, but no matter how strong she thinks she is, no amount of nimble wiggling is going to get her out of the hold I have on her.

  It doesn’t matter how hard she thrashes or how loud she screams, though. Out here, nobody can hear her. We’re well past that. And frankly, even if we were close to the shore, I don’t think Nikita is the kind of man who would question what I choose to do with the yacht I just stole from one of the most powerful dead men in all of Russia.

  “Calm down, devushka,” I growl, just above her ear. “You are wasting your energy. I am not going to harm you.”

  She doesn’t seem to believe me. She twists her arms and tries to throw her center of gravity around, and I have to react to her to keep from letting her escape my grasp. I can’t help but wonder if she’s taken some self-defense classes. If she has, she’s putting her lessons to as good a use as one could hope when adrenaline is pumping and your head isn’t on straight. I almost feel bad that I’m not letting her escape and build some confidence in a useful skill.

  But I need to get her away from the edge of the boat, and I need her to take a few breaths before we keep talking.

  “I do not want to force you inside,” I say over her muffled screaming. “But if you will not behave, I have no choice.”

  I hoist her up and pin her arms to her side as I carry her, letting go of her mouth. She starts calling out immediately.

  “Heeeeelp! Please! Anyone! Help me! Kidnap!”

  I roll my eyes, tightening my jaw as I head toward the glass doors into the main lounge, where I have a few ideas about how to get her to calm down. I carefully turn us around so that she can see where I’m taking her, but it doesn’t seem to do much to comfort her. Her arms are constantly struggling against mine, but I’m not about to let a girl half my age squirm free of me until I’m ready to let her down.

  I walk backward through the glass door and lower her enough that her feet touch the ground. She stops for a moment, then tries to thrash again, like I expected she would. I hold onto her a few moments longer, then finally put a hand on top of her head and speak in as gentle a tone I can manage into her ear.

  “Autumn, Autumn listen to me. Listen for just a moment. If I wanted to drag you back to that bedroom, we would be there already.”

  That at least gives her pause, and she slows to a stop. I can still feel her quick, panicked breathing, so I don’t let go. My hand is still on her head, and I keep it there, using my thumb to stroke her gently.

  “Take deep breaths, and count to ten,” I suggest.

  To my surprise, I feel her slow her breathing down. She obeys surprisingly well, when she wants to. I match her breathing to give her a guide, and after ten seconds, I feel her muscles relaxing in my grasp, if only a little.

  “Good girl,” I say. “Now, I want to let you go, but I need you to promise me you will not run away again. You could have hurt yourself. That water is very deep and very cold. You would die.”

  She is still.

  “I will explain everything,” I say. “Would you like a drink? You are old enough to drink, are you not?”

  As I hoped, that makes her turn her head to look at me indignantly. I smile, showing that it was a joke, and she narrows her eyes suspiciously. To my surprise, she actually nods, and I almost chuckle. But as much as she doesn’t deserve to be frightened, making myself seem to open and easy to know too early could make her overly bold. I won’t take chances around this girl until I know what kind of person she is.

  “I am going to release you now,” I say. “When I do, I would like you to walk to that bar over there,” I say, and I point out a curving, luxurious bar not far from the pool, where cushy stools stand in front of it. “If you run, we will have to do this again, and I do not suggest that. I cannot stop you from trying, but think carefully. Three, two, one.”

  I let my arms fall, and I take a single step back. Autumn wobbles a little, looking at me dubiously, jaw tight, her gaze and face so defiant. This girl has a special kind of spirit and willpower, and I would be lying if I said it doesn’t intrigue me.

  For a moment, it looks like she’s going to run. The way she looks at me hints at it. I can almost see her pretending to start, just to test me. That’s exactly what she’s doing. But I keep my palms visible an
d don’t move a muscle. Finally, she turns her back on me and starts walking toward the bar with shaky steps.

  I follow her until she’s close enough to stand at the bar, and I move around the back of it. Those brown eyes of hers follow me the whole time. She knows that with the bar between us, it would be much easier for her to get away, so this is an act of trust-building on my part. I hope it isn’t ill-placed.

  “Do you like vodka?” I ask, reaching down and taking out a large, unopened bottle. I show her the fact that it isn’t opened, hoping that makes it easier to believe that I’m not about to try and drug her. “See? New. I’ll drink with you.”

  She says nothing, but she watches me take out two glasses, put a little ice in each, and pour us a couple of drinks. I slid the glass over to her, and she looks at it suspiciously.

  “Vladimir,” I say, and her eyes snap back up to me. “You asked me my name earlier. It is Vladimir.”

  She doesn’t say anything to that either, but she seems to be watching more carefully, and she is no longer avoiding eye contact. That could be a good or bad sign. I take a drink of the vodka without hesitation to show her that it’s safe. She takes her glass in her hand, but she doesn’t drink yet.

  There’s a kind of energy about her that I cannot help but find captivating. I thought it familiar when I first saw her, and now I recognize it. It almost reminds me of my sister. That sharp intelligence behind unreadable layers of defenses, a quick mind that breathes and consumes like a flame being fanned… it’s easy to get taken in by that kind of personality. I need to watch myself around this girl.

  Whatever kidnappers the Gregorovitch leaders hired, they weren’t paid enough. Intuition tells me they had someone special on their hands. And now, I have her in mine. What to do with her?

  “Take me back to Russia,” she says, almost as if she can read my mind.

  I raise my eyebrows, surprised.

  “That is not something I hear American girls say often,” I remark. “Why would you want to go back?”

  “I’m a student,” she says, a flicker of hope in her eyes that she might be close to finding the magic words that will make this nightmare end. “I’m in university, I need to get back to my studies.”

  “Just like that? Dust off a proper kidnapping, get a quick night’s rest, and back to the library with you?” I grin. “Are you sure you aren’t Russian?”

  She tightens her jaw, but I see that flicker of a smile she’s trying to hold back. She likes my approval. That’s interesting.

  “I cannot take you back to Russia,” I say when she doesn’t reply, taking another swig of my drink.

  “Why not?”

  “Someone kidnapped you,” I say matter-of-factly, then gesture around at the room we’re standing in. “See this yacht? Someone with a lot of money kidnapped you. And they got away with it, which should give you the big picture that the person responsible for taking you has loose morals, a lot of money, and a lot of other powerful friends. And let me tell you, Autumn: those friends don’t have a strong moral compass either.”

  I stare at her long and hard to make sure she gets my point. I feel a twinge of guilt, though, because I don’t entirely believe my own words. It’s certainly a possibility. The Gregorovitch family is indeed large and wealthy, but I have no idea how badly they might want this particular girl. She could be the pakhan’s latest obsession, or she could be a random American girl some hired goons’ thought wouldn’t be missed.

  My way is the safe way.

  “Where are you taking me?” she finally asks without acknowledging what I said.

  “I am not taking you anywhere, I say, pouring a second glass of vodka for myself. She finally takes a sip of her own, wincing. “Don’t breathe in when you drink,” I suggest as an aside. “You were on this ship when I made my plans, and my plans are to go to America.”

  Her eyes widen at that.

  “You’re taking this thing all the way there? How?”

  “A lot of fuel.”

  She opens and closes her mouth a few times, at a loss. In truth, my heart aches for this girl. I know all too well what it’s like to be vulnerable with precious few people to turn to, let alone none. I feel my protective instincts stirring hard. This girl is a complication, but that isn’t her fault.

  I will do everything I can to set things right with her. My principles were what led me to gun down a room full of evil men less than twelve hours ago. If I can do that and then not help a vulnerable girl in need, how could I look at myself in the mirror?

  “You will be safe with me,” I say simply, leaning on the bar. “I have the ability to keep you safe, but you must listen when I speak and follow my instructions exactly, when I give them. If you do this, I will get you safely home to your parents after we arrive in New York. I do not mind if you do not wish to tell me where they live, for now. We cross that bridge when we reach it, as you say.”

  She breaks eye contact to look down at her glass.

  “I… don’t have any,” she says softly.

  My eyebrows go up, and I run my hand over my chin.

  “Ah.” A pause. “That… is something I can understand, believe it or not.”

  “Really?”

  “Da. I was young. A teenager. It was… very sudden. It is a shocking feeling, to lose your home at that age.”

  “I was just a kid,” she says, and she looks like she wants to say more, but she catches herself before opening up too much. “Anyway, I don’t have much of a home to go back to. I had a professor who set me up over here, but cancer took her. I guess fate really doesn’t want parental figures in my life.”

  She delivers the line in a deadpan, but when she smirks, I can’t help but snort a laugh at the bluntness of the joke. What kind of morbid little thing has fallen into my hands?

  “You seem to be taking it well.”

  “She would be proud of me,” she says, looking out the glass walls. “Getting kidnapped by mobsters without any friends on the planet is very fitting, given the kinds of things we used to talk about.”

  “Sounds like riveting conversation,” I say, and she grins. “What do you study?”

  “Literature,” she says, showing a little excitement. “Russian literature, obviously.”

  “Obviously,” I say, showing off a little smugness that she seems to find amusing.

  “The Nabokov Museum was my first stop when I landed in St. Petersburg,” she says, and for a glimmer of a moment, I think she forgets that she’s sitting on her kidnapper’s boat in the middle of the Black Sea.

  “You need to be practicing that Russian, then,” I say, smirking and wagging a finger as if I were talking to my own student.

  To my surprise, she kind of blushes at that and nods.

  “I really do. That was actually one of my classes I had lined up next semester, but…”

  “No, see, this could be good,” I say. “Think of it as immersive learning.”

  She pauses, then bursts out laughing. It’s a musical sound, and I cannot help but swell with pride at having teased it out of her. She covers her mouth, then takes another, longer drink of her vodka.

  “Straight vodka, Nabokov, and a kidnapping at sea,” I muse, stroking my beard. “I’ll make a Russian out of you yet.”

  “Who are you?” she asks, giving me a more earnestly searching look. My smile fades, but it doesn’t vanish entirely.

  “I am Vladimir. That is all you need to know, for now.”

  “You have a nice name, Vladimir. I’ve always liked the sound of that. I like it more than mine, anyway.”

  “Really? The season that shows time passing, leaves withering, and the warmth of summer getting stolen away by long nights? I have not known you long, Autumn, but I have a feeling that suits you well.”

  She stares at me for a long while, but instead of commenting, she glances past me and blinks a few times.

  “Is that… the sunrise?”

  I look over my shoulder and see the first flickers of light over th
e horizon, and I chuckle.

  “So it is,” I say. “Must have lost track of time. Would you like to see it?”

  She stands up and sets her half-empty glass aside to follow me to the door. I let her out, and as salty air washes over us, we approach the edge of the yacht and lean against the railing, watching that golden disc start to crawl above the waves in the distance. It’s a bittersweet sunrise. I’m pleased that she has calmed down enough to even be friendly with me, and that strokes my protective instincts even further. But this conversation has been good for distracting us both from the matter at hand, and we’ll soon have to figure out some difficult things.

  Autumn opens her mouth to speak.

  But then, a bang comes from the cabin, in the direction of the master suite, and I whip around with every nerve on high alert.

  Autumn

  I look at Vladimir with my heart pounding so loudly I’m sure he can hear it. I scoot a little closer to him, as though the warmth and raw strength radiating off of his powerful, much larger body is enough to protect me. My hand inches closer to his, my small, lithe fingers wrapping around his thumb.

  It strikes me yet again how much bigger he is than me, how small and vulnerable I must look compared to a man like him. His whole body is tensed up, his muscles clenched as he slowly turns his head to listen.

  He reminds me for a moment of a wolf I saw at a wildlife rehabilitation center back home. Alert. Perfectly still, every muscle and instinct turned toward the potential threat. That wolf was in captivity for reasons beyond its own fault, and yet the instincts never fully dissolved inside of him. He was always poised to attack.

  To protect what he considered his territory, even if that territory only existed behind the crisscross wire fence of his enclosure. Vladimir is similarly boxed in, I realize. This yacht is like a prison, the unruly waves surrounding like us like a chain-link fence. Like miles and miles of chain-link fence, filled to the brim with sharp-toothed patrollers meant to keep us locked here together. I can’t help but wonder what kind of karma I must have incurred to end up like this.