Daybreak

by Nicole Fox

  Without Courtney, Tati, and Olivia, the house is dead. It’s cold and lifeless, and the idea of sleeping there without them makes me physically ill.

  So, I stay at Elena’s house.

  I could stay at a hotel or sleep in my office, but I like being in a place that, as wrong as it is, my family occupied. No matter how briefly.

  Sleep doesn’t come, though.

  No matter how long I spend lying down, I end up getting up and wandering. I study the art on the walls, and when I get to Elena and Rurik’s bedroom, I study the photographs.

  Devon was hidden in plain sight.

  His red head is in frames on the dresser and wedged between Rurik and Elena in photographs.

  Even if I’d come into this room and seen the pictures, I would have thought he was a nephew. Or some other relative. Never their son.

  Why would anyone keep a child a secret?

  That question still plagues me. Why?

  Or rather, how?

  I can’t imagine keeping Tati or Olivia a secret.

  I didn’t tell anyone Tati was in a coma for her own safety, but clearly, Elena wasn’t lying to try and keep Devon separate from our dangerous world. She has thrown him into it headfirst now as a spy and a captor.

  It doesn’t make sense, but I still feel foolish for letting it pass unnoticed.

  Sleep eventually comes in fits and starts until sunrise, and then I go back into detective mode.

  Pasha has the rest of the men following leads all over town, and I’ve been calling as many allies as I can, but nothing has been resolved. In fact, our erratic movements have caught the attention of our rivals. Even if they don’t know what is going on, they know something is going on, and they’re exploiting it.

  Pasha calls midmorning to warn me there are smaller rival families nipping at the edge of our territory.

  I don’t want to worry about it. I want to give all of my attention to finding Courtney and the girls, but if I allow what appears to be mercy, the problem will only grow.

  “Kill them on sight,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose and sighing. “Anyone who is in our territory without authorization. Get rid of them.”

  There is a brief hesitation on the other end of the phone before Pasha agrees and hangs up.

  I spent years trying to be better than my father. Trying to be an honorable, merciful man. Someone who killed only when it was the last resort.

  That thinking has led to my family being taken from me, and now I’ll burn the world to get them back.

  No mercy. No prisoners.

  By the afternoon, there is no one else to call. I have meetings scheduled, but until then, I can only wait. I’m restless.

  So, I join one of the patrol teams on the border. Nothing happens for over an hour, but then we see a drug deal going down.

  The group is small and poorly armed, so it feels almost wrong to take them out, but I can’t be bothered with emotions as useless as pity. We fight.

  I almost sigh with relief as I duck down behind the car to keep safe from the rain of bullets coming our way. It’s action. It’s physical. For the first time in days, I’m out of my own head. My body is flooded with adrenaline, and I’m focused on a single task, every other thought gone from my head.

  When the last man is killed, I help the men clean up the bodies, not yet ready for the physical labor to be done. Then, I send them to continue their patrol without me. I have another meeting.

  The Italians had connections in the police force, but so do I.

  My father became close with Travis Knepp just before his death. Travis turned his head more than a few times when he saw our men on the streets, and he has proven to be a useful source of information, especially in regard to the movements of other organizations.

  His car is parked in the back corner of a strip mall underneath a scraggly tree that looks half dead and ready to fall over. As I climb in the passenger seat, I notice the blood on my hands. It leaves a smear on his door handle.

  “You need a towel?” he asks, motioning to the glove compartment. “I’d rather not have bloodstains inside my car. It doesn’t look good.”

  I hold up my hands uselessly, and he reaches over to open the box for me. I grab a few fast food napkins and wipe the bit of blood from my fingers. “Sorry. I just came from work.”

  Travis breathes through his nose. “You should be more careful. I am still a cop, after all.”

  “What did you find out?” I ask, ignoring his weak threat. If Travis ever wanted to bring anything down on me, I have a box full of tapes and messages outlining his dirty deeds. He knows better than to mess with me.

  “Nothing good,” he sighs. His hands clench in his lap. “You sure you want to know?”

  “Of course I fucking want to know. It’s my family.” Travis is the only person beyond the Bratva who knows with certainty my family is missing. He is a useful source of information, but he has to be persuaded. Dabbling in our world is a risk for him. So, I told him the truth and offered him a hefty sum.

  He nods and holds out his hand. I give him the envelope with zero hesitation. I’d hand over my bank accounts, my house, and my entire empire. Take it all. As long as I can save my girls.

  “You already know the Yakuza are involved,” he says, staring straight ahead, his eyes watching cars pass on the road in front of us. “They do a lot of work over at the docks. See a lot of shipments coming and going.”

  “Of what?” I ask.

  Travis turns and looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “What do you think?”

  My stomach clenches. Fuck. Human trafficking.

  He sees me put the pieces together and clenches his jaw. “I had a suspicion, but it was confirmed this morning. The girls are slated to head to eastern Europe next week. They’ll be sold to criminal rings there.”

  My fist is clenched so tightly my fingernails are cutting into my palm. “You’re sure about that timeline?”

  “As sure as anything ever is,” he shrugs. “I trust the person who gave me the information, if that is what you mean.”

  “Shit.” I pound my fist on my thigh.

  “Will you launch an attack at the docks?” he asks.

  I’m not in the habit of offering my plans to anyone beyond my own Bratva, but my next move here is obvious. Either I attack the docks, or I say goodbye to my family forever. Only one of those is an acceptable option.

  “I’ll have to. My men are ready for a fight.”

  “With the Yakuza and the smaller families pushing in on your borders, it seems,” he says, tipping his head to the bloody tissue in my lap. “They’re probably tired. Are you sure you can handle it?”

  I say nothing. No one needs to know how weak the Bratva is right now. No one needs to know the full extent of how completely everything has gone to shit. “If I couldn’t handle it, you would not be the first person I’d tell, officer.”

  Travis holds up his hands in surrender. “Fair enough. But if you want my opinion, have your guys take out any rival they lay eyes on before focusing on the Yakuza. You don’t want to be fighting on two fronts. Wipe them out and then focus your resources on the docks.”

  I’m prepared to tell Travis to take his opinion and choke on it. I’ve been in this business long enough to formulate my own battle strategies. However, as I turn towards him, I notice his hands drumming nervously on his steering wheel.

  He is wearing a pair of leather gloves despite the mild weather, but that’s not what I notice. As his fingers drum across the wheel, the tip of the glove covering his pinky bends backwards. As though the end is gone.

  “Good advice,” I say between gritted teeth, looking away from him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Traitor.

  I shouldn’t be surprised. Anyone willing to pledge an oath to protect people and then turn around and work with criminals isn’t someone who can be trusted. Travis proved himself disloyal years ago. Yet, I never would have suspected he’d go all in with the Yakuza.

&n
bsp; Every person who swears fealty to the Yakuza loses the tip of their pinky in a swearing-in ceremony. It is antiquated and bloody, but it marks them forever as having pledged themselves to the Yakuza.

  For most officers, keeping themselves open and available to every family is the best way to bring in the cash. Everyone is bidding and vying for top-tier information. Whatever the Yakuza are paying him, it must be more than what I just handed him in the envelope.

  “I think I can find the ship your family will be on if that would help,” Travis offers. “It might cost a bit more money, but—”

  “I can find it,” I say.

  He furrows his brow. “I’m not so sure you can. It would be a shame to show up to the wrong place and miss them, wouldn’t it?”

  “Then I won’t show up to the wrong place,” I say with a harsh smile.

  Travis is here to lure me and my men into a trap. Every bit of information he has given me is leading me to my death.

  I believe him that the girls are going to be on a ship and sold. But I also believe the Yakuza are going to be lying in wait for a full-scale attack. They are going to be armed and waiting for us, and like Travis said, my men are tired.

  It has been days of searching and fighting, and they are spent. More days of searching and planning lie ahead of us, too. We need more information from untainted sources. By the time we get what we need, they’ll be exhausted while the Yakuza are able to rest up and gather their strength.

  It hits me, too, that of course Travis would want me to take out as many rival families as I can. Every rival family I take out is one less family who can stand against the Yakuza taking control of the entire city. Plus, it will expend the energy of my forces even further. I’m sure that particular command came from Akio himself, the leader of the Yakuza.

  “Just let me write down what I might know for you,” Travis says, reaching for a notepad in his console.

  I wave him away. “I don’t want it.” His brow furrows, and I cover quickly. “You’ve done enough, and I won’t pay you another dime today. I don’t accept favors. It creates an imbalance.”

  “Come on, Dmitry. We’ve been friends a long time. Let me help.”

  I shake my head. “No. We’re business associates. Not friends. I don’t confuse the two and neither should you. Thanks for meeting me.”

  I need to get out of the car before I reach across the seat and strangle him.

  There are Yakuza members around the parking lot, no doubt. Hidden, but present. If I show any signs of recognizing Travis has been sent to trap me, they’ll move in. It won’t be what they wanted, but the Yakuza will take whatever they can get.

  Even if they can’t kill all of my men, killing me will do the trick. The power vacuum it will create in combination with the chaos happening on our borders will be enough for them to step in and take over what I’ve built.

  I have to play it cool, get out of here, and face this on my own. I can’t rally my men because they’ll see it coming a mile away.

  There is only one thing that will ensure I can get to the ship and find my family:

  I have to go in alone.

  Travis sighs and runs a hand down his face. “I don’t want to see you lose your family because of pride.”

  I give him a one-fingered salute and open the door. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

  He is starting to say something else when the door closes, but I don’t hear it. I get into my car as quickly as I can and leave before they decide not to take any chances and surround me right there.

  I don’t go back to Elena’s house. It was stupid to set up camp there in the first place. I go to a safe house on the far edge of Bratva territory, telling no one except for Pasha where I am.

  Nothing went the way I expected it to, but now I have a plan. And for the first time in days, I go to bed, and I sleep. I’ll need the rest.

  4

  Courtney

  Three more women are thrown into the cell during the night.

  They are dumped unceremoniously by a few of the guards with no explanation or introduction.

  I hold Tati close and then feel guilty for being frightened of the other women. It’s obvious they are scared out of their wits. One of the women sits in the corner for hours, staring and catatonic.

  Still, I don’t have the energy for guilt. There is only room for fear. Fear for Tati and her worsening condition. The guards gave her something back at the mansion to make her sleep, and she hasn’t responded well to it. Her body is having a hard time shedding the medication. She was sleepy and confused for several days, but now she’s sick. Nauseous, with headaches and muscle spasms.

  And then there’s my fear for Olivia.

  Since the night when Devon became desperate and brought Olivia in to be calmed, I have only seen my daughter twice in passing. Devon allows small glimpses, but no touching.

  I can’t even be certain the baby he is holding is my daughter, which makes me feel like a horrible mother. What kind of mother doesn’t recognize her own baby? Shouldn’t I just innately know?

  And the fear that is crowding out all of the others, the fear that seems to grow larger by the second is the thought that Dmitry might not be coming for us.

  The moment we were captured, I told myself Dmitry would save us. Then, Devon claimed Dmitry was the one who sold us. I didn’t believe it, but as days pass with no sign, no word … it is getting harder to outright deny the claim.

  “I can’t believe Dmitry did this to us,” Sadie says, pacing along the back wall like a tiger in a cage. “I can’t believe Devon paid for us. Me, especially. His girlfriend.”

  Sadie’s rants have been repetitive and nonstop for days. After her meltdown over Devon’s betrayal, she wept and then quickly became indignant.

  She believes Dmitry sold us, and no amount of arguing can shake the idea loose from her brain. So, I’ve given up. Sadie is too angry and emotional to listen to me. Our situation is far from normal, so I can understand it, but that doesn’t make it easier to deal with.

  “We have all been betrayed in some way to end up here,” I remind her calmly. Not by Dmitry, of course, but I don’t say that.

  “My boyfriend got my ass thrown in here, too,” one of the women says, her top lip pulled back in a snarl.

  Sadie spins around. “Was his name Devon?”

  The woman snorts. “I wasn’t dating your boyfriend, girl. I ain’t nobody’s side chick. Though, I barely knew the guy. He might have been married.”

  Unbelievably, Sadie seems relieved by this. Devon has sold her into possible slavery and kept her locked in a tiny room for days, but if he was cheating on her as well? Unforgivable.

  Sadie slumps down the wall and lays a hand on Tati’s cheek. She is dozing on my lap, though I can tell she isn’t really asleep. It’s just easier to sleep than it is to be awake, and I don’t want to begrudge Tati what tiny bit of comfort she can find in this place.

  Suddenly, the door opens, and everyone tenses.

  Will more women be thrown in with us? Are we being moved? Is a guard coming to separate us?

  I grab Tati tightly. I already lost Olivia. I can’t lose her, too.

  Then, the guard with the food appears with three plastic trays. They are piled with various packaged foods in no particular arrangement. When he drops the trays on the floor, packages of chips and cookies scatter across the cement.

  Sadie lunges for one of the trays and drags it towards us. She gives Tati a package of salted almonds and a granola bar—the healthiest things on the tray—and then we divide up the snack mix, chips, and cookie.

  “The only thing they have here is a vending machine,” Sadie complains, pinching off a bit of cookie and wincing as it hits her tongue. “An old one, too. This is stale.”

  “I didn’t think vending machine food could go stale,” I say.

  We look at one another for a second, and then for the first time in days, I smile. Sadie lets out a small huff of laughter and shakes her head. “You learn somethi
ng new every day, I guess. Even in captivity.”

  I’m about to eat a handful of my snack mix when two of the other women in the cell start to shout.

  “You take every package of chips that come through this door,” the blonde woman says, stabbing an accusatory finger at the frail, dark-haired woman across from her. “This one is mine.”

  “They’re the only thing I like,” the girl argues. Her hair falls in thin sheets around her gaunt face. It looks like she needs the chips more. She is scary thin.

  “It doesn’t look like you like much of anything,” the blonde says. She shoves a finger in her mouth and pretends to hurl. “Do you actually eat anything or are you a fan of the binge and purge?”

  The thin girl’s cheeks go pink with embarrassment. “I don’t throw up. Now, give it to me.”

  They each tug on the bag of chips between them hard enough I’m surprised the old bag doesn’t rip right down the center.

  Tati presses in closer to my side, her eyes locked on the two women, her lower lip trembling. And seeing her upset is the only reason I step in.

  “Hey,” I offer, holding my hands up in surrender before they even turn to look at me. “We have another bag of chips over here. If someone wants to trade it, we can make this work for everyone.”

  The blonde turns on me, eyes narrowed. “You three are a little unit. Don’t pretend like you care about us.”

  “I do,” I argue. “We do. We’re all in here against our will. We aren’t each other’s enemies.”

  The girl lifts her chin, studying me. Then, she looks at our tray. “I’ll give you half of my granola bar for the chips.”

  “Deal.” I make the trade and watch as the two women retreat to their respective corners to eat their dinner of ancient chips and dirty water.

  The third woman is still quiet and unmoving in the corner. She didn’t move once during the entire fight, and I’m worried what will happen if she doesn’t eat or drink anything. If she passes out, I’m not sure any medical help will be offered. If she starves, I’m not even confident the guards will remove her body.