Dark Nights Boxed Set: The Complete Series

by Skye Warren

  “Do it,” I urged. “Please.”

  The harsh ring of Carlos’s cell phone was like some macabre soundtrack in our little drama. He turned away to take the call.

  “I know this doesn’t look good,” he whispered. “Just trust me. Just go along with it until this is over, just until the drop and then we’ll nail his ass. Please, Mia.”

  “Okay,” I agreed. Anything to keep him from some stupid show of heroics. The relief washed over me like a cool breeze. “Go now. I’ll see you after.”

  The light blinded me as he moved off me, allowing the harsh lights to expose me. Only when I heard the slow thuds of his boots on the concrete growing softer as he walked away did I realize I had hoped he would save me. But that’s how perverse I was, that I’d wish for Tyler to stay even if it meant his death. Even knowing it was illogical, hope wanted him to care enough to stop this no matter the cost. The tragedy of Romeo and Juliet had never made more sense than right now. Like we’d rather make a dramatic exit together than ever be apart. What crap. Because really, I was alone and hurt. I’d believed him. I trusted him. That was the tragedy.

  Give me a little credit, he’d said.

  I never wanted to hope, but it clung like vines, strangling the life out of me. The first blow landed on my ribs, echoing inside me, because I was empty, so hollow. The second one hit my shoulder. Mostly Carlos liked to kick me for a good beating. It was easier for him to keep up his stamina. The pain screamed through me in a litany of stupid, stupid, stupid girl for getting your hopes up, for thinking you were worth something.

  Only when Carlos heaved, out of breath, did I realize that this one was different. I’d die today, soon but not soon enough. I curled up into a ball, uncaring if it made Carlos angrier, maybe even wishing it did. End it sooner. God, please. And then it stopped.

  “Leo,” I heard him snap. “Get in here.”

  I shuddered and spasmed on the floor, unable to control my body. These were the moments I wished I were dead, when I was too weak to do anything about it. It was nature’s cruel irony, stringing me along.

  “Keep going with her,” Carlos said.

  A short pause. “She looks pretty messed up already.”

  “Do what I fucking say,” Carlos snapped. “Everyone’s a critic today. I know you want to rip her pretty skin. You want to smear the blood all over her. I can see it in your eyes. Don’t forget that I know you, Leo. Do it now. I’m waiting.”

  The caress of leather on fabric signaled Leo’s belt leaving his pants. He put up a good fight against his sadism, but I was like an open bar to an alcoholic. Carlos’s words had inflamed him. I couldn’t look. I didn’t have the strength to turn my head anyway.

  A lash hit, and then another. It felt like every hit propelled me across the floor, jerking and gasping, but I was staying still. I knew by the pool of blood and other questionable liquids that grew and grew. It was just like Carlos said—skin ripping and blood smearing.

  “I’m going to the meeting,” Carlos said. “Have some fun with her. Take your time and then dispose of her.” He bent down over me, a grin lighting his face. “I lied, you know. He was the one who gave you two away. He was too interested in you, too interested in a used up whore.”

  The one who gave you two away. The two of us, as if he’d learned both our secrets instead of just mine. The shock must have registered on my face even through the bruises, because he laughed.

  “Don’t worry, cara,” he said. “He’ll pay for that.”

  Then the door shut, and I was left in Leo’s care.

  Chapter Ten

  The belt dropped in front of my face.

  “Thank God he’s gone,” Leo said. The hoarseness in his voice wasn’t from exertion. He could beat a man with his fists for hours before tiring. Maybe it was guilt, but my guess was arousal.

  The man got so turned on by pain, by a sliced up woman. It wasn’t his fault. He really couldn’t control it. But I couldn’t tell him so. Couldn’t move my jaw at all. It might have been broken.

  He knelt beside me. His touch was gentle like Tyler’s, but where Tyler had avoided my cuts and bruises, Leo traced them. They burned from the salt of his skin.

  “What’d you do?” His voice held regret, but also a morbid acceptance that he liked it anyway, that he would take what he could get. It was always my fault.

  I gave a short shake of my head against the concrete which only succeeded in dizzying me. I didn’t think I had much in the way of consciousness left.

  “I’m not going to hurt you anymore. I’m not.” It sounded like he was trying to convince himself, and failing. “You’ve been through enough.”

  Some shuffling sounds came to my ear, the very air rustled, and then an even softer touch pricked my open wounds. He was licking me, I realized, tasting my blood, feeling the jagged skin against his tongue. I hated my body for appealing to him, for attracting him, but at least this was passive. When Leo hurt me, I could take myself away in my mind. Carlos never allowed that.

  I couldn’t hope that he’d disobey Carlos, not when he’d never done it before, but I could try. “Please, just make it quick. Give me the knife, I’ll do it. Please.”

  He shook his head thoughtfully. “I’m not going to kill you.”

  That’s how I knew I was in a bad way, that those words inspired disappointment instead of relief. “Why not?” Petulant little girl, bleeding on the floor.

  “I need your help.” Light flickered in his eyes and then extinguished—the light of sanity. “There’s going to be a new jefe around here. Carlos has gotten out of hand. And Tyler…” He made a low sound of dismissal.

  He was hardly the first person to challenge Carlos for leadership. Honestly, I didn’t think he had it in him, not to win, not even to try, but maybe Tyler had really gotten to him.

  “A few of the guards are with me already. The rest will scatter when the fighting starts. Carlos and his pretty boy Tyler don’t stand a chance.”

  I tried to process this. Maybe Leo didn’t have it in him to actually run this place, but if he’d prepared a trap…

  “Why would you need me?” I asked.

  “Tyler’s one of my guys. He’s going to take down Carlos there, and in return, I turn over a few big time guys and get immunity. Well, fuck that. I’ve been under Carlos’s thumb for too long to take orders from some fuckwad FBI agent. Once Carlos is dead and Tyler has control of the shipment, you’re my trump card.”

  I laughed. The sound in my throat when I heard how crazy it sounded. Maybe Tyler had betrayed me to Carlos. Or maybe he hadn’t since Carlos seemed to know about both of us. But even if he hadn’t, even if this was part of some twisted plan of his to free the slaves, to get me out, to get a promotion, he didn’t give a shit about me. “Tyler doesn’t want me.”

  Leo gave me a kick in the ribs, almost a friendly admonition, like a light punch in the arm. “You stupid girl. What do you think this is all about?”

  I thought back to when Tyler had asked to buy me. Carlos had refused again and again. Did Tyler really want me as his whore that badly?

  Leo shook his head. “You don’t get it. He came here looking for you. That’s how I first found him out, sniffing around for a Mia who grew up on the southside. Brown hair, that’s all he knew. I was just going to blow his brains out, you know, just to keep him out of Carlos’s business. But he’s real eager to talk to you, see if you’re okay or some shit. That made me laugh, you know, because look at you, but I figured if he wanted access that badly, I could use him.”

  I blinked up at the rafters, my eyes finally dry. I was all messed up from the beating, still smarting over the betrayal. That had to be why this wasn’t making any sense. He’d come here for me?

  “Yeah, he has it bad.” Leo looked me up and down, unimpressed. “I guess you’re not that messed up. For a whore.” He pulled out his half-erect cock with a helpless shrug. “There’s still time.”

  I shut my eyes against the yellow stream, but the hot slap against m
y skin and the acrid smell assaulted me just the same. My skin would’ve crawled if it weren’t already burning from the acidic wash. I was already going to be his meal ticket. Did I really need to get literally pissed on, too? But that’s Leo for you.

  * * *

  Leo gave me a few minutes to wash off in the shower and put on some wet clothes. He wasn’t being considerate. We’d made it all the way downstairs before he sniffed, probably realizing he’d be stuck in the car with me covered in cooling piss.

  “In.” He nodded me toward my bathroom.

  I stripped my clothes without modesty, eager to let the scorching hot water burn away the memories. That was one of the great things about being housed in this industrial complex, the hotel-like water heater. Even as large as it was, I probably used up most of the hot water. But I was often the only girl around here, and I figured that garnered me some privileges despite my lowly status.

  When I stepped out of the shower, Leo wasn’t in the bedroom anymore. I heard his low murmurs coming from the hallway. Where other women’s counters might be stocked with lotions and powders, I had disinfectant and antibiotic creams. With a quickness born of practice, I cleaned the cut on my stomach—fuck, it burned—and some of the bigger scrapes. Then I used extra-large butterfly tape to seal the cut closed.

  I’d heard about those liquid stitches, where you could paint it over the wound like white-out, but they didn’t carry them at my usual online pharmacy which was set up with illegal pain meds and Carlos’s credit card. Speaking of which, I popped a couple of pain pills. I was feeling a little light-headed, I thought. Yes.

  I started as I realized I was staring at the wall.

  Fucking blood loss.

  Leo was still on the phone, so I went to my dresser. I didn’t get my own cell phone, seeing as I was only allowed outside the compound with Carlos or Leo, but I had Zachary’s phone.

  Static cracked through the earpiece so loudly I was sure Leo would come charging in. “Hello?” came Zachary’s voice, small and tinny.

  “Zachary, it’s me,” I whispered.

  “Hello?” he said again, a little louder now but obviously he hadn’t heard me. Damn.

  I went back into the bathroom and flipped on the shower for white noise. “Zachary? Can you hear me?”

  “Mia, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

  What a loaded question. Although the answer was simple enough—no. “I’m fine. Listen, how did Tyler get this job?”

  “Who? Listen, we’ve got a problem. My guy’s gone off the grid. What’s happening over there? The drop isn’t supposed to be for a few days.”

  A chill caressed over me like a slick blade. “It’s been moved up. I’m talking about Tyler. Tyler Martinez. Your guy.”

  “No, he’s Jack Martin.”

  More crackling buzzed from the earpiece, or maybe it was only in my head. The shadows closed in on me.

  “Wait,” he said. “I thought you made him. Oh, but that’s not the name he goes by undercover. It’s Trunk.”

  Without a word, I dropped the phone into the toilet with a plop, slammed the lid shut, and fell. Blackness folded me in its embrace before I even hit the tile.

  * * *

  I must be on a ship, I thought. I was both lulled and nauseated by the endless rocking, back and forth. Back and forth. I gagged and choked on a thick wad of fabric. That should have been the end. I should have vomited into the small space and suffocated on my own bile. But my body was too damn good at surviving, always had been. With a shudder, it tamped down the urge to throw up, leaving me with a faint sickly feeling.

  The shiny plastic ceiling puzzled me. It felt like hours that I stared at it, thoroughly befuddled. What kind of room was so very short? It looked like the roof to one of those Barbie limos, but white. Surely, I hadn’t died and turned into a Barbie doll.

  Every degree my neck turned wrenched down my spine, until finally I stared at small round windows. Holy fuck, I really was on a ship. I’d thought that was just medication-fueled fancy. Although ship was probably too fine a word for the thin plastic walls and dirt-scuzzed port windows. Still, they were round. Very ship-like, very authentic, I thought, unaccountably pleased at that fact.

  Damn, I needed sleep. Now I had both the pain and the meds swirling around in my mind. Focus. The glass, or more likely plastic, was too fuzzy to see out of, but it still let in the dusky light.

  “You’re up,” Leo said. “The show will be starting soon.”

  I tried to whip my head around but only ended up shutting my eyes on a groan.

  “Yeah, you’re a mess,” he said, almost cheerfully. “Thought you’d offed yourself for a minute there with those pills. But if you tried to, you failed.”

  Asshole. I groaned.

  He chuckled. “Don’t worry. You’ll get your wish by the end of the night.”

  Promises, promises. The blackness consumed me again.

  * * *

  When I woke again, I was still on the boat. But the purr of the motor had ended, leaving only ringing silence in its wake. The portholes said it was darker, as well.

  But I was alone. I kicked a few times, hoping to draw Leo’s attention. After he didn’t come, I realized it was stupid to draw his attention anyway.

  There wasn’t much I could do bound as I was. And it wasn’t just the lack of sounds I heard. It was a stillness in the air. Whatever latent animal senses I possessed told me I was alone.

  Alone did not mean safe, however. The place was different, my captor was different, but the trapped feeling was too familiar. My mind flashed back to the metal cage.

  “Eat your kibble, eat it all up.”

  “Not a sound out of you. Bad dogs get their hides whipped.”

  “Be a good bitch and go on your newspaper. Come on, you won’t get out of there until you do it.”

  Hell, now I had to pee.

  And anyway, I couldn’t just lie here and wait for fate to fuck with me again. Tyler was out there, the scheming, lying bastard. If I was going down, then I was getting answers out of him first. If not that, then I figured I could nail a kick to the balls. I’d pay for it after, but it’d be worth it.

  I struggled to sit up. My breath caught at what I saw. Maybe I had underestimated Leo. He could be a decent replacement for Carlos after all, because I found that though my ankles and wrists were still bound, a knife winked at me from the cracked plastic bench. And between me and that bench was a thick layer of glass. I’d have to walk, or crawl, on broken glass to get free. It was like a macabre fairytale, except instead of a red carpet there was a carpet of glass, and instead of a prince there was a knife. The same principle.

  With a wrench in my side, I maneuvered myself to a sitting position and inched my way across the floor in the slowest escape ever. I found that if I slid my butt through the glass, instead of over it, that saved me a lot of glass splinters. Still, there was no avoiding the cuts all over my ankles as I dug in and gained enough leverage to pull my ass along the floor.

  Luckily, the pain in my bloodied feet was barely noticeable. Not over the breath-stopping pain in my stomach. I swore if I made it out of there alive, I’d die. There’d been a time that had seemed like a release, like freedom. Maybe it still held a certain allure, but I had unfinished business. Maybe I really was already dead, and I was just a ghost trying to wrap up the loose ends. A bloody, weary ghost whose uncontainable groans of agony tangled with the wind that gently rocked the boat.

  Finally I reached the bench and hauled my ass up, wincing at the piercings of glass into my soles. My fingers fumbled for the knife, scraping and sawing until finally my hands were free. By the time I got to work on my ankles, blood had pooled at my feet, slithering under the glass to form a red sequined blanket. It was pretty, I conceded, the glittering blanket of suffering. That might have been the pain meds talking.

  I glanced behind me out the porthole and barely made out lights bobbing in the distance. Or maybe the lights were stationary and this boat was the one bobbi
ng. Slipping over my own blood, walking on my own cuts, I hobbled out of the cabin and onto the small deck. The ocean marked me with its spray, salty and thick, as I leaned over the railing. Away from me, dark swirls circled and threatened, but up close to the boat, they lapped disarmingly. Which was the true nature of the sea, the murky monster or the gentle lover? Maybe both, which was almost a scarier thought, because in the end, it didn’t matter. I was lost to them both.

  I jumped. Cold water filled my mouth, my nose. Salt burned my feet, my stomach, all over. Like the lashes of a thousand jellyfish, they stung me into paralysis. I gulped water. I breathed it. I sank.

  Chapter Eleven

  I’d surrendered to the dark mistress, to death. It turned out I wasn’t good enough, not even to die. The waves tumbled and scrubbed me like mother nature’s washing machine, and then spit me out onto the beach to dry. I clutched at the sand, grounding myself as it clumped wet in my hands.

  Lying there, wrung out, I had a memory of another moonlit night.

  Dad had come to visit me that night, and then passed out beside my bed. Unable to sleep, to even sit still, I slipped out of the house and into the backyard. The moon had swathed everything in a silver glow. Somehow it wasn’t eerie, but peaceful. Like we were all just flat grayscale cutouts in someone’s imagination. If we weren’t real, then our shame wasn’t real either.

  I heard noises next door, ones I instinctively recognized, even though I never made them myself. It was the rhythm, the universal rhythm of a man taking. A man hurting. Unable to stem my morbid curiosity, I crept along the peeling wood siding until I reached a window.

  Just as I suspected. The man was pushing against a girl underneath him. His hands were all over her, his mouth, his body. And she was making these sounds, breathless and squirming. It had to be hurting her.

  Although, oddly, they both seemed to have clothes on. But even as I watched, that was changing. The girl scrabbled at the hem of his shirt. First I thought she was fighting him, maybe pushing him away or scratching at the soft skin there. But then she pulled his shirt off and threw it across the room. Then her hands were back on him, running up and down. And I realized, looking at the slim torso, that it was Tyler. Not his father. Not some faceless, hurting man, but Tyler. And the girl, some made-up slut from school probably.