Escape

by Deana Birch

  When I stored the hose back twenty minutes later, it hit me. They’d been inside. The SUV had come from the direction of the alley. Which meant something—like all our fucking cash—or someone was gone. Fucking fuck, fuck.

  I broke into a sprint and blasted through the front doors. The elevator would never be fast enough for the answer I needed. I took the seven flights of stairs two at a time and the metal door to the stairwell bounced on its hinges as I slammed it open.

  Fiona’s door was unlocked, and as I turned the knob and pushed it open, my heart beat stronger and faster than when I’d raced up the steps. Vicki was passed out in the corner of the sofa, her dark hair spread across her face. I crept over while darting my eyes around the room.

  “Fi?” Calling out was foolish. My gut had confirmed her absence when I’d seen the fucking SUV peel out.

  “Violet?” Fuck. Where is her sister? With my index and middle finger, I checked Fiona’s mother for a pulse. It was there, but her breathing was shallow. I made my way around the apartment, again my eyes and brain playing catch-up to my instincts. Violet wasn’t under the bed, in the closet, in her crib or in the damn oven.

  They were gone. She was gone.

  I dragged my feet out of the door and closed it behind me. When I got to the stairwell, I sat on the first step leading down. Our stupid idea of compensation for protection was bullshit. It had put a fucking target on her head. I’d put a target on her head. I’d flaunted her as my own, kissed her in public, been possessive. Any enemy would know that plucking Fiona from under our noses wouldn’t be just an emotional blow. It would be a physical gash in our armor. By keeping her close, I’d managed to make her a billboard advertising revenge.

  I rested my elbows on my knees and scrubbed the stubble on my cheeks. Heavy boots made a low, scuffing echo as the only person brave enough to face me climbed the stairs.

  “Let me guess… She’s fucking gone.” Anton stood in front of me. He’d showered and had put on fresh clothes. His steel eyes flashed to the doorway and back.

  “It was organized. Deliberate.”

  Assess the greatest threat. My dad’s words rang in my head.

  I shook my head in self-disgust. I’d let this happen, caused this to happen. “It was Mac.”

  He joined me on the step and took a long breath in as we both stared forward. “Maybe.”

  Jackson, still filthy from the fight and with a gash under his eye, climbed the stairs. Anton shot me a look of warning. Apparently we weren’t sharing the Mac theory. When Jackson’s tall frame was just a few steps lower he said to Anton, “The doctor’s not answering. We need to take Scoots to the ER. I think he’s got some internal shit going on.”

  After Anton nodded his approval, Jackson fixed his gaze on me. “You should go see Lisa. She’s freaking out.”

  “Why?” Anton asked before I could.

  Jackson glanced to the bossman but looked back to me. “She has Violet, but says Fiona dropped her then promised to be right back but never came.”

  His dark brown eyes said more. They asked what the fuck was up with my girl. They wanted to know why I’d been away with her and why half our crew had just taken a massive beating the minute she’d come back with me. There was accusation, curiosity and a big dose of disdain in his stare.

  But all of that had to wait.

  “Violet is at Lisa’s?” I asked and wondered how relief and terror could blend so well in my heart. “You saw her?”

  “Yeah,” Jackson answered. “She’s playing with Junior.” He brushed off the question like I was an idiot. “I’m taking Scooter. Everybody else will be okay.”

  Anton jutted his chin in Jackson’s direction and we watched him disappear down the stairs.

  Even though we were alone, Anton kept his voice to a whisper. “I’ll call my mom. She’ll know where Mac took her.”

  Both of us stood at the same time and jogged down the stairs. When we got to the third floor, all I wanted to do was to go see Violet, but I was a scary, bloody mess.

  I pushed open our door. Scooter and Jackson were gone, but Rafa and the rest of the crew were scattered between the sectional and the kitchen. Anton found a minion—the same guy I’d noted had been absent in the fight. He stuck out like a sore thumb because he was the only one of us besides Anton who was clean.

  The bossman stared him down, knowing damn well the same thing I did. “Go get Scooter’s girl, wherever the fuck she is, and bring her here.”

  The minion nodded quickly, his hands behind his back.

  “Fucking now!” Anton shook his head then looked to me. “Shower.”

  As I walked toward my room, Anton barked another direction to the crew. “Everybody get cleaned up and be back here in fifteen minutes. They stole my girl and we’re going to make those bald fuckers wish they’d never heard of Covington Heights.”

  His girl?

  My blood boiled under the hot spray of the shower. She wasn’t his girl. She was fucking mine. My soul could hear hers screaming at me to find her—desperate. Did Anton have those pleas echoing in his head? Did he have the connection of more than just attraction? No. Which made the situation worse. I was emotionally attached to her. It was a bad sign, something my father had warned me about. If I wasn’t careful—tightrope careful—I risked making everything worse.

  We had a window of a few hours before Mac would ship her off, because that was what he did. He was a human trafficker. Anton’s father had ruined his trade years prior, but contacts in the seedy underworld don’t just disappear. They might evolve, but the ebb and flow of the dark underbelly of society was always there.

  I knew the drill. Mac would drug her—Fiona’s worst fear realized. The BTs would probably rape her, first dibs going to the guy she’d mentioned she had a history with—creating an entirely new horror. Then they’d take some pictures and get her to the highest bidder before midnight. That shit moved fast. I would need to be quicker.

  I scrubbed the bloody grime at a pace that would make a sprinter jealous. When I found Fiona, I promised myself one thing. Whatever it took, I would give her all her freedom back.

  In my closet, I found the black cargo pants I’d sworn to never wear again and pulled them on. I laced up my combat boots, pulled on a tank and grabbed my sleek black hooded jacket. Death clothes, as Frankie would say when our father was still around and made us train in the middle of the night.

  There was one small issue… I needed my gun and my favorite knife. Slicing Mac’s throat would be messy but worth it. It didn’t even matter the depths of his sick cruelty to Fiona. Step one of taking her had been his death sentence. I didn’t even need confirmation that it had been him. The BTs planning a brawl then leaving before they’d finished? That was not their style. They’d fallen like flies when we’d gotten Callie back. Bravery in Bradford Towers only came with the promise of money.

  The good news was that I knew exactly where both of my weapons were, and I could grab some cash for Fiona while I was there. I would owe Frankie—the money at Nanna’s was both of ours—and unfortunately, me paying a debt to him would give him exactly what he wanted. Me.

  I would also need to lie low for a bit. The police let us run our drug game, but multiple homicides would need a little attention. After a few months, the cops would chalk it up to gang violence and move on to the next headline. Plus, it wasn’t like they would have a bounty of witnesses. No one talked in the projects.

  A deliberate double knock came from my door. Without waiting for my permission, Anton entered. He closed the door behind him and leaned into it. His frown deepened as he crossed his arms.

  “You’re done in Covington.”

  “I know.” A part of me had known since the day I’d shown up.

  The tension he’d brought in with him faded as he blinked a few times.

  “What’s your plan? I mean…” Anton pushed off the door and uncrossed his arms. He motioned to my clothes. He understood what they represented. “You’re very much in reactio
n mode here. Let’s take a minute to think this through.”

  We didn’t have a minute. Every second Fiona was with Mac—I was convinced it was him—she would be losing a piece of her delicate soul. Her potential for happiness was being chipped at with every tick of the clock.

  “I’m going to kill them.” I shrugged, because that was how easy it would be if I could focus on the task and not her. “Then we all win. She’s alive and Covington comes out on top. I’ll go to Frankie’s and none of you will ever see me again.”

  Anton stared at me for a beat. “Great overall plan, Ricci. Really. But we need to work out the details. We need to get her out of the building calm. She needs to come back here in better shape than Callie did.”

  Jesus, Callie had been a mess. And her high-pitched screams had pierced through every fiber of my being.

  “What are you saying?” I might have been a touch offended. I was pretty sure killing his enemies and disappearing was one stone to his two-birds problem.

  Anton tapped me on the back. “I’m saying your father taught you how to be a killer. My mother taught me how to be a leader.”

  I opened my mouth but he held up a hand.

  “It’s not an insult. But we need to be smarter than them.”

  I scoffed. “That shouldn’t be hard.”

  A wry grin spread across Anton’s face and a twinkle came to his light eyes. “How do you get a criminal to lower their guard?”

  “Get them cocky.” I let out a long breath. It wasn’t the plan I would have preferred, mostly because it involved time I didn’t want to waste, but with every slow breath I took, I came to terms with the fact that he was right. Not only were we more skilled than Bradford, we were smarter.

  Use every advantage to guarantee success. My father’s younger face was stern in the memory. I must have been about eight, Frankie around eleven. My brother had taken me down again on the wrestling mat that we’d had in our basement. I’d turned around and studied Frankie. He was vain, hadn’t wanted to get his hair cut short like mine because a girl had liked his curls. I’d nodded to my father, and on the next go, I’d pulled so hard on Frankie’s locks that I’d yanked out a patch. It had put him on the defensive and my takedown after that had been swift.

  I remembered looking between them—my father’s eyes glowing with a fever and Frankie’s shock at what I’d done to win. Pride and shame. They were two emotions that had fed me my entire childhood.

  “Fine,” I said to Anton, “we do it your way. But when she gets back, you’re done with her. I’m going to leave her money for a new life. You’ll give it to her and whatever you think she owed you is erased. You’ll only see me again if it’s not.”

  He studied me, maybe wondering what the hell Fiona had done to get me to care about her so much. Hell, part of me was asking the same question.

  Finally, he gave me a curt nod. It sealed our pact and our silence.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Fiona

  One time in high school, I’d gotten drunk. I’d puked my guts out at a party and hated the feeling of losing control, not to mention the bed spins and hangover. Since that time, I rarely drank, and if I did, it was just to the point of a buzz, never getting wasted like some of my friends. And after Violet? Barely a sip. In fact, the couple of drinks I’d shared with Leo had been the most I’d had in years.

  There was something in me that needed to prove that being responsible for a child could be sobering. And with my mother’s addiction? Well, I’d never really wanted to fall down that slippery slope. I’d avoided situations that put me at risk, dodged people and places that would tempt me. It was probably why I hadn’t had a real boyfriend. I hadn’t gone out looking for one.

  So as the warm release from Mac’s needle spread over me, I was terrified—not that he was going to take me somewhere and sell me, not that within hours I would be raped and not that I would never see my family again. The real, true horror was how much I welcomed his escape. I had no idea what his drug was, but my shoulders relaxed and my brain fogged.

  My eyelids grew heavy and I had to focus through long blinks as the turns of the car swayed my body back and forth. The artificial serenity was the best thing to happen to me in months. But while the body can be fooled, the soul holds on to the truth. There was a fraction of me at the surface who was sure that, given the chance, I would ask for more of the high.

  That sliver of brutal honesty was more piercing than the needle he’d jabbed into my bare leg. I tried to store it away in the back of my hazed mind, but it kept poking me in the skull, reminding me that there was no such thing as happiness—only escape.

  I rolled my head into the seat and Mac’s blabbering echoed between my ears. It was odd that he was in charge. I’d always imagined my fall to be at Justin’s hands. But the greedy excitement of Mac’s phone call was easy enough to understand. Jesus, he was practically bouncing up and down. Spit flew from his mouth and a tiny drop landed above my knee. I stared at the miniscule, transparent puddle on my ivory skin, all the horror of the moment glimmering back at me. Mac had planned this, maybe since the first time he’d seen me. Why? Probably the same reason I’d met him in the first place—money. I was a commodity.

  My stomach clenched and I retched once…twice. On the third time, the bile came and before I could bring my hand to my mouth, I vomited all over the back of the driver’s seat.

  “Oh fuck!” Justin cringed. “Jesus Christ, Mac. How much did you give her?”

  “She puked?” The driver asked with disgust.

  Mac hung up from his call and said, “Give me some tissues or something.”

  “I’m not your fucking grandma with Kleenex in my purse. Jesus Christ. What the fuck did she eat? That smells fucking horrible.” Justin pulled his white T-shirt over his nose and shot me a dirty look.

  I wiped the spittle from my chin on the back of my hand. The sour taste in my mouth didn’t leave when I swallowed. I may have even smiled that I’d pissed them all off.

  Without turning around to check on my handiwork, the driver said, “You’re paying to have this car cleaned. Fucking bitch fucking pukes.”

  It probably should have embarrassed me, but in an odd way it was satisfying. The only act of rebellion I could have offered and my body had managed to find a way to object where my mind could not. I was almost hopeful for the future. If I could just keep throwing up, surely no one would want to rape me.

  In a neighborhood along the river that I didn’t recognize, we pulled in to an underground parking garage. The men got out and the driver opened my door then muttered a slew of curses under his breath before snarling in my direction. Yeah, the bile hadn’t just hit the back of the seat. I was covered in it.

  “It’s a pity I can’t smack you.” He dragged me out of the car by the arm then spat at my feet. Better than the face.

  “No fucking bruises,” Mac said and pointed to a door.

  My head must have been made of iron. It swayed back and forth as my neck muscles fought to keep it atop my shoulders. It wanted to hang heavy with all the dark thoughts dragging it down to hell. When Justin pushed me from behind, I stumbled forward.

  I was sure I’d told him to fuck off, but my tongue was so thick that it came out as more of ‘the the’ than its true intention. Behind a steel door was a freight elevator and they shoved me in. As it closed and we rode up, the driver scanned me then turned to Mac.

  “You’d better hope she sobers up. Ain’t nobody gunna bid on her if they think she’s a junkie.”

  “Yeah”—Justin’s glare raked over me—“we learned that lesson.”

  Mac frowned and narrowed his brow. “Here’s another lesson. Don’t touch the merchandise.”

  The driver scoffed. “She needs a shower and some fucking toothpaste before I’d fuck her.”

  I didn’t know whether to be relieved or still horrified.

  Justin clicked his tongue. “I don’t need no mouth. And clothes can come off pretty quick with a blade.”

/>   A shot of sobriety bolted up my spine.

  The elevator rattled to its stop and opened up to an almost-empty floor of a warehouse. There was a beat-up white leather couch to my right, where both Bradford fucks went to sit and proceeded to get out phones and text into them.

  Mac ushered me in the other direction, past a long, dirty kitchen and behind a dividing wall. I hadn’t given much thought to what I would find, but a metal table with stirrups and straps hadn’t even entered into my world of possibilities. In the corner stood a rack of women’s clothes.

  I wobbled a little, trying to take it all in and none of it at the same time.

  “When my sister gets here…” Mac said as he ran a slimy finger down my jaw line then forced my chin up, his green eyes gleam, “we can do this the easy way or the hard way.” He shoved me into the corner of the room, near a filthy single mattress.

  How any of this would be easy was beyond my understanding. This asshole and his bitch of a sister were going to violate me, of that I was certain. Then, I didn’t know what would happen next. I wasn’t sure I wanted to. The only thing I could think of was to remind myself that it was better me than Violet—that it could have been her.

  But Mac’s push had made my head spin. Combined with the death sentence of my future and the beating in my gut that I wanted more of the drugs to forget about where I was, I vomited again, this time on the mattress.

  “I told you that you gave her too much. We should have never trusted you.” Justin’s voice was farther away than Mac’s own breathy swearing.

  “My sister is on her way. She’ll sober her up.” Mac pushed me to the floor and I broke my fall with my hands, only to throw up yet again.

  “What else have you got in that bag?” The question was the last real thing I heard and it echoed like a warped loop in my head as I tried to remain conscious. I couldn’t think of Violet, certainly not Leo. One was too painful and the other brought hope. No. I focused on one spot, throwing up when I had to—my pride as distant as my former life.