He grips my neck so tightly that I can barely breathe. All I can do is let out a strangled laugh. Whether or not I see heaven is between God and me. Father Derrik has nothing to do with it, that much I am certain of.
His eyes bulge out of their sockets. The second he lets go, I inhale deeply, the fire in my belly growing hotter by the second.
“Fraud!” I accuse, pointing at him. “You don’t speak for God—”
Father Derrik loses it completely then, yelling and wailing on me with unchecked punches to the face and chest. He is brutal. His reddened, swollen face alien to me as he lashes out. I cry out, a little shocked by how much it hurts, which only makes his punches harder.
I crumple at the third and fall to the floor on the fifth, but that doesn’t stop him. He just starts kicking me, pain flaring brightly with every single blow he lands. Tears stream down my face. I curl into a ball once more, trying to protect my head at the expense of my inner organs and my torso.
When he is done, he spits on me and limps out of the room, slamming the door behind him. I am left gasping for breath; every single inhalation hurts, every exhalation is torture. Crying isn’t even an option anymore. I just lie on the floor, sobbing jaggedly, amazed and angry at just how much my body can hurt.
Eventually, the pain ebbs a bit. I realize that Father Derrik split my lip and probably blackened one of my eyes, due to the swelling I experience later. Dragging myself back to my pallet, I huddle under the scratchy wool for warmth and try to sleep.
When the door is thrown open again, it’s the other man. Short and thick, the man waddles over me. I can see that he brushes his hair into a rather elaborate comb-over and wears an expensive suit. He squints down at me, then turns his head back toward the door.
“Derrik!” he screams, beginning to turn red. His accent is light enough that I still can’t identify it precisely. He talks to someone I can’t see. “Get that fucking priest in here.” He goes back to glaring down at me. “We have to go. Can you walk?”
I am certain that in the right conditions I could walk just fine. But I shake my head anyway. The man’s brown eyes grow hard.
He scowls at me, then he turns and thunders out of the room, leaving the door wide open. I can’t see him, but I can hear him well enough.
“Just what the fuck do you think you were doing?” he accuses.
Father Derrik mutters a reply. “She provoked me.”
I try to move a little closer to the doorway, wincing in pain. My right lower back hurts; it might be my kidney that I feel aching right now.
He growls back. “She is merchandise! My merchandise! Do you expect that anyone will pay for bruised, broken fruit? Eh?”
A strange sound escapes my throat, a low whine combined with a sob. That is how he sees me: as something to be sold or rented out, to whomever he wishes.
“She’s a little bitch. And besides, she’ll heal just fine,” Father Derrik grumbles.
“You better hope so, because you will get nothing until she does. And half of what I would normally pay for the first month after that. You’re lucky I will even take her, to be honest. Most men would not bother.”
Father Derrik is silent, which prompts the other man to stomp back into my room. “Igor will help you out to the car. Do not cause him any problems, or your current state will be the least of your worries.”
He leaves me again, closing the door this time. I shiver and wait to see what happens next.
3
Dryas
“Monsieur Aétos?” The kindly older nurse pops her head around the curtain that separates my hospital bed from prying eyes. Her French accent is thick, her light grey scrubs a little too tight. “You should have the, uh… the privileges of using the telephone?”
She holds her hand up to her ear in the pantomime of making a phone call. I grimace as I lean over to the landline phone on the bedside table, picking up the receiver. I was not hurt in the accident, but my whole body was bruised, and I am feeling it right now. A dial tone buzzes in my ear, so I hang the phone up.
“It works. Merci, madame.” I nod to her. “Any luck getting me some pants?”
Since I got to the hospital still wearing Ari’s blood, I was given a hospital gown to wear. I have never felt quite as emasculated as I do right now, wearing this too short and too yellow gown.
“Oui, oui,” she says, waving her hand. “When they come around with linen carrier, I will ask for a pair of scrubs. It should be any time now that they will… mmm… qu’est-ce que c’est arrivée?”
How do you say arrive?
I smile. “I get the point. Merci beaucoup, madame.”
She ducks her head and vanishes.
My thoughts wander back to Rue. Where is she right at this moment? It is my concern that she is being treated badly. I am worried that she is feeling cold and alone; her fear and her anger concern me, too.
I realize now that she is gone that I should have been more worried about those things when I left the rented apartment. There are many feelings and thoughts that I should have shared with her, but I was too blinded by hate and revenge.
What is it they always say? Hindsight is twenty-twenty?
I turn my gaze back to the phone. On the false wood table beside it sits a little white note pad, on which I have scrawled a phone number.
It is Damen’s number. After calling around to half a dozen people and threatening to do some very bad things, I finally tracked it down. It is not as if I have much of a choice in the matter.
Ari is dead. Rue has been taken from me. And the damned hospital will not allow me to sign myself out for a few days, because they are worried about a concussion or some such stupid thing.
Damen is almost the last phone call I want to make. But when you are down and things look grim, there is nothing like having Damen in your corner. A fight is coming, a time to rain death and punishment.
He will be good at that. No, he will relish it. And I will need a pit bull in my corner, seeing as how I am bruised and limping. That does not make it any easier to dial his number, though.
My heart is leaden inside my chest as I reach out and pluck the receiver up, pressing the keys on the phone slowly. The phone rings twice, then it is picked up by a cheerful sounding young woman.
“High Priestess Art Acquisitions, how may I direct your call?”
I blink. What kind of scheme does Damen have going here, exactly? “I am looking for Damen.”
There is a little pause before she responds. “Mr. Aétos is not available at the moment. Would you like to leave a message?”
Scrunching my face up, I sigh. Looking down at the phone, I pull the phone number off it and give it to her.
“Tell him to call Dryas back. It is an emergency,” I add.
“I will see that he gets your message,” she assures me. “Thank you for calling High Priestess Art Acquisitions. Have a nice day!”
Then a second later I hear the dial tone. Unsure about the whole interaction, I hang up the phone. Sitting back on my hospital bed, I roll my neck, groaning at the sensations. It is sore from the accident, with the added tension of a sudden uncertainty.
Damen will say yes, will he not? It had not occurred to me until this moment that I might have a harder time getting him on board than I thought.
The nurse comes back in, poking her head around the curtain. “I have your scrubs and I have some more of the drugs they gave you earlier to ease the pain.”
Waving her in, I allow her to fawn over me for a few minutes. The minutes fade to hours. The sunny morning falls away to a grey evening, the shadows turning into the inky blackness of night. I doze on and off, leaning back on my hospital bed.
I wake with a start, spilling the cup of water I am holding onto the floor.
A gruff voice calls out in Greek, taunting. “Careful, brother. We would not want you to get hurt any further, would we?”
I turn to see Damen leaning against the large window, looking wry. At the same time, I feel annoye
d by him, I feel relief too. Not even bothering to ask how he knew I was here in the hospital, I cross my arms and give him a look.
“That was quick. Should I assume that you were still in Europe when I called this morning?”
His lips quirk and he shrugs. “How did you end up in here? And where is your girl? I thought you two were inseparable. Did something happen?”
The expression he makes, a pout of fake sadness, makes me want to punch his fucking face. Getting my teeth, I wonder exactly how much ribbing I can expect. His amused expression says that there is plenty more where that came from.
“She was taken,” I answer flatly.
His eyebrows rise. “By Father Derrik?”
“Yes.” I stoop and pick up the cup I knocked over, then stretch to my full height. My whole body hurts, but it is a mere echo of my heart. I miss Rue. I am worried about her.
Scowling, I summarize that story as best I can. “I was in a car accident, pursuing Derrik and Rue. I will need some help getting out of here… and even more, help to track Rue down.”
Damen pushes off the window. “Yes, I suppose you will. Where is that man you hire out?”
I wince. Ari’s death is a new wound, one more thing I owe Derrik for.
“Dead.”
Damen shrugs his shoulders. “One more thing to punish Father Derrik for is how I see it.”
My lips curl up for the first time today. “My thoughts precisely. But first—”
Damen holds his hand up. “I know, I know. You must get out of here. Say no more.”
He stalks to the doorway, vanishing into the hallway. It does not take long before he has the nurse discharging me.
I follow Damen out of the hospital less than an hour later. As we head into the chilly evening, heading to Damen’s sleek grey coupe in the parking lot, my mind is already onto the next problem.
As Damen drives, I talk through the steps of what we have ahead of us.
“We need to find out where Derrik is. To do that, I will need to reach out to one of the sources that Ari cultivated… and then we will have to formulate a plan of attack. Something that will let us swoop in and steal her back.” I pause, grimacing. “Hopefully it will involve violence and bloodshed.”
Damen chuckles. “I am fairly sure that it will.”
He drives us to a high-end hotel, where he has a rack of clothing waiting for me. They are his, not mine, but since we are almost the same height and weight they fit perfectly. He grins when he sees me wearing them.
“Doing the personal shoppers at Bloomingdale’s proud, brother.” He claps me on the shoulder. “I see that you managed to rescue your Patek Phillipe.”
I look down at my watch, which I painstakingly cleaned as much as possible. This watch has been with me for almost fifteen years; it is the longest relationship I have ever had, outside of the sibling rivalry with my brothers.
While I am thinking about my watch, Damen’s mind shifts focus. “You said your man Ari had some contacts within Derrik’s forces?”
Dipping my head, I start opening the box of a brand-new phone that Damen had delivered here. “Yes. I was thinking about how to contact them. I think they post on a message board sometimes. Some sort of children’s internet messaging system or something.”
Damen smirks. “Of course. How else would one keep track of one’s mercenary spies?”
I’m not really listening. My brow furrows. “I will require a laptop. And internet access. I wish I had my tablet, but I left it back in the apartment I rented in Interlaken…”
“What about the cloud? Surely some of your information is stored there.”
“I am not sure,” I admit, shrugging my shoulders. Then I wince because the movement is painful.
He gives me a pitying smile and claps me on the shoulder, which sets my teeth on edge. “Luckily for you, you have a brother who is much better at technological things than you are.”
Rubbing my shoulder where he touched me, I shoot him a glare. “I would appreciate it if you would get on with it, then.”
Damen just smiles sweetly and produces a little laptop, cracking it open on his bed. He settles in with it, asking me questions about my site logins from time to time. My mind soon wanders as I pace the hotel suite, glancing out the windows and worrying over Rue.
Derrik is a sick fucking bastard. He hurt her before. Now that she is no longer of any value to him, just what is he willing to do to her? The thought makes me a little ill.
After the better part of an hour, Damen makes a victorious sound. Glancing at him, I raise a brow in question.
“You were able to login to the website?”
I leave the window, returning to where he sits cross-legged on his bed. He smirks and rolls his eyes. “I got in over half an hour ago. Now I am celebrating because I not only tracked down the members who you referenced earlier, I actually talked to one of them. He is spilling his guts right now. Look.”
Damen turns the laptop toward me. I lean down, scanning the conversation. “He says that Derrik is in France, taking care of some business. Christ, this is good.”
I look up at Damen, who grins and slides the laptop back across the thin hotel comforter. After a moment of silence, I cannot bear it.
“Are you asking for more details?” I ask anxiously. “Ask them to pinpoint a town where Derrik is staying, if possible.”
Damen flits his gaze to me momentarily, annoyed. “I will do better than that. He is getting the tracking information from the car that Derrik is in. We will know precisely where they are.”
He looks down again, becoming engrossed in conversing once more. At length, his frown deepens.
“What?” I demand to know. My tone turns a little bit pleading. “Just tell me.”
He sighs. “I have got the address where they are staying currently. It looks like they move fairly frequently, staying in one place a few hours at the most.”
He hesitates, which cannot mean anything good. Looking up at me, I see worry written large on his face.
“For fuck’s sake, brother! Tell me everything!” I snarl.
He closes the lid of the laptop partially. “The young man I am talking to believes that Derrik is meeting with slavers. I think he means to sell your girl into prostitution… or worse.”
I lose my composure completely then, gritting my teeth and turning around to sweep the heavy hotel television from its table. Unsatisfied with it crashing to the ground, I roar, taking my frustrations out on a fat-bottomed chair and the minibar.
All the while, I am thinking to myself: stop whining and get to her first. If you really want to protect her, quit being an idiot and get in the fucking car.
By the time I am done, winded and leaning down to brace myself on my knees, I already know what needs to be done.
“Are you finished?” Damen asks, crossing his arms. He sounds mildly accusatory. Frankly, I do not disagree.
I nod, standing tall.
“Good. Let’s go.” He grabs his laptop and a small knapsack and heads out of the room.
We are coming to get you, Rue, I promise inside my head. I follow my brother out, grinding my teeth.
4
Rue
“I think it’s okay that your man bruised you up. You’ll probably sell just as well or even better.” The man, who has since identified himself to me as Beck, pinches my jaw with his fingers. He turns my face to and fro, admiring Father Derrik’s handiwork. “We won’t tell him that though.”
We are standing in a dank room, almost eye level with one another. I’ve been with this man for almost a whole twenty-four hours now, and I have determined a few things.
One, we’re somewhere that men bid on girls like me. Where that may be, I don’t know exactly, but a brothel or an auction house.
Two, escape is basically impossible for me. Every time the door to the room I’ve been trapped in for a whole day opens, there is a guard walking by, patrolling the hallway.
And third, I am only one in a sea of hund
reds of girls who Beck has dressed up to be sold. He makes it sound like there are many girls here now, awaiting the same fate as me.
“Your bone structure is very nice, under the bruises. I will make sure to tell them to mention that.” He stands before me, brushing just a bit of blush onto my cheeks. “For all the good it will do. Straight men don’t hear anything once you’re unveiled.”
I try not to listen to Beck. Instead, I try to tell what this place that they brought me to is. My eyes skate off to the sides, puzzling out where I could be.
With the place’s crumbling, moldy walls and decrepit old piles of boxes, I’m guessing… an old factory, maybe? If I had been able to see on the way up as opposed to being forced to wear a scratchy black bag over my head, maybe I’d have a better idea.
Listening intently, I can hear someone talking in the distance. The man sounds like his voice is amplified. It’s over a PA system or something.
“Hey,” Beck says, snapping his fingers in front of my face. “Focus. You are going to need to take off that disgusting dress.”
I try not to say anything or emote. After all, I have a busted lip and a half-swollen eye already, not to mention the deep bruises developing all over my torso and back. Still, my jaw hardens stubbornly. The idea of getting naked in front of anyone, much less this perfect stranger, puts a chill in my bones.
He walks away, leaning down to root through a black duffel bag he brought. Glancing back at me, he gives me a look.
“I said now.”
I shiver, fumbling with the hem of my dress. He finds what he was looking for, a set of gold restraints and the matching finely-wrought chains. The chains make a gentle jingling sound when they tumble together.
I freeze. No way is he going to put those chains on me. Not when I am dressed, and certainly not when I am naked. Hell no.
Swallowing, I glance toward the door. Beck sees me look and sighs. “I wouldn’t if I were you. On the other side of that door is another room just like this one, with another girl just like you. Only she has two big fucking guards breathing down her neck because she’s already tried to run twice. You don’t want that, do you?”
Protect: Protect Book 4 Page 2
