Denied

by Marissa Farrar

  Her anger finally exploded, and she jumped to her feet. “I am not fucking lying! I don’t have some secret boyfriend I’ve run off with and come up with some elaborate story to cover my tracks. Sex trafficking exists, and if you don’t know that, you should seriously be looking for a different job.”

  He stared at her coolly and spoke slowly. “Please, sit, back, down.”

  Clutching her fists at her sides, her cheeks flaming, she forced herself back into the chair. She needed his help, and she hated that he didn’t believe her. If only she’d kept her mouth shut back at the apartment and hadn’t said anything to that damn neighbor. How fucking interfering was he to call the cops ahead of her? The first thing she’d do when she left this place was go to his apartment and confront him. She was sick of men interfering in her life.

  She knew what the detective thought he saw—a young woman who had gotten herself caught up in a bad relationship, made mistakes, and now was making up an elaborate story to cover her tracks. This was the old boy way of thinking, the same reason so many rape cases were never reported, and if they were reported, they weren’t prosecuted. It was always assumed the woman somehow was asking for it, that deep down what happened was always the woman’s fault.

  “Listen to me,” she said, leaning forward, her arms pressed against the desk. “I’m a professional woman. I’ve written articles for medical magazines. I’m not some brainless idiot who has run off with some unsuitable guy and is now making up a crazy story to try to cover my back. Everything I’ve told you is true, so you can quit giving me those disapproving glances and actually do something to find the sons of bitches who took me.”

  He at least had the courtesy to shuffle uncomfortably in his seat, and he cleared his throat again. “Miss Drayton, no one is saying you’re making this up, but you must understand the information you’ve given is extremely vague. I can sit you down with an artist and see if anyone already on our files matches the descriptions you’ve given of the two men who took you, or the woman involved initially, but other than that, I’m afraid we simply don’t have the resources to send officers to every port within an unspecified amount of time, in any direction from here. Plus, weeks have passed since you were first …” he hesitated over the word, “taken. I’m sure the traffickers would have moved on by now.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so. The other girls seemed to have been there for a lot longer than I had. I don’t think they’re moving them unless they absolutely have to.”

  “Even so, we’ve already wasted a lot of time and manpower over your disappearance. We can’t afford to keep allocating resources to a missing person who clearly isn’t missing.”

  He exhaled a sigh and sat back in his chair, his hands folded over his stomach.

  Lily had the feeling she’d just been dismissed.

  Three

  Lily left the police department with the certainty nothing was going to be done.

  She stepped out onto the street and shoved her hands in her pockets. As she hadn’t known how long she’d be, she hadn’t asked the cab to wait, so now she had to figure out how to get home. It was too far to walk, but she could get a bus to her neighborhood and walk the rest. The fresh air and space would give her time to think about what she was going to do next. Besides, she didn’t have much choice, and she couldn’t keep getting cabs everywhere. The detective said her car wouldn’t be released back to her just yet, especially in light of her statement. It had been found abandoned near the river, though they’d detected no signs of a struggle—no blood, or fingerprints that didn’t belong to her—but she’d been told they would need to impound it further in case of new evidence. She couldn’t believe there hadn’t been any leads with the car. Cigarette Hands must have moved the vehicle himself, or had the woman with the pretend baby do so. How had they not left any trace of themselves behind, and how had they moved the car without being spotted on CCTV or by a witness?

  The police weren’t going to find Cigarette Hands or his partner. Yes, the detective would probably send out the artist’s impression, maybe pin the picture to a couple of notice boards in various stations, but that would be the extent of their investigations. Cigarette Hands would be left to carry on taking young girls, raping them, and selling them until the traffickers did something that either got them arrested or killed.

  Anger hit her, sudden and with full ferocity. What the fuck was wrong with all these men? Between Monster, Cigarette Hands, the useless detective, and even the neighbor who had stuck his nose in where it wasn’t wanted, it felt as though they were all in some kind of conspiracy where they’d each do something to screw her over whenever she tried to move on.

  But she couldn’t just let this drop. The faces of the girls she’d shared the space of the container with haunted her every time she closed her eyes. She couldn’t stand the thought more were out there, hurt, abused, and terrified, and the police were doing nothing to find them. How was she supposed to continue with her life, knowing Cigarette Hands was going unpunished?

  A decision lodged firmly in Lily’s heart.

  If the police wouldn’t find them, then she would.

  The idea both terrified and exhilarated her in equal measures. Could she do this? Track down the place where she’d been held and find Cigarette Hands and his crew at the same time? She wouldn’t need to do anything; just locating the port and the shipping container would be enough to take back to the cops. At least then she’d be giving them something substantial to go on. The police could take it from there, rescuing the girls, and arresting the traffickers.

  Lily took a shaky breath.

  If she was going to do this, she would need to get a gun for protection. She wouldn’t allow herself to be taken by those bastards again. She felt more confident holding a weapon now than she would have a month ago. It was amazing how much a matter of weeks could change someone. She’d also need a map so she could mark off all the ports within a reasonable distance. It might take her weeks to cover them all, and she might never find the right one, or the men who had taken her, but at least she’d have tried. She couldn’t lie in bed every night knowing they were still out there somewhere.

  Another thought occurred to her, sending ice through her veins.

  What if Cigarette Hands discovered she was back, safe and sound? Apparently her disappearance had been picked up by the media, and so it was only realistic to expect some reports about her reappearance would also surface. What if he saw she was still alive? He knew she’d seen their faces and could identify certain things about them, what they did, and where they did it. They’d expect her to go to the cops, and would want to stop her. Her purse had been in her car when she’d been taken, and it had contained her driver’s license and her address. The police had made no mention of it being found in the car, which meant the traffickers had probably taken it.

  The ice solidified to penetrate her heart.

  Cigarette Hands knew where she lived.

  She wouldn’t be sleeping soundly in her bed any time soon. She’d be waiting for them to break in and finish the job they’d started.

  Raping and murdering her.

  A shiver ran down her spine and she spun around, suddenly certain she’d felt someone watching her. But the streets of Los Angeles looked no different than they normally did—an eclectic mixture of locals, tourists, and Hollywood wannabes. No one appeared to be paying her any attention.

  She shook her head and kept walking watching out for the next bus stop that would take her in the right direction. The whole time she felt as though eyes were on her, and she spun around, half-expecting to see Cigarette Hands standing on the sidewalk behind her. Of course, the notion was ridiculous, and each time she turned no one was there. It was hardly surprising she felt spooked, considering everything she’d been through and the possibility of more danger awaiting her.

  On the side of the street, she passed a payphone, the old fashioned handset with ‘public phone’ written across the top. She no longer ha
d her cell phone and had never bothered to get a landline fitted at her apartment—why should she? No one, except work, had ever needed to call her, and if they did, they just called her cell.

  She needed to call the clinic she’d worked for and tell them she was safe. If her disappearance had made the newspapers, she assumed her reappearance would, too, and she didn’t want her boss and colleagues to find out through a third party. Though she wasn’t close with anyone there, she assumed they’d at least have been worried about her. Plus, she needed to let them know she wouldn’t be coming in to work any time soon—if she even still had a job.

  Lily lifted the handset and placed the call.

  A familiar voice answered, and Lily jumped right in.

  “Maggie, it’s Lily Drayton.”

  She heard the sharp intake of breath on the end of the line. “Lily? Oh, my God. Are you all right? We’ve been worried sick here. The police have been around asking questions and everything!”

  “Yeah, I’m so sorry. I should have called sooner, but I’ve only just been allowed home.”

  “What happened?”

  She decided the closest thing to the truth was the best to tell. After all, look at what had happened when she’d lied to the neighbor. “I was abducted by traffickers.”

  A gasp of shock. “Oh, that’s horrific.”

  “Yeah, it was,” she admitted. “Don’t worry. I didn’t end up sold on to someone who wanted me for … that … but I did see some awful things. I’m going to need to take some time before I come back to work, if that’s okay. Assuming I still have a job to come back to, of course.”

  “There will always be a position here for you, Lily, so take your time. Get some counseling if that will help. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.”

  “Yes, thank you. Counseling sounds like a good idea.” Once I’ve tracked down the bastards who took me.

  “Good. Well, I’m so happy you’re safe, and if there’s anything I can do, please just say.”

  “Thank you, Maggie.”

  “Of course.”

  Lily hung up the phone, guilt working its way through her. Was she doing the right thing? Perhaps she should let the police do their job, and she should go back to doing hers? Wouldn’t that be the right way to handle things?

  But how could she go back to her old way of living, going to work in the morning and coming back to an empty apartment, an empty bed? Already her life felt pointless without Monster in it. He’d shown her a different way of living—a life full of color, passion, and intensity. Everything now felt hollow and soulless. She couldn’t imagine how it would feel weeks or even months from now. Would she slowly forget about how it felt to be alive and go back to the numb existence she’d had before, or would she gradually die from the inside, withering away until her body eventually caught up with her broken heart?

  But you can’t just go back to the way things were, a voice reminded her. Those men know where you live.

  She wasn’t safe. She hadn’t been safe in Cuba, but she still wasn’t safe here. However smart Monster might be, he’d been an idiot when he’d made his decision.

  He’d left her with no choice.

  She needed to get a weapon, but from where? She didn’t plan on sitting around for any length of time while she waited for permits and background checks to be done. Cigarette Hands would have tracked her down and killed her before any kind of license came through. Would she even qualify for a permit now? She didn’t know what kind of records the police had on her, and even though she’d not been charged with anything, something might come up as a red flag on her profile. She couldn’t take the risk.

  Lily was at a loss. She didn’t hang around with those kinds of people—people who would know how to get an illegal weapon. Hell, she didn’t hang out with people in general.

  Then she thought of someone.

  There was only one person she knew who had tried to help her, and now he owed her a favor.

  Monster (Present Day)

  Monster stood in his kitchen drinking brandy, straight, from a heavy-bottomed glass tumbler. He stared out of the window at the grounds and the tall wall surrounding his property, lost in thought.

  Despite spending his entire life in this house—only leaving its high walls for the first time a matter of weeks ago—this place no longer felt like home. He missed her with every fiber of his being, his Flower, his reason for becoming the man he was now. He’d made a choice—a selfless choice. He could have kept her here and lost himself in her soft flesh and warm kisses, but doing so would have been entirely selfish. Just because he’d taken care of the Gonzalez-Larrinaga brothers didn’t mean there weren’t repercussions for what he’d done. A death never went unpunished, and he’d taken lives of two important men here in Cuba. If she was here, it only put her at risk. These were brutal, ruthless people, and if they got any hint that she was someone he cared about, they would use her to hurt him. The idea of her being put in the same situation as she had been with the Gonzalez-Larrinaga brothers speared pain deep inside him. That whole thing could have gone so badly. What if he hadn’t reached her in time, if he hadn’t regained consciousness, and they had raped her? The thought of another man forcing himself inside her luscious body made him want to punch down walls and hurt people.

  But that hadn’t happened, and he wouldn’t take the risk of it happening again.

  He’d let her go because he loved her. He knew she’d be furious with him right now. She would be cursing his name and telling herself she hated him, and though it hurt, that was the right thing for her to do, too. If she hated him, she wouldn’t try to look for him. Cuba was a big place, and he didn’t think she knew what area she’d been in. That would help deter her from coming back and trying to find him. The other thing that would deter her was the extreme measures he’d taken to send her back. The drugs had been the kind doctors used when needing to put their patients under for a length of time. He’d hired an anesthesiologist to travel with her the whole way, and the doctor had reported back that though she’d come out of the anesthetic a couple of times, she hadn’t known what was going on, and they’d left her at her apartment safely. The doctor had even stayed with her until she’d regained consciousness.

  Flower was home, and safe, and that was all that mattered to him. Even if someone came after him to avenge the deaths of the brothers, they’d never even know she was still alive.

  The shrill ring of the telephone caused him to glance away from the window and toward the living room, which he’d turned into his office. Carrying his glass into the other room, he pressed down on the worry that rose inside him.

  Monster set the glass on his desk and picked up the phone.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Sean Hamilton, sir. I’m calling with a report on your mark.”

  Something in his chest tightened. “Yes, thank you. How is she?”

  “She seems to have recovered well enough from her ordeal, physically, that is. After she woke up, she broke a number of things in her apartment—”

  “What do you mean she broke them?”

  “I’m mean she was angry, sir. She shouted and smashed her belongings up.”

  He’d expected her to react badly to waking up back in her apartment, but still the idea of her breaking her things twisted his gut. He remembered when she’d thrown his books at him in her anger when she’d been here. Perhaps he shouldn’t be so surprised she’d reacted how she had.

  And it’s good she’s angry, he told himself. It means she hates you. She won’t want to ever see you again.

  “There’s something else, sir,” the man said down the line.

  Monster picked up his glass and knocked back the remaining brandy. He needed to keep his emotions at bay. Feeling wouldn’t do either of them any good.

  “What’s that?”

  “She went to the police station and made a report. I’m afraid we haven’t been able to get hold of any files to find out exactly what she said, but I think we can be f
airly certain the report would have mentioned you in it.”

  He clenched his fist around the phone, his jaw tightening. “You need to get hold of that file.”

  “We’re working on it. We have some contacts in the LAPD, but obviously it takes time.”

  “I need to know if she’s said anything that might draw the wrong kind of attention to her.”

  “I understand.”

  “So what’s she doing now?”

  “She caught a bus and went back to her apartment.”

  “Okay, well, keep an eye on her. Make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid.”

  “I’ll do my best, sir, though I hope you understand it isn’t always easy to tail someone in a city this busy. Los Angeles is a big place, and you specifically said not to allow her to become suspicious in any way.”

  Monster snapped. “I don’t want to hear fucking excuses. Just do the job I’m paying you for.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He hung up the phone, his heart beating hard.

  What the hell did she go to the police for? Did she really think he’d send her back to the United States without employing people to keep an eye on her? He’d thought she had more sense than that. He’d hoped she might have lain low and taken some time to herself. With the money he’d sent, she didn’t even need to go in to work if she didn’t want to.

  Still, his heart ached for her.

  Monster wished he’d been able to ask Sean the things he really wanted to know.

  He’d wanted the other man to tell him every little detail about Flower. Had she been crying? How did she look? Was she hurt and did she miss him? He wished he could see her and ask her those questions himself. He wished he could wrap his arms around her, and hold her, and tell her everything was going to be all right.

  Monster pushed away the surge of emotion that rose inside him. He lifted his glass, planning on taking another drink to try to dull the pain, but the glass was empty. With a growl, he tightened his hold, squeezing harder and harder, until finally the glass shattered in his fist. Shards of glass embedded in his flesh, and he let the remaining pieces crash to the floor. Blood ran down his palm and dripped onto the desk, but he didn’t care.