Devious Eyes (A Cane Novel Book 2)

by Charlotte E Hart

  “I don’t understand?” Is she still talking about Andreas?

  “And that’s the best place for you to be. I don’t need you to understand. All I need you to do is scream and cry and bleed when the time comes. And if that doesn’t work? Well, it won’t matter then.” She nods and closes the briefcase, a sickly smile plastered over her face, but it doesn’t cover up the evil under the surface.

  The muscle pulls me up by the arm and starts to lead me away.

  “Wait. What about my brother? Can I see him?”

  “Yes. When we’re ready for you.”

  “He’s alive?” It’s a relief to hear that, but the question is still in my voice.

  “For now.” She turns on her heel and I hear the clip-clop of her expensive shoes march across the room to the exit behind her. The man pulls me towards the other exit. Time to go back to my cage. My body shakes as I stumble my way back, terrified of what awaits me. Leverage. That’s all I am, isn’t it? For my brother and possibly Nate. For all my protests against violence and crime, I haven’t been able to stop this.

  The man’s in no rush to get me back to my room and lets me take my time. Both my eyes are squinty from the swelling now, and I can feel the ache of my bones as I test out a few movements of my face. I think I see the doorway to the big hangar of a room that is at the front of the building. The thought of running enters my mind, just as the man tightens his grip on my arm.

  “Don’t get any ideas.”

  A table now stands in the middle of the room that serves as my prison cell. The man shoves me into the room, and I almost expect him to come inside with me. The gasp of breath I take as he shuts the door is monumental. I go and perch on the edge of the table, pleased not to sit on the floor.

  My legs swing back and forth as I hang my head. Uncertainty infests my mind as I think about Andreas. What can he give them?

  The creaking of the door snaps my eyes from the floor, and I watch two men I’ve not seen before step inside. A third man drags a body in behind. One of them closes the door behind him and checks the lock. The body of Andreas is dumped in the far corner. My eyes stare to check for the rise and fall of his ribs. He’s covered in blood but he’s alive. They both pause to stare at me for a moment as if to give me a second to play catch up to their intentions.

  There’s nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run.

  The men step forward together, and I slip off the table. Not showing my back, I round it, and put the six by two wooden structure between us. My heart races as anxiety and adrenaline rush together.

  “Andreas,” I shout, unable to help myself. He’s half conscious and a sluggish moan is all the response I get.

  As the men move closer, I see they’re both Yakuza. Dark tattoos cover their faces and necks, disappearing beneath the collars of their T-shirts. One man is taller, meaner looking, with a sloping mouth. The other is slim built but has a glint in his eye. He knows what he’s about to do and is already enjoying the hunt.

  The last man is doing something with Andreas, propping him up as if positioning him to…watch. My breathing catches, and I struggle to fill my lungs.

  The mean one says something in Japanese, and they both rush towards me. It happens so fast, I stumble backwards away from the table and back up against the breeze-block wall. My legs kick out, and my arms circle wildly to keep them from me, but it’s all in vain.

  “Get off me. Get off me!” I scream, gritting my teeth as I defend myself. The larger one backs me into the wall and presses his forearm under my jaw, squeezing my throat so I can’t breathe. I scratch and pull at his arm, but he won’t budge, and I can feel my head getting dizzy. As the burn rises from my chest, I look for the other one who’s watching. My eyes grow heavy, and I hope I’ll pass out.

  Just as I feel myself slip, the pressure is gone, and I crash to the floor, coughing on the air I’m desperate for. Arms wrap around my body and start to move me towards the table. I thrash and kick out again, but I don’t make contact with anything but air. He slams my chest onto the table, his hand in the middle of my back as I try to move. One of them shoves me about until my hips dig into the edge of the wood.

  Groans start echoing in the room and I hear Andreas fight against the man with him.

  The other guy, who was choking me a minute ago, comes back into my line of sight. He presses my face into the wood with one hand before moving his grip to my throat. It’s not hard at first, just uncomfortable. The more I struggle with my arms, the more he grips. When I stop moving, his hand relaxes, and I can draw air in again.

  My breathing is shallow, and even though I know I shouldn’t panic, I can’t help but pant, keeping up with the beat of my heart. As I feel the pressure build, dark spots start floating through my vision and I feel something at my feet. Someone’s taking my boots off.

  From my position, I can only see the side of the mean looking man. His hand rests against my jugular, dictating the amount of breath I can take. Something cold passes next to my ankle, and I feel a tug on my jeans. The jagged sound of ripping fabric reverberates through my body, and panic rises through me. My clothes were the last line of my defence, and now I can’t pretend about what they’re here to do.

  I kick out with my free leg, bucking and trying to do whatever I can to stop what is happening, but the hand at my throat squeezes tighter and more weight presses down on my back. The ripping continues until I can feel the cool air touch my skin.

  “No! No…Get the fuck…” Muffled and disjointed shouts from Andreas fill the air, making this all the more painful to bear.

  My eyes close, holding back hot tears as I wait. I slam my palms into the table, but the strength has fled my body. I feel myself falling under but right before I do, pain sears through me as he penetrates me. The gasp is soundless as I cry and can do nothing but absorb the pain in one lungful.

  “Stop!” My mouth sticks together as I try to scream, but only a whisper sounds. “Help.” Another silent cry.

  My flesh stings and I try to retreat, pulling away from the intrusion, but the table keeps me exactly where he wants me. The hurt intensifies as he grips my hips and shoves himself deeper inside of me. This time I cry, and my moan is filled with the anguish that wrecks my body.

  I grip the edge of the table, my fingers curling around and digging into the underside, marking my pain with my fingers as he brutalises me. My eyes lose focus, choosing not to see anything in the gloom around me, but then my vision is blocked by the face of the mean man. His hand tightens around my neck and I start to choke as he tightens his grip. My throat is raw, and I say a prayer that this time, I’ll slip into unconsciousness.

  Nothing.

  I blink a few times and try to move, not finding any resistance. A trickle of something running down the inside of my leg jolts my memory back to the present, and I recall where I am.

  “All you have to do is agree then all of this stops. Your little sister won’t be touched again.” It’s a voice I don’t recognise, but the words hit me like a tonne of bricks. This is the leverage. They want Andreas’ business and he’s not giving it to them. He’d rather see me raped than hand over the keys to his kingdom.

  Anger flashes through me and I push up on my arms, but I’m immediately grabbed and twisted around onto my back. The mean man stands over me from one end of the table, his arms nailing my shoulders to the table. The position has my back bent uncomfortably, and now I can see everything around me. Including Andreas. My mind wants me to fight, but when I push my body to move and struggle, little happens. The weight of the man over me is too much to move.

  “Stop this, Andreas. Please,” I beg. But all I hear is a low groan and what sounds like a sob. No words to end this. No words to rescue me.

  The man grins down at me as I try for strength, but nothing I do will change my position. Only Andreas can do that. Panic rushes through me as I realise I’m still trapped, and I’m not going to be left alone.

  Out of the gloom, the quiet one, the rapist, moves towards
me and hovers. I know what he wants. He’s already taken it from me once. I wait, unable to turn away from the face that will plague me for the rest of my life. His body flinches, and I kick out with my free leg but hit nothing but air. The denim of my torn-up jeans hangs from my other leg. He grabs my foot and pushes his body between my legs.

  I look away towards Andreas, hoping to see his face through my swollen eye. But a hand latches onto my throat, cutting off my airway. I bat at the arm, clawing with my nails, but he just laughs—laughs and grins as I feel the pounding of my heart beat against the inside of my skull and the pressure rising in my body.

  “Leave her. Leave her.” Andreas’ cries grow louder, but his protest is futile unless he agrees to their demands. He won’t. He’s watched them rape me. He’s not going to break now.

  Hands run up my stomach and over my breasts, and I squirm as nausea rolls through me. I twist my face away, constricting my airway further, but I don’t care. The sound of my top ripping is the final step and I close my eyes to it, unable to allow anymore sensory information in than I need.

  His hands are on my skin next, rough and callous as he gropes at me, digging his fingers into my flesh as if I’m there for his amusement. Black spots start to float behind my eyes and a lightness comes over me.

  That’s when it happens, when the pain tears through me again and the scream I want to vent is trapped behind the filthy man’s hand. Tears track down the side of my face as I endure, each shove, each thrust searing me with a pain that’s already left me raw and broken until I can’t think about it any longer.

  “Fuck you, she can’t breathe. You’re going to kill her. Fuck. Have it. Have it all, just don’t kill her.”

  “I’m glad you finally came around to our way of doing business, Mr Alves,” the woman’s voice says from somewhere.

  Business.

  My mind drifts. Drifts to a place where I’m safe and loved. Nate.

  My body will heal. My body will heal.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The illuminated city passes by as we drive to the docks, roads full of people travelling through their average existences and smiling at what their nights will bring. I’m not smiling, nor is Quinn. The picture of Gabby that eventually came was, still is, fair warning of what’s coming should we not do as we’re told. I’ve done nothing but stare at it for four hours. A dark room, concrete beneath her body as she lay on it, sprawled out asleep, or more likely, unconscious. Her face was bruised and one eye badly swollen. Her hair was down and scraggy, slick with dried blood that smothered the side of her face.

  Rage, indecision, hatred for anything that might get in my way—all emotions that screamed at me to stand, walk, and get to the fucking docks quicker than planned. But every time I stood, Quinn watched me like a hawk and said something to bring me back to my plan. Calmed me down. Much as that fucking annoyed me at the time, he was right because we both know what could be coming, no matter how deferential he’s been to the woman who called offering terms. People could die tonight. For me, lives could be taken to rescue her. For Quinn, lives will be obliterated to protect what’s his.

  What’s ours.

  “You ready?” he asks, his fingers turning the wheel as he nods at Rusty and Den in a car that passes us. They peel off, changing course quickly to get to the other side of the building we’re heading for. I flick a glance at the black SUV that creeps up the inside of us, Frankie and Jon looking back at me, and nod at them, too. The car accelerates by and jumps a light, crossing to the next street so they can follow their own way in. “They’ll have at least double what we have.”

  I frown at that and search the area for anyone following us. No one is that I can see, haven’t been since we’ve been here, which means it’s working and the Yakuza haven’t worked out that we’ve been here all along, scheming. We might be six compared to their many more, but we’re six who’ve played this type of game all our lives. For once in my life I smile to myself at the thought, listening to Quinn as he breathes in and out slowly, and think of all those years of training he gave me. Without him I’d have been dead a thousand times over. He made this frame I’m in, designed it. He moulded me into something to be feared the moment he knew my morals would get in the way of business.

  Watch your back, keep yourself covered. Look them straight in the eyes and aim true if you have to. You stay alive, brother.

  Only once did I ever pull the damn trigger to kill.

  And that was to protect him.

  If put to the test, I’ll do it again in a heartbeat. Morals are damned when it comes to family. But this time it’s not for him, it’s for her.

  The road past the marina turns into more of a dirt drive and reveals the industrial warehouses, bringing us to the back of the dock area. Dust kicks up at us from the vehicle we’re following and smears the view, the salt from the sea thick in my nostrils.

  “Position set,” Frankie says into the phone I’m holding. I look to the right of us, scanning the neighbouring buildings to find him. Nothing’s visible, but that doesn’t mean he’s not there. Just like Rusty and Den. They checked in before this call, confirming their locations, too. “Jon’s on the south-side, already in place.” I nod at that and check to the left of us, looking for anything that might give them away as Quinn slows the car slightly. Jon should have found a way in by now, covered it at least. Again, nothing is visible, but communication means they’re alive and haven’t been sighted.

  We’re set.

  As set as we can be against the Yakuza in unknown territory.

  “Get inside as soon as we’re in,” I mutter into the phone, ending the call.

  That’s all we’ve got here—trust that our men are backing us up if needed, and my game plan, which should get us all out of here alive.

  The car slows to crawling, dust finally settling around us as we creep in behind the other SUV. Four men get out as they pull to a stop, three of them looking back at us as one of them walks towards a set of corrugated doors on the old building. They’re all Yakuza apart from the one who’s wandered off. I can tell by the way they walk together. Orderly, unconcerned by our presence.

  “Arrogant little fucks,” Quinn mumbles next to me. I’d snort if they were holding anyone else but Gabby, but they are, so I glance at him and check my gun under my jacket for the tenth time, then the blade in my boot. “If your goddamn woman wasn’t in that building, I’d—”

  “I know.”

  That stops his muttering, and the long sigh that comes from him instead has us both staring at the guys out front, one of whom is beckoning us.

  “You sure you can do this?” he asks. I glare, annoyed he’s asked. He’s goddamn right I can. This has been my life. There’s no one better at it than me, certainly when they don’t know it’s coming for them. He might not know what I’ve been working on. Might not know the hours of prep that have given me the ability to do this but screw him and his questions. He should know me by now, know if I say I’ve got shit covered, I have. It’s only ever been decency that’s kept me legitimate, made me respect a code of sorts in this damned world we live in. We could have been far wealthier had I been more like him.

  Underhanded.

  I’m not.

  He eventually nods in return and reaches for the door. “You stay safe, brother.”

  “You, too.”

  He smiles at that, some part of him not giving a fuck if he stays safe or not as he gets out and buttons his jacket up. I do the same and come into line beside him, laptop case in hand, as we begin the steps into hell. That’s what this feels like to me. It might not to him, but to me it’s a journey I’ve always detested, and this time, even more so, because it’s fucking necessary for entirely different reasons. Before now, the outcome has only ever been applicable to the balance sheet, barely any thought given to how Quinn goes about dealing with our business or who dies. Whether I despised it or not wasn’t relevant. Whether my morals accepted it or not was equally insignificant, but now—Gabb
y. Her life is at risk.

  That’s personal. In house.

  Even Cane doesn’t play with that shit.

  The lead guy comes back out as the others guide us past them, his hand waving us towards the door as he scuffs his foot in the dirt. Quinn nods and takes a step in front of me, an indifferent glance blasted at the guy. Whoever the fuck he is, we only have one destination in mind—the woman, or whoever is above her. Yakuza work on the towering system. Everything comes from the top down.

  Not one of these fucks will do anything unless they’re told.

  We’re met by another one of them blocking our way, his arms halting Quinn from moving forward.

  “Weapons?” the guy says, expectancy in his tone. I scan around the area, leaving Quinn to deal with whatever will happen next. It’s a long corridor, walls flanking doorways leading to other rooms, a set of stairs off to the right and left. I peer up them, checking for more guys as we stand still.

  “Back off,” Quinn suddenly says, moving forward and barging past. I follow, still scanning and listening for movement upstairs. Nothing. It’s quiet as I trail him along the hallway, glancing into rooms, no sound but the echo of our footsteps.

  One Yakuza comes along the side of me from behind, his suited shoulder brushing me as he scurries to get in front of Quinn, presumably to lead the way. Who fucking knows? This is typical Quinn—no conversation unless it’s with the one person who matters.

  It’s exactly how we should respond to shit like this.

  We eventually break into a large warehouse room with thirty-foot ceilings and rusted metal lining the walls, a high-level office jutting out into the room. Concrete clacks as we walk across it towards the far corner, led that way by the fuck in the suit. I’ve never been closer to pulling my gun in my life. Revenge is clawing its way through me, making me check my own frown and try to be as impartial as I always am. My fingers grip the laptop case instead, eyes still looking around for any sign of Gabby or our guys. There isn’t a goddamn thing. It’s empty but for wooden crates of goods piled high, metal containers blocking the view out to the docks.