When Fates Align

by Isabelle Richards

  Standing here isn’t doing me any good. Jimmy Dean opened several other units while he was looking for the chair he tied me to, so maybe I can find something hiding in them. Shoes? A machete? A Fiat’s small enough to fit in one of these units, but something tells me that’s asking for too much.

  The bottoms of my feet smart as I run back to the building. First I return to my unit to collect the knife. It’s not a machete, but it’s served me well thus far. I’ll just search around, find anything that can help, then head for the hills. I throw open the first door I find without a lock, and it’s empty. After six more failed treasure hunts, I find a unit filled to the brim. Jackpot! The unit is filled with stacks and stacks of boxes. After putting the knife down on the top of a stack of boxes, I start sifting through a lifetime of crap someone’s hoarded.

  “Where the fuck are you? I have to get the bitch to the plane in forty minutes!”

  I drop the box I was sorting through. Son of a bitch! Instead of making a pro-and-con list, I should have just run. Now it’s too late. Judging from the sound of his footsteps, he’s seconds from discovering—

  “Dios mio!”

  Looks like he found Jimmy Dean.

  “Lily, my pet, come out, come out wherever you are!” Unlike my previous captors, his Spanish accent is mild, almost undetectable.

  I wonder if, like Rafa, he was raised and educated in the US. I pick up the knife from where I dropped it and creep into the back of the unit. I’m trapping myself, but there’s so much shit in here that even if he comes looking for me, there’s a good chance he won’t find me before help arrives.

  His footsteps are back in the hall and moving toward the unit I’m in. “I should thank you. I was going to have to kill him anyway, so you’ve saved me the trouble.”

  The clang of a unit door opening makes me jump, and I ram my shoulder into a piece of metal protruding from one of the boxes. Gasping from the searing pain, I cover my mouth to stifle my scream.

  “I wouldn’t have cut his dick off, but every killer has to have their own style, am I right?” His chuckle reverberates down the hall, sending chills up my spine.

  As his steps get closer, I scan the nearby boxes. I need a plan B in case I lose the knife.

  “That’s quite the work of art back there. If I hadn’t sold you already, I’d be tempted to recruit you. We need more executioners who are willing to go the extra mile for a little flare.”

  Whether he’s saying he’s impressed with my killing skills to lure me out of hiding or because he’s sincere, I’m horrified by how enthralled he is with what I’ve done. I’ve read about cartel men who delude themselves into believing brutality is an art form, that murder is the ultimate self-expression of the savage within. What I did was self-defense, not art. Yes, it was brutal, but does that make me like them? A savage?

  He opens another door, and from the sound, I think he’s only one unit away. My heart pounds so loudly, I swear he should be able to hear it. Crouching into the corner of the stacks, I try to make myself as small as possible.

  “Having said that, you’ve brought in a hefty sum, and I’d rather have the cash than a whore who can kill. Have you been to Oman? I hear it’s lovely this time of year. Not that you’ll see much from the dungeon you’ll be in.”

  His footsteps get closer until they stop mere feet from me. Through the cracks in the boxes, I can see his shoes. If I can see him, can he see me? I wipe my hands on my pants, hoping to dry my palms enough that I can keep ahold of the knife.

  “I can smell you, Lily.” He steps into the unit. “I can smell your fear. It’s time to come out before you get hurt.” He creeps toward me, and I ready the knife. “The sultan is eager to get you, but I can’t send you to him hurt. If you make me mar you, I promise you’ll pay for it. Each day of interest I lose on that five million, I’ll be taking it out of your cunt. So I’d think carefully. The sultan is a sick fuck, but he’s old. How much endurance could he possibly have? Me on the other hand? I can go for hours, and I’ll get off on your pain. You don’t want to tempt me.”

  Jumping from my crouched position, I lunge at him, plunging the knife into his chest. The knife must have hit his ribs because it doesn’t go in very far. It was much harder than I expected. Blood slowly pours out, so I injured him, but I don’t know how much.

  His eyes go wide. “You fucking stabbed me!”

  I reach behind me, grab the shovel that’s been digging into my side, and swing with all my might at his head. “You fucking sold me!”

  With the shovel in hand, I run out of the unit and spot three bulky guys. I skitter backward until my back is against the wall. I hold out the shovel, hoping it isn’t shaking as much as I think it is. “What are you, his posse? You look a little pasty to be a vato.”

  The tall one with a scar down the side of his face steps toward me. “I’m here to help. Do you know how many of them are here?”

  I snort. “Here to help carry me into a life of sexual servitude? Thanks but no thanks.”

  The one with a ponytail laughs. “What happens between you and Edwards is your business. We’re just here to take out some cartel fuckers.” He nods toward my cell. “Looks like you’ve done a fairly good job of that on your own.”

  Edwards? Tension dissolves in my body. “Gavin sent you?”

  Before anyone can answer, Marco jumps from the unit. I raise my shovel and bash him in the head.

  He falls, but I keep whacking him. “Stay dead, you worthless piece of shit!” I bring the shovel back to swing again, and it’s snatched from my grasp.

  “We need him alive, dearie,” is whispered into my ear. “I know you want to kill him, but he’ll do us much more good breathing than he will dead.”

  I hear the shovel clang against the concrete, then strong arms wrap around my midsection.

  “Are there others?” he asks.

  “Not that I know of.”

  The guy with a ponytail checks Marco’s pulse then pats him down. “Still alive.” He pulls some rope from his pack and ties Marco up.

  I’m turned to face the man with the scar. He lifts me as though I’m nothing, then he carries me away from Marco. He puts his hand on my head, guiding me to rest on his chest. “You don’t need to see that. It’s all over now.” Scarface sets me in the backseat of a Range Rover then slides in next to me. “I’m Nigel. I’m an old friend of Gavin’s.”

  I study his face. Is he telling the truth? The cartel guys know I’m with Gavin. This could just be a ploy to get me to let my guard down. A good one at that, because I let him carry me to his car. “He’s never mentioned you.”

  “We fought together,” he replies. He twists in his seat, and I jump. He holds up his hands. “Just getting my mobile, dearie. I promise, no one will hurt you again.”

  He slides his finger over his phone and toggles about for a minute, then he turns the phone toward me. On the phone is a gorgeous picture of Gavin and these three guys, all in uniform. Tears spring to my eyes at the sight of Gavin. He may not be here, but he sent these men to save me. For the first time in days, I think I might actually make it out of this.

  Nigel puts his phone away. “You’ve got a number of abrasions and bruises. How badly are you hurt? Should we take you to the hospital?”

  Using the back of my filthy hand, I wipe the tears from my eyes. “No hospitals. I’m beat up but otherwise fine.”

  The third guy jogs toward the car with a blanket and several bottles of water. He opens the car door next to me, covers me with the blanket, and hands me an open water bottle. “Drink this slowly, otherwise you’ll retch and be even more dehydrated.” He pulls out a few Mule Bars. “If you can keep the water down, we’ll try these next.”

  After drinking some of the water, I lean my head against the headrest and close my eyes. I must drift off to sleep, because I’m awoken by someone touching my cheek. Instinctively I thrash, pushing away my assailant, but he just holds me close.

  “I’ve got you, luv.”

 
I open my eyes to see those sapphire eyes that have filled my dreams.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Hey back,” I whisper then collapse into his arms. Burying my head in his chest, I inhale the sweet smell of Gavin. “I knew you’d save me.”

  “Let’s get you to the hospital, luv,” he says into my hair. That alone is a sign of how much he loves me. I’m disgusting right now, but it doesn’t stop him from cherishing me. “You need to be checked out.”

  “I don’t need a doctor, I just need you. Please, take me out of here.”

  His grip around me tightens. I know he’s not happy, but I also know he’ll respect my choice. “All right, I’ll check you out myself. But if I see anything that worries me, we’re going to straight to the hospital.”

  I smile against his chest. “Ever the Boy Scout.”

  He scoops me up, and I lay my in the crook of his neck as he carries me to another car. The moment Gavin puts me down, Max pops in my face. He talks to me, but I feel as if the world is on mute. I can’t hear Max, don’t want to hear him. I turn away and lose myself in Gavin’s arms.

  Moments later, the car pulls away. I’m not sure how long our drive is. I don’t pay attention to the time or watch the scenery. I just remind myself to keep breathing. I may be free from that cell, but the reality of the situation is burning through my endorphin haze, and it’s more oppressive than the duct tape that bound me to the chair.

  Catching a glimpse of the dried blood coating my hands, I’m reminded that I killed a man. Possibly two. I exterminated someone, taking a life in the most vile way. I was minutes away from becoming the concubine of some sadistic sultan. The weight of it sits on my chest like an anvil. I’m not sure why hell is always depicted as hot, because I feel as if my depraved soul is rotten to the core, and I’ve never felt so cold. My body shakes as icy sensations wick through my body, permeating my bones.

  “I think you’re going into shock, luv.” Pulling the quilt tighter around me, Gavin strokes my nasty hair and whispers loving words into my ear.

  I feel too dirty, too tainted to deserve those words, but I selfishly let them cover me like a blanket.

  The car comes to a stop, and Gavin pulls me out in one smooth motion. I’m too caught up in my thoughts to pay any attention to where we are, and I genuinely don’t care. I just rest my head on his chest and close my eyes, hoping I can shut out the rest of the world.

  “I had Mason draw you a bath,” he says when he sets me down.

  Taking a quick look around, I see I’m in a bathroom I’ve never been in before. The room is lit by dozens of candles and fresh flowers help mask the putrid stench of my filth.

  Gavin gently removes my clothes and examines me. He checks every cut and scrape, listens to my heart, and takes my pulse. Had we gone to the hospital, I’m not sure I could have handled being touched this way by a stranger. The thought of another person touching me, looking at me, makes my throat close. Gavin makes me feel safe.

  Once he’s satisfied I’m okay, he carefully places me in the bath. The warm water is jarring at first but quickly relaxes my stress-tense muscles. With a soft sponge, Gavin cleans away the dried blood and grime caked on me. His touch is so soft, so delicate. Too delicate to clean away the grime that coats me.

  I know none of what happened is my fault, but I feel disgusting, shrouded in shame. I push his hand away then grab a loofa from the side of the tub and scrub. I scour myself, hoping to rip off the layers of skin that can still feel that asshole’s touch. I need to exfoliate the muck and murk that’s seeping in from my pores and tainting me to the core.

  With tears in his eyes, Gavin pulls the loofa from my hand and throws it across the room. He kicks off his shoes and, still clothed, climbs into the tub behind me.

  “Don’t!” I don’t want him sullied by the dirt and piss and blood and smut that fills the tub. I push him away, but I’m so damn weak, it does nothing to stop him. I scratch and claw at him, using everything I can to keep him away, but he ignores me.

  He pulls me to him, enveloping me with his arms. “I can’t erase it, but I promise I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it better. From now until you draw your last breath, I promise you will be safe and no one will ever hurt you again.”

  His words break me open, and my sobs pour out. I weep in his arms until the water turns cold. I’m shaking so badly, I can’t tell if it’s from my sobs or from the chill.

  My emotions come in powerful waves, changing with every tide that rolls in. One moment I feel nothing but blind rage for Rafa and his damn friends. And Ash. The thought of him turns my blood to magma. Then the gravity of the situation sinks in, and I’m hit with fear unlike anything I’ve ever known. Then profound self-loathing for letting them make me feel this way. The bipolar emotional round robin always comes back to shame and guilt, because at the end of the day, I played a role in all of this. People are dead because of me. In some sick and twisted way, I’m getting what I deserve.

  Gavin just holds me tight through every feelings do-si-do, and as much as I love him for it, I hate him for it at the same time. With all the fucked up shit going on in my head, his support confuses me.

  I’ve never felt “good enough” for Gavin. I mean, come on—he’s him and I’m me. But somehow, now this darkness covers me like a thick varnish, and he doesn’t bat a freaking eyelash. Without hesitation, he just climbs into the sludge with me, and it’s fucking with my head. I feel unworthy of him, and that just stokes the self-loathing fire simmering inside me. I want to push him away, and I don’t know why.

  I don’t understand anything I’m feeling. None of it makes sense, but it’s so vivid, so intense, that there’s no hiding from it. Waves of confusing, conflicting emotions hit me, and Gavin’s tender sweetness only adds to my bewilderment. I don’t know what to do with it, but I know I don’t have room for another disturbed emotion on my merry-go-round of pain. I push and I push and I push, but the son of a bitch won’t budge. He just pulls me closer.

  Holding me tight, he says, “You will not go through this alone. You can fight me all you want, but you will not go through this alone.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Gavin

  The drive feels like an eternity. Bronson runs red lights and goes double the speed limit, but it still isn’t fast enough. When we arrive, I can’t get out of the car fast enough. Like a magnet, a pull from deep within my bones calls me to Lily’s side. I’m out of the backseat before the car comes to a stop. I sprint across the parking lot, catch a glimpse of her in the back of Nigel’s Rover, and my breath hitches.

  The last four days have been the lowest point of my life, but the nightmare’s finally over. Lily’s alive. Lily’s safe. The words replay over and over in my head. As I walk toward her, my pulse throbs in my ears. Hot tears sting my eyes as relief saturates my tattered heart. So many times I was an angel’s breath from losing her, from having to face a lifetime without her, but by the grace of God, she’s come back to me. The enormity of the moment almost brings me to my knees.

  Not wanting to be a wreck when I see Lily, I blink back the tears and try to regain my composure. After several deep breaths, I pull myself together. Desperate to have her in my arms, I run to her. I’m mere steps from the Rover when all my jubilation evaporates.

  I’ve been naïve to think she would come out of this unscathed. I thought I had prepared myself for what I might find, but nothing could have prepared me for the excruciating anguish of seeing my beloved bloodied and beaten. Her left eye is swollen so severely, I’ll be amazed if she can see out of it. Deep cuts mar her cheek from where she’s been hit repeatedly. Her beautiful lips are split and caked in dried blood that covers her chin and cheeks.

  For the first time in my life, I wish I’d never had a day of medical training. I know exactly how much force is required to cause those kinds of injuries, and the thought that my Lily had to suffer through that pain eviscerates me. Scenarios flash through my mind as I imagine the abuse she endured,
and a savage scream escapes my lips. My imagination is so vivid, I can almost feel the brutality, but as much as it pains me, it’s a pittance compared to what she’s been through. Peter catches me as I stumble backward. Hurt and rage cyclone within me, creating a helix of raw emotion begging to be unleashed.

  “Where are they?” I growl, pulling my gun from the back of my trousers. “Where the fuck are they?”

  “Dead. So put that away,” Peter replies. “She killed him, and from what I can see, he got his comeuppance.” He steps in front of me, blocking my view of her. “She’s been trapped in a box for days, surrounded by hate and fear. If she has any chance of coming back from this, you need to make her feel safe. That can’t happen when you’re full of wrath. We will get vengeance, they will pay, but now is not the time for that. The world as she knew it has been turned upside down and inside out. You need to show her you can put it right side in again. Take a second, pull yourself together, then go over there and do everything you can to make her feel loved and protected.”

  I allow his words to resonate before I move. If anyone can relate to Lily, it’s Peter. After being caught during a mission gone horribly wrong, he was held captive by Hezbollah terrorists for eight weeks. He’s never spoken to me about it, but it was apparent to all of us close to him how much the experience changed him. He’s going out on quite the limb saying anything at all, and I’d be a fool not to heed his advice.

  Somehow on the short walk to Nigel’s car, I have to find a way to quash my burning need to hunt down the men responsible for each and every scratch on Lily’s body and subject them to years of torture. How am I supposed to do that? When I thought she was dead, I thought my world had come to an end, and there was nothing I could do about it. For days I’ve been furious, thinking about the hell she’s been through, and there wasn’t a bloody thing I could do about it. I have more money and power than most people could accrue in a lifetime, and it meant nothing because I couldn’t keep her safe. She’d been only an hour away from me, and despite all of my connections and resources, I couldn’t find her. I’ve never felt so helpless and feeble in my life, and that frustration fuels the rage brewing inside me. How am I just supposed to let that go when every fiber in my being tells me to set the world on fire until each and every one of them pays?