Crawling on hands and knees, skin on fire, I’d pulled my torn clothes together and forced them onto my mutilated body, the pain intense.
I’d already puked once from shock, but now I had a deeper fear. This girl had seen their faces, seen what they’d done to me—which meant she was in danger.
“Where’s your room?” I hissed out, my mouth close to her hair, catching the scent of coconut.
“Go left. Room 113.”
People stared as we crossed the hotel lobby, but I ignored them all. At the girl’s door, I gently pried her purse from her shaking hands and searched through it until I found her keycard.
Once we were inside, her cell phone started to ring furiously and that seemed to shock her out of her daze. She spoke into the phone, her eyes fixed on me as I stood gazing at her warily, my breath still coming in heavy pants.
A few seconds later, I heard voices outside her room.
I peered through the peephole, hoping like fuck that it wasn’t the evil bastard.
But I recognized them from the night before.
“It’s your friends,” I whispered, the relief in my voice obvious.
“Let them in, please,” she begged, her voice breaking.
I opened the door and the two women almost fell into the room.
“Laney! Laney! Oh my God! Are you alright?”
“I’m okay,” she said, tears making a lie of her words. “I’m okay.”
Laney. That was her name
“Give me my phone,” ordered the taller one, the brunette. “I’m calling the police.”
“No!” I barked, grabbing the phone from her.
They all turned to stare at me, fear as well as anger on their faces.
“You can’t call the police,” I repeated, my voice harsh. “It’s not safe.”
The brunette shook her head furiously.
“That guy had a gun! My friend was nearly assaulted and . . .”
“So was Ash,” said the girl quietly.
The brunette’s head whipped around so fast, she almost sprained her neck.
“What?”
“That’s what I saw in the bathroom,” Laney said, her voice soft. “Four men were . . . assaulting him.”
“Then we have to call the police!” the brunette cried out with frustration.
“I can’t trust the police.”
They all turned to stare at me again.
Laney bristled. “My father is a police officer! He’s the most honest man I know! How dare you . . .”
I interrupted angrily. “I can’t trust the police here! I can’t trust anyone!” Then I walked to the door, fixing Laney with a hard stare. “He’s seen you. You have to get out. Go to your policeman father. Don’t stay here tonight!”
I was going to run. I’d take my chances on the road, not stuck here like a rat in a trap.
“Wait!”
Frustrated, I turned to Laney again.
“You’re hurt,” she said, her voice softening. “We can help you.”
“Laney, we can’t get mixed up in this,” the brunette protested.
Laney stared at her friend.
“You weren’t there. You didn’t see what they were doing . . . what they were going to do. We have to help him.” She paused, swallowing down her fear. “Besides, I’m already mixed up in this. I saw them—like he said. And they saw me.”
The blonde frowned as she looked at me. “You’ve got blood on you,” she said, standing up and approaching. “Your clothes are soaked with blood!”
“I have to go,” I grit out. “I have to get away!”
The blonde ignored me and tugged apart the ripped shirt. All three of them gasped when they saw the bloody welts on my body.
“You’re not going anywhere like that,” the blonde said flatly. “Vanessa, get my first aid kit from our room and . . .”
“If he finds me, he’ll kill me!” I growled, pushing her hands away. “I have to go now.”
Laney shook her head.
“No one knows you’re here. You’ll be safe . . .”
“He saw you!” I shouted, frustrated that she didn’t understand the danger she was in. “He saw a girl in a wheelchair! How long do you think it will take before he finds you?”
Her eyes were wide with fear, but she shook her head.
“We have a few minutes. He doesn’t know I’m in this hotel.”
A wave of nausea made me dizzy and I had to grab the door handle to stop from falling over.
The blonde snapped her fingers.
“Vanessa, go pack up our room. Bring the bags here and hurry! Laney, do as much as you can here. And you,” she said, pointing at me, “take off the rest of your clothes.”
My face flushed with anger, but when I hesitated, she reached for the button on my pants.
I leapt back as if I’d been burned, the horrific images of Sergei doing exactly the same thing assaulting my mind.
I saw the sudden pity in the blonde’s eyes and knew that she understood. Humiliation flooded through me and I had to close my eyes.
“I’ll take care of you,” she said calmly. “I’m a registered nurse. You can use the bathroom.”
I nodded, knowing that I needed her help. I slipped inside the bathroom, blinking at the bright lights.
Laney
Jo disappeared into the bathroom with Ash, and I could hear the shower running. My stomach lurched as I imagined the water turning red with Ash’s blood, lazily swirling down the drain.
I sat in my stupid chair, useless and terrified, unable to help.
Four minutes later, Vanessa tapped on the door. When I opened it, she was already wearing jeans and flat shoes; two wheeled cases bulging with badly packed clothes trailed behind her.
Vanessa whirled around the room, heaping all my things onto the bed.
“Ash needs something to wear,” I said suddenly, realizing that his own clothes were past saving.
“Is that his name, Ash? He doesn’t sound American,” Vanessa said distractedly, as she shoved clothes into my suitcase.
“I don’t know where he’s from. Ness, you’re the tallest—have you got some sweatpants, a t-shirt, something he could wear.”
Vanessa frowned then dug out a wrinkled oversized t-shirt and gray sweatpants from her suitcase.
“I don’t know—he’s pretty tall.”
“I don’t think he’ll care,” I grimaced.
“No, probably not.”
She placed the clothes for Ash outside the bathroom door so Jo could grab them.
“Who are these guys?” she asked. “What did they do to him?”
I didn’t know who the men were—but I knew what they were.
“I think they used a belt on him,” I said in a hushed voice.
Vanessa sucked in a shocked breath and I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the rest. And I didn’t know how Ash would feel—it wasn’t my story to tell. He must be traumatized by what had happened. I blanched at the scene playing over and over in my mind—had the thugs continued what they’d started before he escaped?
Jo appeared from the bathroom, snapping off a pair of bloody latex gloves.
“I’ve done the best I can,” she said, her professional voice edged with anger, “but he’s taken quite a beating, and the belt buckle . . . it caused some damage. He needs proper treatment and rest.”
“He needs to get out of here,” I said adamantly.
“I still think we should call the police,” Vanessa disagreed. “We don’t know anything about this guy. He could be a criminal for all we know.”
“Open your eyes, Ness!” I cried out. “He’s a dancer! A dancer! I don’t care if he’s got gambling debts or . . . or a drug addiction . . . or anything! He needs us!”
Vanessa stared, biting her lip.
“If it helps,” Jo said calmly, “I saw no sign of drug addiction. And if he’s a criminal, well, you’re the one with the police connections. Speak to your dad. In fact, call him now. He could . . .”
“If I do that
, he’ll tell me to go the police here—you know he will.”
We were all silent, staring at each other.
“And what about Ash?” I asked desperately. “We can’t leave him!”
At that moment, Ash opened the bathroom door, clouds of steam swirling behind him. He was dressed in Vanessa’s sweatpants which were too short and hovered above his shiny patent shoes as if waiting for an invitation to join the party.
His movements were stiff, lacking the fluid grace that had first entranced me. His dark eyes met my gray ones.
“You should listen to your friends. Get out of Las Vegas. It’s not safe for you now.”
“What about you?”
He shrugged and then winced. “I’ll hitch a ride.”
“You’re in no state to do that,” I said decisively. “I’ll buy you a plane ticket. Where do you want to go?”
Ash frowned.
“I can’t catch a flight,” he said flatly. “They stole my ID, but the airports aren’t safe either.”
I ground my teeth with frustration.
“What about a bus?”
“They watch the bus station,” Ash shook his head. “He’ll be looking for me now.”
“We’ll have to drive,” I said quickly. “Can you drive?”
Ash nodded but looked worried. “Sure, but I have no money, no ID.”
“I do.”
“You’re in no fit state,” said Jo, seriously alarmed.
“I know that,” I argued earnestly. “I’ll rent the car and Ash will drive.”
“To Chicago? You’re crazy! That’ll take three, maybe four days!”
“It’s the only way to get him out of town,” I said, determined. “And we don’t have time to stand around here arguing.”
That was one thing we could all agree on.
Jo took charge of checking us out and Vanessa called a cab.
As we piled into the waiting taxi, a police car was idling at the curb outside the hotel, and I knew that there would be trouble if we were caught. Fleeing the scene of a crime and failing to give a witness statement about a man with a gun in public—it wouldn’t go well.
At the airport, I said goodbye to my friends, promising to stay in touch. Vanessa’s plane to Seattle would board in less than an hour, and Jo was catching the red-eye to Boston. She’d also rented a car on her credit card for me and Ash, hoping it would throw anyone looking for a woman in a wheelchair off the scent.
Just thirty minutes later, I was sitting in the passenger seat of a Chrysler 200 while Ash guided the car through the flat darkness of the desert. Tiredness washed through me, but fear kept my brain fizzing and firing, making sleep impossible.
Ash’s shoulders were hunched and his jaw was locked with tension.
“I’ll understand if you don’t want to talk about it,” I said carefully, glancing at his profile, “but why did those men want to hurt you?”
He was silent for so long that I was certain he wouldn’t answer.
When he did, his voice was low and quiet, but throbbing with suppressed anger.
“I came to Las Vegas to dance,” he said. “I thought it was my big break,” and he laughed harshly. “But I soon realized that I was working for Bratva.”
“Who?”
“Russian mafia.”
“Oh God!”
Mafia. The word alone conjured ugly images, and after what I’d seen . . .
“I’ve been here almost six weeks,” Ash continued, his voice strained. “They took my passport and phone the first night. They told me that the airport and bus station were watched. They told me that the police couldn’t be trusted.” He glanced sideways. “Your father is a policeman?”
“Yes, he’s a captain at the 13th district in Chicago. You’ll be safe there.”
Ash stared at me incredulously.
“Nowhere is safe!”
Ash swore loudly, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel, and I cowered back from his anger.
Awareness of our situation settled over me. I didn’t know this man, although instinct told me to help him. But right now he was scaring me.
“He’ll know what to do, Ash,” I whispered. “You’ll just have to trust me.”
He was silent for a moment before glancing at me quickly.
“You know my name.”
I smiled weakly. “You told me last night when we met.”
He nodded once. “I remember.”
But from his dark expression, it didn’t seem like a happy memory.
“And you are Laney. I heard your friends call you that.”
Ash tapped the steering wheel and I couldn’t help staring at his hands. Everything about the man was beautiful. At least those thugs hadn’t hit him in the face. I wondered about that.
I tried to force myself to stare out of the window into the empty night, but my gaze kept being drawn back to Ash. His eyes were narrowed in concentration and pain, and a muscle jumped in his cheek.
It occurred to me that staring like that was probably making him uncomfortable. I tried to think of a way to break the tension, but it was Ash who spoke first.
“Do you mind if I turn on the radio?”
“Sure! What sort of music do you like?”
“I like most music,” he said, some of the tension loosening in his body. “Anything I can dance to.”
“Oh, of course,” I murmured.
Ash glanced at me for a second before he turned the radio on, passing over several Country music stations until he found a late night rock station.
“From ‘Copacabana’ to ‘Hotel California’?”
Ash shrugged, and a tiny hint of the beautiful smile that lit up the stage tugged at his lips. “I guess. I listened to a lot of American music growing up.”
I was relieved by the relative normalcy of the conversation after the horrors of the past hour.
“Where are you from?”
“Slovenia.”
He glanced at me to see if I’d heard of his country. I was mortified that it didn’t even sound familiar, but I guess he was used to that because when he saw me looking confused, he continued.
“Part of the old Yugoslavia. We gained our independence in 1991.”
“Sounds like you’ve had to say that a few times.”
He nodded. “Yeah, a few.”
“Wow, somewhere younger than America,” I teased.
“The Carmine Rotunda church was built in the eleven hundreds,” Ash countered, raising his eyebrows.
“Oh,” I said, feeling ignorant.
Ash shrugged.
“We’re a small country. Only two million people.”
There was an uncomfortable pause while we each thought what to say next. Inevitably we started speaking at the same time.
“Oh, you first,” I said awkwardly.
Ash’s eyes flickered to me and he licked his lips, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
“There’s a girl . . .”
Of course there is, I thought sadly. “Okay?”
“She’s in trouble,” Ash said quickly, as if the faster he spoke, the easier it would be.
I frowned, not sure what to make of his words. “Pregnant?”
Ash seemed puzzled. “I don’t think so. It’s possible, I don’t know, but she’s in trouble. She’s being used to . . . sleep with men, you know?”
“She’s a . . . prostitute?”
“No. Yes, but she doesn’t want to be. She’s a dancer, like me. I met her the day I arrived here and only once more until last night. They’re holding her at a place out of the city. I don’t know where exactly.”
His voice was frustrated, becoming desperate, almost pleading with me.
“It’s a farm, I think. She said they had guns, that they were watching her. I have a car now—maybe we could find her?”
So many emotions tumbled through me. I felt horrible for being jealous when I thought that Ash had a girlfriend; then shocked by what he said had happened to the poor girl; then horrifie
d that Ash could think we should take on the Russian mafia who had guns.
It was all such a nightmare. More than ever, I wanted to call Dad. I needed to hear his calm advice when I was so scared and my nerves jangled. I needed his clear-headed judgment. I surreptitiously checked my phone while I replied.
“Um, Ash, that doesn’t sound like a great idea. I mean, you said they have guns and they’re watching her. I’ve seen one gun already this evening, and I’m still shaking. I’m not sure what we could do. But she’s being held against her will, so we should definitely tell the police.” Dammit! No signal. “What’s her name?”
Ash shook his head helplessly.
“Marta. I don’t know the rest! I don’t know anything! I promised I’d help her!”
And he slammed his hand on the steering wheel making me jump, so I dropped my phone into the car’s footwell.
Ash glanced at me again before fixing his eyes back on the road.
“I’m sorry. I just . . . can . . . will your father . . . can he help her?”
I touched his arm gently.
“When you meet him, tell him everything. He’ll help you. That’s my promise.”
Ash frowned and nodded jerkily.
The road unfolded black and velvety in the night. The stars were bright pinpoints of light far away, so very far away. The car’s headlights were consumed by the night and it felt as if we were alone in the universe.
There was a long silence before either of us spoke again.
“Thank you,” said Ash.
When I woke up, it wasn’t a slow, groggy coming to the surface of a misty dream, but a sudden, sharp intake of breath, feeling like my body was on fire. The sudden swell of pain startled me instantly and fully awake.
My eyes watered and I had to breathe slowly and deeply. When I felt sufficiently able to control the pain, I cautiously opened my eyes. I was alone in the car and thin fingers of gray light filtered through the window.
I turned my head carefully and saw Ash some distance away, standing at the side of the road. He bent over suddenly and was violently sick.
My instinct was to go to him, but my body fought me, confining me to the car seat. Instead, I reached into my purse and retrieved my meds, gulping them down with a bottle of water that I’d bought at the airport. It wasn’t ideal taking them on an empty stomach, but I couldn’t face a Snickers bar, which was the only food I had with me.
Slave to the Rhythm (The Rhythm #1) Page 10
