Fake Bride With Benefits

by Riley Rollins

  Eventually, she stops struggling. I could turn down the radio and be alone with my own thoughts, but I don't.

  She begged and pleaded after I stuffed the burlap sack on her head. Thought I'd come to fuck her. Tried to remind me of that. Offered to suck me off, to let me fuck her in the ass, to pay me money. Anything I wanted.

  But there was only one thing I wanted, and she couldn't give it to me. Penny's safety. My need to protect her is the only thing keeping me going right now. I've got to get this job done as fast as I can and get back home to her, to make sure no one else has found her.

  If anyone ever lays so much as a fucking finger on her, I'll kill them without hesitation.

  Finally, as the sun rises, I arrive at the drop point. It's an old, abandoned factory along Route 78, far away from civilization. No one comes out this way.

  It's a great place to hide a criminal operation. I have to give Igor credit for that.

  When I shoved Mackenzie into my trunk, I was half a second away from apologizing, untying her, and sending her on her way. But I forced myself to follow through.

  I park outside the facility, and a couple of street-level goons emerge from a guard station. I roll down my window, and one of them speaks.

  "You dropping off?"

  "Yeah."

  "Pull around back into the loading dock."

  I comply, driving around the building and backing into a loading dock made for semi-trucks. Then, I pop the trunk and get out.

  I raise the trunk, and there's Mackenzie, curled up into a fetal position, the burlap sack still on her head. Poor girl. I reach down and pull it off, and she stares up at me with puffy blue eyes, a gag in her mouth, a frightened look on her face.

  A different pair of guys emerges from the loading dock, and they inspect the goods. "Aw, shit, she looks like a horny little bitch," says one of them, and the other grins, nodding his approval. "The things I'm gonna do to her..."

  I feel like a flare gun has fired off inside me. I grab the man by his shirt, lifting him off his feet. "You don't fucking touch her," I hiss into his ear. "You fucking got that?"

  "Shit man, what's the matter, you want in on that?"

  "Shut up," I say, shaking the man. "Do your fucking job, and don't fucking touch this woman."

  There was a time when I wouldn't have hesitated to fuck him up on the spot. Back then, I could afford to throw my weight around. Everyone knew me, respected me, especially the bosses who trusted me with the most difficult jobs. I was a revered soldier, I had leeway.

  But now, no matter how much I fucking hate it, I have to fall in line. I can hold my own against any man, shit, even against a group of men. But if I alienate my own organization, they'll never stop sending assassins until they get me. And I can't watch my own back my whole life. Even I have to sleep sometimes.

  I let the man go, and he glares at me, smoothing his shirt and his hurt ego. "I'll take care of this," I say. "Get out of the fucking way."

  I reach into the trunk, slide my hands under Mackenzie, and pull her out. I set her on her feet. "I'm sorry," I repeat. "It wasn't personal." She looks at me with tears in her eyes. I imagine some other man doing this to Penny, and it fills me with rage.

  "Come on." I put a hand on her shoulder and guide her into the factory, walking behind her.

  Inside, it's damp, musty and dark. We walk down a depressing corridor. The ground is all cracked gray concrete, worn down by years of foot traffic back when this place was a legitimate operation, and the ceiling is covered in rusty, exposed pipes. On either side of us, there are rooms that've been converted into cells with bars over the windows. Behind some of the windows, there are terrified faces of women being held captive.

  It sickens me. They must be bringing in women from all across the eastern seaboard, because this goes far beyond what the West Ark mafia is capable of. I only expected five or six girls here, but there must be at least a few dozen.

  I don't know where we're going, but the hallway only goes one direction. As we walk, I memorize everything about this place. Every intersection, every door. It won't be hard to come in, take this place by surprise.

  We finally get to an office, and through the window I see Igor inside. He holds a clipboard, standing in front of a couple girls on the couch, hands tied behind their backs. I trade places with Mackenzie, walking in first, her behind me. She squeals in shock when she recognizes Igor.

  All the people she thought were protecting her are betraying her.

  Igor looks up at me and gives me a sick, twisted grin. "Good job, Vladimirovich," he says. "Good thing you didn't fuck this up."

  I grit my teeth, holding my tongue. He's trying to provoke me into saying something stupid, but I won't fall for it.

  He laughs. "Now get the hell out of here. Be at the White Bear on Tuesday. I'll have your cash and another job for you then."

  I don't say another word to him. Instead, I turn and look at Mackenzie. She's so scared.

  I walk out without looking back.

  "Penny," I announce loudly as I close the front door behind me. "I'm back."

  There's no response. She's probably pissed at me, or still asleep. But as I climb the stairs, something catches my eye. The study door. It's hanging open, and broken glass litters the floor.

  What the fuck? I put my hand on the butt of my gun as I move closer. As I approach the door, I see someone lying on the office floor.

  It's Penny. Fucking shit.

  My conscience shoves an endless stream of emotions through my brain. Anger, sorrow, regret. How could I have left her alone like this? What happened to her? Is this my fault?

  Sweat running down my forehead, I bend down and take her pulse at the neck.

  It's there, but it's weak. And slow. Fuck.

  I frantically dig in my pocket for my cellphone, pull it out, and dial one of my medical contacts, a veterinarian in West Ark. He picks up after two rings.

  "It's Havok," I say. "I need you here, now."

  33

  Penny

  When I wake up, I'm disoriented. Tightly tucked bedsheets hug me, holding me against a mattress. My last recollection is of collapsing hard against a wooden floor.

  "Penny?" I recognize the voice. My name floats around the room, reaching my ears through the thick mental haze clouding my thoughts.

  "Penny?"

  My memories seep back into my consciousness, and I remember everything. The file drawer full of weapons, the stacks and stacks of biographical files… the file on me.

  I groan, attempting to form a coherent sentence, but my brain remains muddled. But I have control over my limbs, so I flail them. As I struggle, a tearing sensation rips through my left arm.

  Then a pair of strong hands clamps down on my thrashing arms. The sensation of panic and urgency fades away, replaced by calm and control.

  "Penny. I'm here. You're okay now."

  That voice… it's Havok.

  I force my eyes open and fight for focus. When it comes, I'm staring up at Havok's narrow, chiseled, slender face. His tousled hair hangs down into his eyes, and his face betrays an expression that I've not seen before.

  Worry.

  His eyes dart toward my arm, which he holds in his strong grip. "You ripped out your IV—"

  "Ahh," I say, still unable to form words, my lips and vocal cords uncooperative. I fight through it through sheer force of will, and finally I construct a coherent sentence.

  "You animal," I say. "I saw... I saw..."

  Another face appears in my peripheral vision, crunching out my train of thought like a bootheel against glass. As it comes closer, I glance down and read the badge pinned on the man's white coat. "West Ark Veterinarians," it reads.

  "The only animal here today is you," says the man in an Italian accent.

  "Who're you?" I say, stitching my eyebrows.

  "Earl is an associate of mine," says Havok. "Patches people up, doesn't ask a lot of questions."

  My mind races. "Help me," I beg, turning
to the other man. He's older, a bit paunchy, and he must've forgotten his hairline back in Italy.

  He just shrugs. His voice is livelier than his appearance. "I am helping you."

  "No," I say, "This man is a kidnapper, a bad man. He's—"

  The doctor cuts me off with laughter. He prepares a replacement IV while he speaks. "Lady, I just patch people up when he asks me to. I jump when they say jump. I got no idea what you're talking about and it ain't my business."

  My heart sinks. Havok chuckles. "Forget it, doc," he says. "She's been out of it."

  "I have not," I protest. I struggle in the bed again. "You've been keeping me—"

  "Quiet," says Havok, in such a sharp and authoritative tone that I dare not talk back to him. "Hold still."

  I do as I'm told, and the sensitive skin of my elbow reports a pinching pain as Earl slides another IV needle into it. I flinch. I've always hated needles.

  Just a few moments afterward, my worries are bathed in calm. There must be something in the IV other than saline. I try to fight it, but I fail. Vaguely, I wonder if Havok's going to use chemical sedation as a tool against me now, to make sure I'm never able to escape. It's a sickening thought.

  Havok and the doctor exchange words, standing off to the side of the room. I'd be able to make it out if it weren't for this IV buzz turning my brain to mush.

  I drift out of consciousness, and when I come back to, Havok is standing over me again. There's no sign of the other man. I could've been out for five minutes or five days. It's impossible to tell, and that disturbs me.

  When I attempt to speak, though, it's much easier than last time. I also recognize the room. For some reason I'd been under the impression I was in a hospital, or at least the veterinarian's office. But this is Havok's bedroom. My hands are free of handcuffs, but there's still an IV snaking into my arm.

  "H-how long was I out?" I say.

  Havok's face is a blend of anger and concern, but it seems to me that the anger is winning out right now.

  "It's my turn to ask questions," he says.

  For some reason, I want him to climb into bed next to me and cuddle me instead of berating me. And it hurts me that I have to flush the thought from my brain. Because he can't console me. He's a monster, and he doesn't have my best interests at heart. He lied to me, kidnapped me, and it seems like he was going to kill me.

  He fishes around in his pocket and withdraws an orange pill bottle. My orange pill bottle, that I threw out weeks ago.

  "What the hell is this?" he says.

  Just seeing the bottle reminds my body of the chemical withdrawal happening inside it. A dull pain restarts inside my head, like a wire brush being dragged across the inner surface of my skull. Even though it would be bad for me, I desperately want another pill. Just one more.

  "Where did you get that?" I say.

  "Checked your trash."

  "What are you going to do with me?" I say, trying to ignore the agony rampaging through my body. "You're sick."

  He shakes his head. "You don't get it at all," he says.

  "That you've kept me prisoner?"

  "It's for your own protection," he growls. He runs his hands through his hair, more exasperated than I've ever seen him. He's a man on the edge. "At first, I brought you here so you wouldn't go to the cops. But I couldn't let you go. There were human traffickers after you, Penny."

  Human traffickers after me? But I saw the files in his office. How stupid does he think I am?

  He goes on. "This is what killed my father," he says, glaring at the pill bottle in his fist. "Borrowed money to pay for his addiction. And when he couldn't pay it back..." His voice trails off. "I can't lose someone else the same way," he says, before walking away.

  His story sounds like a fabrication to me. If there's any human trafficker in this picture, it's him.

  34

  Havok

  Even during the dead of night, I can't sleep. My eyes dripping with exhaustion, I stand in the doorjamb of the bedroom and watch her sleep.

  I should have seen this coming. Don't know how I missed the signs, how she managed to hide the pills from me.

  I don't know why I didn't love her when I had the chance.

  I just can't lose somebody else the same way.

  The doc says she's stabilized, that she'll make a full recovery. And by that time, the chemical addiction in her brain will have been broken.

  But I know how these things go. Saw the same scene repeat itself all through my childhood. Addiction is evil. Every time you think you've killed it, you find out it was just hiding in a dark corner. And it comes back, stronger than before.

  I stand clad in boxer shorts. Cold air blows against my bare skin from the vent above the door, prickling me. I take a step forward into the bedroom, toward this beautiful, sexy, tormented girl that I can't rip out of my thoughts, no matter how hard I try. I step lightly, careful not to wake her.

  I'm reminded of so many times before, when I've snuck into a bedroom, knife or gun in hand, my target peacefully sleeping and unaware they're going to die in their sleep. Sometimes I wake them up on purpose. Sometimes by accident. Sometimes they don't wake up at all. They go to bed expecting to wake up in the morning, but they simply don't.

  Only, it's not like that at all. It's the exact opposite. I'm not sneaking in to take Penny's life. I'm sneaking in to watch her sleep. To protect her as best I can.

  When I first brought her here, I tried to keep my hands off her. I wanted so badly to kiss those tits, feel that smooth, hard stomach, fuck that tight pussy with my thick cock. I wanted to make the girl mine. But when I finally got the courage to do it, it was already too late to make her mine.

  It fucking sickens me to see her poisoning her body like this. She's too good for that shit. Too good for a ruthless killer like me. But now I have to keep her even closer. Because if I let her go now, she'll die. If not at the hands of the West Ark mafia, at her own hands as soon as she gets her next bottle of pills.

  Next to the bed, I stand stiffly, my eyes darting over the shape of her body. She looks so peaceful, her chest rising and falling, her cheek against the soft white pillow.

  I extend my arm, brushing the back of my hand against her cheek, then her hair. She's brought out something inside me that I thought was long gone.

  But then her eyelids flutter, and I withdraw my hand sharply.

  She wakes and looks up at me.

  "What're you doing?"

  The same question I'm asking myself right now.

  "Checking on you," I say.

  She rubs her eyes and scoots to an upright position against the headboard. "Can you turn the lights on?"

  I do, and she's even more gorgeous in the light than in the dark. The IV bag drips, hanging on a metal pole next to the bed. It's a mixture of saline, light sedative, and methadone, an opiate blocker to reduce the physical side effects of withdrawal.

  "I want answers," she says.

  For some reason, some of the compassion I was just feeling turns to annoyance. "You want answers?" I shake my head. "You broke into my study. Violated my trust."

  She cradles her head in her hands, and draws her knees up to her chest. "Yeah. Because you were keeping me prisoner."

  "You aren't a prisoner."

  "Jesus," she says. "Then what am I? And what are you?"

  I open my mouth to argue, but she snaps back. "You owe me the truth."

  I'm silent. Goosebumps crawl along my flesh. It's fucking freezing cold in here now. Finally, I speak. "You want the truth? Fine."

  Before I speak further, I cross the room—my bedroom that she's taken over—and grab a shirt and pants from the closet. I pull them on, facing away from Penny. Then I turn around.

  "The truth is that I kill people for money. I'm a hitman for the Bratva, Penny. I'm not a good man."

  She nods. "That's what I thought. But you're not telling the whole truth. You kidnap girls."

  I shake my head. "The Bratva started with that shit a few
months ago. Wasn't my idea. Even I can't stomach that shit."

  "But you kidnapped me."

  "I was protecting you," I say, glaring at her. "The day I killed that scumbag you called a boyfriend, it was me who was supposed to take you. But I brought you to my home instead."

  She scoffs. "If you really wanted to protect me, you'd have gotten me as far away from you as possible."

  I shake my head. "The Bratva have eyes, Penny. They see more than you know. And I already told you. I couldn't take the chance of you going to the cops."

  She crosses her arms, unhappy. "Just let me go. I'll take my chances."

  "So you can turn back into a junkie and get rounded up by the mafia? No," I say.

  She scowls, not speaking.

  "I have business to do," I say. "Earl will be here soon to take care of you."

  "I don't want any more medicine."

  "Too damn bad," I say. I leave the room, flipping off the light switch behind me.

  I won't let her turn out like my father.

  35

  Penny

  My head slips back into fog when Havok leaves the room. There's no clock in here, and I struggle to judge time.

  I don't know if Havok is telling me lies, the partial truth, or the full truth. All I know is that I'm not willing to take any more chances. I'm getting the hell out of here as soon as I can, and then I'll fend for myself.

  I wait until I hear what sounds like the garage door opening and Havok leaving.

  Then, I try to get up. I struggle to send all my willpower into my leg muscles, to swing them out of bed and carry me to the door. But whatever they're pumping into me is strong, and it's impossible. I'm still not handcuffed, though. Havok must assume the medicine is enough to keep me put.