Cash moved in past me, going toward the kitchen, pausing, and looking down the hallway. “Heya sweetheart,” he said, giving her one of his smiles.
“There's two of you,” she said timidly, looking at Cash like he might pounce on her at any minute.
“This is my brother, Cash. He brought some stuff for you.”
“Starting with,” Cash said, putting the tray down and none too gently dropping all the bags on the floor. He grabbed the huge frozen drink and held it out to her, smiling. “This. Trenta mocha frap with a shot of espresso and whipped cream.”
And just like that, her face lit up.
Lit. The. Fuck. Up.
Her sad eyes brightened, her smile spread across her face. And, for a moment, she didn't look so haunted.
“I take it you like my choice?” Cash asked, watching as she took it from his hands.
“It's perfect. Thank you,” she gave him a smile and took a long swig from the straw, her eyes closing.
Fuck. I'd given her black coffee.
“Good,” Cash said, nodding, moving back to the counter and pulling open the brown bag. “I also got us all sausage, egg, and cheese on bagels with sides of hashbrowns,” he said, pulling foil-wrapped bagels out then a huge box stained with grease. “Plates, bro,” he said to me, watching me watch Summer drink her frozen coffee with a lifted brow.
“Right,” I said, going to grab the plates.
“You hungry?” Cash asked her.
“I could eat.”
Starved for months. Yeah, I bet she could eat.
“Want to put on some clothes that fit first?” he asked, reaching for the bags.
“You brought me clothes?” she asked, her eyes going wide.
Cash's head tilted, looking at her. “As per orders.”
“Orders?” she asked, brows drawing together.
“Reign said you needed girl shit. Clothes. Soap. The works.”
Her gaze went to me and her eyes glistened. Glistened. Like she was going to cry. Over clothes and soap and shit. Because she'd been living in such hell that even the smallest gesture was making her all emotional.
“Unfortunately, I didn't get a bra size,” Cash went on, easily skirting her obviously tear-filled eyes. “Which is...” he looked at her. “Thirty-four B,” he guessed and she blushed. Blushed. Because he was right. “So you'll be going commando on that front, but I got pretty much everything else,” he told her, holding out the bags that weren't from the food store. Five of them.
“Thank you,” she said, looking between us. “Both of you. That was really considerate. I swear I'll reimburse you when I get back to my...”
“They're clothes, not a sports car,” I said, shaking my head. “You ain't payin' me back for shit.”
“And by that he means 'you're welcome and don't worry about it',” Cash said, smiling. “Go get yourself dressed so we can eat.”
And with that, she was off.
“Where the fuck did you get all that shit?” I asked, raising a brow.
“Went into the store, found a pretty little thing that worked there. Great rack. So lush. Wanted to motorboat the fuck out of her right there. Anyway,” he said, shaking his head, “told her my sister was coming to visit and lost her luggage and that I needed all the shit bitches need day to day. That's what she came up with.” Cash paused and at my silence, raised a brow, a smirk toying at his mouth. “Seriously? You left out that she's the prettiest fucking thing to ever cross your path?”
“She's traumatized. Sorry if I didn't notice she's good looking.”
“Oh, fuck off,” he laughed, rolling his eyes. “You absolutely noticed. I bet you've thought about ten different ways to fuck her already.”
“Hands off, Cash,” I said, my voice a warning.
Which only accomplished to make his smirk stretch out. “'Cause she's yours.”
“She's not mine,” I growled, plating the food. “No one is touching her. Who knows what the fuck they did to her. She don't want no man touching her.”
“Admit you want to and I'll let it drop.”
If I didn't agree, he literally would never let it drop. He was a stubborn fuck. And I was perpetually short on patience. “Fine. I want to. But it ain't happening.”
“Sure it ain't,” he smiled.
“It's not,” I said firmly. “We need to talk about other things. Like how we are going to handle this.”
Cash shrugged. “We could call K.”
“K?”
“Yeah from the city. He disappears people. Mostly women who get themselves caught in bad situations. He's good at it. Been doing it for years. She needs to disappear. He will disappear her.”
Seven
Summer
The sound of male voices woke me up. It wasn't an altogether unfamiliar sound. And it wasn't the least bit comforting. I shot up in bed, surprised when my wrists didn't pull, before I remembered where I was.
Free.
I was free.
I was in Reign's house. And, for the moment, I was safe.
But there was still the sound of men's voices. Two. When there was only supposed to be one in the house. So I crawled out of bed, holding my pants up, and crept down the hall, listening.
I had barely made it around the corner when I saw the source of the other voice, the one that wasn't gargled glass sounding like Reign's. It was smoother. Like whiskey or wine.
He was tall and thin but muscular in black jeans, a white tee, and a black cut like Reign had been wearing when he picked me up. But this guy was blonde. Well, the half of his head that wasn't shaved was blonde and long. His eyes were a deep green. But his face, his face was all his brother's. As in, they were actual brothers.
“Heya sweetheart.”
That was all it took for me to know he was safe. He wasn't like V's guys. He wasn't even somewhat scary like his brother. He was warm and open and friendly. I could trust him.
And then he gave me a trenta mocha full fat with a shot and whip. And I think I fell half in love with him.
Not really, but ya know... it kinda made my day. Or month. Or year.
And then he told me they had conspired to get me clothes and soap and girl stuff. And the tears I had kept inside for three months came springing to my eyes, stinging. I couldn't cry. Over clothes. In front of two relative, but really kind, strangers. I couldn't do that. So I took a deep breath, accepted the bags, and rushed off to the bathroom.
Tears fell. Hot and heavy, but not sad. I reached for the bags, pulling items out and placing them on the sink counter. Three pairs of yoga pants: black, gray, deep green. Three t-shirts: black, gray, white. One sweatshirt in pink. One sweater in white. Socks. Pretty patterned but simple undies, five of them.
And then there was the accessory bag. Which spoke highly of very in depth, intimate knowledge of women. Lavender soap and a matching lotion. High end shampoo and conditioner. A leave-in conditioner. Hair ties. A heavy handled, rectangle brush. Shaving cream and razors. Tweezers. Face wash and a special moisturizer. A tube of chapstick. A toothbrush, paste, and floss. And, ha, a box of tampons.
**
Six weeks. I had been there forty-two days. My stubby, bloody nails had just etched the line into the wall when they burst in.
“Gonna go see V today.”
Seeing V meant I was going to get hurt. Not by him. Not usually anyway. The other guys did the actual hitting and kicking and cutting and branding. V just gave the go ahead. He also called them off when he thought I had gotten enough.
My wrists were untied from the headboard but not released from the rope. No. Deke took those ropes and dragged me forward by them, making sure to jerk them every couple of feet to make them bite into my skin. Deke was a sadistic bastard, but Martin was the one who gave me pause to worry.
It was his eyes. His black as night eyes. Soulless. Devoid of anything human.
Deke, the monster, had blue eyes. The bright kind. But there was still a person behind them. And that gave me hope on bad days.
The basement smelled like piss. It always did. Even though the half of it that I was taken to was always empty. Maybe the smell came from the other side. Maybe they did things to other people to make them lose control of their bladders. The windows gave a small amount of light and were barred. The walls cinderblocks. The floors cement. Cold. It was always so cold down there.
I was led over to the metal chair and dropped down. No one tied my hands to anything. There was no reason. Because there was no escape.
Martin and Deke went a few feet away, leaning against the wall. Waiting. Watching me with eyes that were expectant. A muscle was twitching in Martin's jaw. And Deke was impatiently tapping his foot. Getting antsy. Getting excited.
They lived for the days when they got to put their hands on me.
The door to the basement opened and footsteps came down the stairs. Across the floor behind me.
“Miss. Lyon,” his cool, smooth voice said, coming around me. “How are we doing today?”
I learned not to answer his questions.
V was younger than you would expect for someone with his kind of criminal empire. Somewhere in his mid thirties with thick brown hair, tan skin, and brown eyes. He was good looking. He could be charming. And he always dressed in a suit. Even when all he was doing was coming down to watch me be tortured.
“I have the paper you requested,” he said, pulling a newspaper out from under his arm and giving it to me.
I never requested the paper. The paper was to show the date. For the video he was about to film. On my own cell phone. Of me getting tortured. To show my father. To try to blackmail him to do his bidding. Seven sessions and they were getting nowhere. I could tell they were all losing their patience. With him. And, therefore, with me.
I took the paper, holding it against my chest like I was supposed to.
“Your hair is filthy,” he informed me like I didn't already know that. Like it wasn't his fault.
“Not in the talking mood?” he asked, shrugging, pulling out my cell phone.
And it was about to begin.
“Who will it be today?” he asked the room at large. “Martin? I think it's your turn this time.”
His dark eyes roamed over me, a smile tugging at his lips. “I think you're right V.”
“Summer, darling. Why don't you say hi to your daddy?” V asked, holding the phone up.
“Go fuck yourself, V,” I spat back.
I was never that girl. The one with the filthy mouth. The headstrong, obstinate girl. I did what was expected of me. I went to private schools. I got good grades. I hung out with girlfriends from similar family backgrounds (meaning rich). I didn't date until I was eighteen, and even then only very selectively. I spoke to my father and his business partners with respect.
When I was twenty-one, I was moved into my father's never-used penthouse apartment in the city so I could have my freedom. I went to work at one his many businesses, doing whatever was asked of me because it was important that I understood the value of hard work before I found a suitable man and settled into a house wife role.
I never so much as used the word “shit” in all my twenty-four years.
Until I was taken.
Until everything was stripped from me except my words and my will.
So I used them.
Even if it meant I got beat worse.
“Oh, now that's not very nice is it, Mart?” he asked and Martin took the cue, slamming his fist into the left side of my face.
“This can stop,” he said a few minutes later, watching me wipe blood from my face with the side of my arm, “if you would just tell you father to go along with the deal.”
“Rot in hell, V. My father is never going to take the deal.”
At this point, I was thrown down on the floor. And there was kicking and punching and threats of worse. A lot worse. The kind of worse that they suggested when they crept in at night. And I knew that would come. Eventually. There was no question about it. One day, I would be dragged down into the basement. And then I would be raped. By Deke. And Martin. And probably V.
That was my fate.
But I still didn't want V to win.
I didn't want my father to give in.
“What the FUCK!” Martin suddenly yelled, shrinking away from me.
“What?” V asked, putting the phone away.
“She's bleedin',” Martin said, his face twisted up in disgust.
“You beat her good,” Deke agreed, his eyes small like he was trying to understand.
“No her fucking cunt is bleeding, you shit.”
Then V got angry. Angry angry. Not the cool, detached kind of angry he usually was. He flew at Deke, his hand at the man's throat, shoving him so hard against the wall that I heard a crack. “You fuck her? You fuck her, you stupid shit?”
I turned away from them, uncurling from myself, and looking down. And I was bleeding. Six weeks. I was overdue. Terror must have scared it off. But there it was. I had my period. And I was... mortified.
There are things they had done to me. Awful things. Painful things. They didn't feed me. They made me hold my bladder till bursting. And while they were traumatizing and cringe-inducing, there was something about having the dignity of a private menstrual cycle taken away from you that had humiliation rising up hot and sickening in my belly.
We were taught things as women. About hiding our periods. About keeping clean. They stole that from me. And Martin was acting like I was disgusting.
And I felt disgusting.
And I hated them all the more for that.
“I didn't fucking touch her!” Deke screamed after V's fist landed true to his jaw. “She's prolly on the fucking rag. Jesus Christ.”
V dropped Deke, looking back at me, his brows drawing together. “Right,” he said, nodding stiffly. “I'll get one of the girls to get her some... tampons or whatever,” he said, moving away. “Get her back upstairs.”
“I'm not going near her,” Martin said, cringing away as I pushed myself up.
V, to his credit (for which he had very little), rolled his eyes at Martin. “Never had a woman before? They bleed. Stop acting like such a bitch.”
“I'll take her,” Deke said, grabbing my rope and tugging me up the stairs.
Martin followed behind a few minutes later with a woman I didn't know, but who wasn't chained and who didn't look me in the eye. She carried a box of tampons which Deke took and shoved at me.
“Just leave her in there,” Martin suggested, nodding toward the bathroom. “Tie her to the can or something. We'll let her out when she's clean again.”
And with that, I was tied to a toilet for five days. I had enough give on my wrists to be able to get to the sink. Where I cleaned up. I scrubbed my clothes. I tried to not let the indignity of the whole situation get to me.
But it got to me.
**
I looked down at the tampons with a weird whimper sound in my throat, tucking them back into the bag and stashing the bag at the bottom of the linen closet. I was being given my dignity back.
They gave me that.
I shook my head, trying to fight the urge to take a shower and use my new soaps and shampoos and tweeze my eyebrows. They were waiting for me to eat. I jumped into a pair of black undies with cherries on them, pulled on the black yoga pants, the black tee, put on socks, and brought the pink sweatshirt with me in case I got cold.
Their voices hit me as soon as I stepped into the hall.
“We could call K,” Cash's voice suggested.
“K?” Reign asked.
“Yeah from the city. He disappears people. Mostly women who get themselves caught in bad situations. He's good at it. Been doing it for years. She needs to disappear. He will disappear her.”
Disappear me? What?
“Disappear me?” I asked, surprising myself. And them, because they both jumped guiltily and turned to face me.
“We're just disc
ussing your options,” Reign said, shrugging.
“Like making me disappear?”
“It's just an option, sweetheart,” Cash said, giving me a smile. “Why don't you come and eat and then we'll discuss it?” he suggested, carrying plates over to the dining table.
I grabbed my frap and followed, the smell of food making my belly growl even though I had eaten hours ago. I had lost time to make up for and my stomach knew it.
We all sat, unwrapping our food, taking first bites, before the silence got to me and I broke it. “Is that really the only option you think there is for me? To disappear?”
“It's the safest option,” Reign corrected. “K has been disappearing girls for a long time. And save for one case, none of them ever get found.”
“One case?” I asked, needing to know all the details if I was going to agree to it. Which I might. To keep my father safe. To not let myself be used as a bargaining chip again.
Cash pushed a second hashbrown toward me. “Yeah. There was a big time H dealer who liked to beat and rape his girlfriend. She got away, she found K. K disappeared her. But the guy was relentless. She kept getting found.”
“Is she...”
“Dead?” Cash asked, flat out, surprising me. “No. She got herself hooked up with some private investigator in the city...”
“Rhodes,” Reign supplied, respect in his voice.
“Yeah, Rhodes. Anyway... she, ah, had the mob put a hit on her ex. Voila. All her problems gone.”
“So you think it's the best bet even though he kept finding her? I don't know if you know V, but he's relentless too.”
“I know V,” Cash said and Reign sent him a look. A very 'what the fuck' kind of look. Apparently Cash had been keeping that from his big brother.
“The fuck?” Reign asked.
“It's nothing. I was on a run. Ran into him. He made it clear who he was. That was it.”
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