Innocent Girls

by Terence Mitford

  Innocent Girls

  They are worth more

  Terence Mitford

  Rexor Books

  Copyright © 2020 by Terence Mitford

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  1. HUGO

  2. KATERINA

  3. NATASHA

  4. MASON

  5. KATERINA

  6. NATASHA

  7. NATASHA

  8. MASON

  9. KATERINA

  10. NATASHA

  11. NATASHA

  12. NATASHA

  13. KATERINA

  14. KATERINA

  15. NATASHA

  16. MASON

  17. KATERINA

  18. NATASHA

  19. KATERINA

  20. NATASHA

  21. MASON

  22. KATERINA

  23. HUGO

  24. KATERINA

  25. MASON

  26. NATASHA

  27. MASON

  28. KATERINA

  29. KATERINA

  30. NATASHA

  31. KATERINA

  32. MASON

  33. NATASHA

  34. KATERINA

  35. MASON

  36. KATERINA

  37. MASON

  38. KATERINA

  39. MASON

  40. NATASHA

  41. MASON

  42. NATASHA

  43. MASON

  44. NATASHA

  45. MASON

  46. NATASHA

  47. MASON

  48. NATASHA

  Author note

  Declaration

  1

  HUGO

  In sixty-seconds her life will change forever. Her happy childhood snatched by events she couldn’t have imagined in her worst nightmares.

  A pretty twelve year old girl playing by a lake in the mid-summer sun was a sight no doubt repeated thousands of times the world over. But to Hugo Savic, the man edging his way closer to her through nearby bushes and shrubs, it represented an opportunity. One he had hoped for when he had jotted down the details of his latest assignment.

  Name: Katerina Caraman. Age: twelve. Build: slim and petite. Hair: long, straight, and chocolate brown. Current location: Comana, twenty-three miles south of Bucharest.

  He knew the area well. His territory of operations. His turf. And this was the latest in a long list of assignments he’d received from the same crime syndicate.

  The Kestrati organisation was based in London but had tentacles reaching far and wide, through Eastern, Central, and Western Europe, and as far as the United States.

  Its line of business, and even its existence, was a closely guarded secret. Strictly on a need to know basis, but was well known to Hugo and men like him. Men willing and able to carry out any request given to them… for a price.

  And the Kestrati demanded just two attributes from its crew. A heart of stone, because there was no place for sentiment, and fluency in English, because with so many nationalities involved, English was the universal language of the organisation.

  Hugo qualified on both counts and was proud of it. And when the Kestrati called him, it usually meant one thing. They had a special order for a particular kind of merchandise.

  Human, young, and innocent.

  His speciality.

  So, to Hugo, this young girl was just business. Like those who had been before her and those who would follow. But at just twelve she was one of the youngest, which meant she was one of the smallest and weakest and he liked that. She would be easier to subdue than most, and he got an extra kick out of the sheer helplessness of the young ones.

  It was on days like this he liked his job the most. He felt alive, excited, and powerful. Sure, it was risky, there was always a chance things could go wrong, but he was up for the challenge. Then there was the money. Any assignment from the Kestrati paid well, and delivering innocent girls paid the most. So the risks were just part of the job. Doubts were short lived. Conscience and compassion had long since been locked away at the back of his mind, if he had ever possessed them at all.

  When he traded in girls and children he had to stay sharp, focused, no mistakes.

  That meant no time to think of them as individuals or little people with family, hopes, dreams, and ambitions. They were just a means to an end, and the rewards were such that taking and delivering just five girls a year meant financial security. But he wanted more than that. So his target was at least double, or as many as they asked for, and he always delivered. Even when things went wrong, he would get them their precious merchandise.

  The Kestrati called him The Recruiter and considered him the best. And it would amuse him when they asked him to recruit another innocent young girl because that made it sound as if the girls had some choice in the matter; when in reality, they had none.

  He glanced around the grassy landscape for confirmation they were alone, not a soul in sight, just him and the unsuspecting girl, beyond shouting range of the nearest residents. Her screams would be lost in the breeze. Her frantic struggles would go unseen. No one would be there to help her. She was just seconds from captivity.

  He broke cover, his boots snapping dry twigs as he closed the gap between them. By the time she spun around to face him he was just seconds away.

  He smiled, raised his hand, and waved. He had to put her at ease and instil just enough trust to stop her from running. He hated it when they ran. It was a hot day and any exertion would be tiring. He was already thirsty so didn’t need the dehydrating effort of sprinting after a young panicking girl.

  He greeted her in a friendly, calm, and casual tone.

  She hesitated. Just for a few seconds, no doubt trying to decide whether to answer him or run. But it was long enough for him to reach her.

  Now it was too late. Now if she ran she would not get far. He was quick over short distances and could catch the average teenager within a hundred meters. A small twelve year old girl would pose few problems.

  He had certain skills but charm and conversation were not among them, so he grabbed her and forced her onto the grassy shore.

  His talents lie in how fast he could pin young women and girls on the ground and tie their hands and feet with cords. He was proud of his knowledge of rope knots and how to adjust them to perfection. Not too tight so as to cut off circulation, but tight enough to give the victim no hope of escape. The rope gag he used would prevent the girl calling out, but allow her to breathe naturally.

  He had learned a hard lesson a few years back when one of his first victims asphyxiated in the boot of his car during a four hour journey across the southern human trafficking route. He had wasted two days on her. Having snatched her from the street, he held her overnight in a safe-house before binding and gagging her for the trek across Romania into Serbia. When he opened the boot to deliver her to the Serbs they discovered his mistake. The cloth he had forced into her mouth had lodged in her throat. She hadn’t stood a chance.

  He dumped the teenager’s body in the forest on his way home and vowed to learn a hard lesson. Get it right to avoid a wasted journey in the future, so never again would he deliver a worthless cargo.

  Pinned on the grass, close to the water’s edge, the young girl put up a good fight for her age and size but she was no match for the big man on top of her. He flipped her over onto her stomach and pulled her arms behind her back, then leaned in and growled in her ear. ‘If you scream, I will hurt you, do you understand?’

  The frightened girl nodded.

  After tying her wrists w
ith cord he spun her over onto her back, straddled her thighs, and pulled up her white cotton summer dress revealing her underdeveloped body. A little too flat and skinny for his liking, but his eyes lingered over her for a few moments anyway. Then he sighed and pulled down her dress. He knew the rules. Deliver her fresh, untouched, and pure. Because the pure ones are worth more… a lot more.

  2

  KATERINA

  Katerina held her breath as she looked up into his cold grey eyes. There was nothing endearing about this man, and not a hint of compassion on his face as he stared back at her. This was not a prank, he was not playing games.

  Her heart pounded against her chest, her breathing deep and rapid. When he lowered her dress she breathed out long and slow and dared to believe she may have just escaped being raped.

  But why had he tied her hands? And why was he restraining her on the ground? And what could he possibly want with her if not that?

  He plucked her from the ground and slung her over his shoulder, his hands gripping her high on her thighs. Higher than common decency would allow, but she was in no position to stop him.

  She stared down at his heels flicking up alternately as he carried her through the long grass, stumbling occasionally on the rough terrain. He climbed over a wooden gate and pulled a set of keys from his hip pocket. There was a beep followed by the metallic sound of a door opening. He spun her around and from his shoulders she looked into the rear of a large blue van.

  He was abducting her.

  The pounding of her heart now echoed in her ears like some relentless drum, thump-thump-thump. Panic welled up from the pit of her stomach with an intensity she had never experienced before. Nothing had even come close to the feelings of pure dread owning every fibre of her body. Rational thought was impossible. She was unable to think coherently. Close to passing out, she sucked air past the gag in short rasping breaths.

  He dumped her down on the floor of the van and pulled off the rope gag. ‘Don’t you choke on me now.’

  She took one deep breath. ‘Please let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.’

  He just grinned at her.

  ‘I must not get my dress dirty. Mum will be angry with me.’

  He laughed out loud but said nothing.

  The stupidity of her statement hit her like a hammer blow. What was she thinking? As if he would give a damn about her dress. Floundering in a sea of blind panic, she fought to clear her head and make sense of what was happening. Why her? Surely she was too young. They take older girls don’t they? She’d heard the adults talking. Alana, the daughter of her Mum’s friend had been taken but she was eighteen, and she’d heard the older girls in the neighbourhood talking too. The youngest girl she knew about was fourteen. So why her? Why would he take a twelve-year-old? And only just twelve. In fact, less than two months ago she was eleven. She could understand it if she was old for her age, but, if anything, she thought she looked younger. Unlike some of her friends, her body hadn’t filled out yet. Her mother, father, and grandmother had all told her that with her big brown eyes and long dark hair, she was going to be a heartbreaker when she grew up and that she would have all the boys chasing after her just like her older sister, Natasha. But right now she was just a skinny kid with no boobs. No one could want her for that, could they?

  ‘Please sir, do you know how old I am?’

  ‘Is your name Katerina?’

  She gasped, ‘Yes, how do you know?’

  He nodded. ‘Then I know your age.’

  ‘So you know I’m only twelve? I’m only twelve and two months.’

  He grinned.

  Her stomach turned over. He knew her age but he was still taking her. And he knew her name. But how, and why?

  She had to think fast. What if she cooperated and let him do what he wanted? Then he wouldn’t have to take her away. She would be in more trouble if he took her away. She had to say something, but what?

  The words left her lips without her even thinking them. ‘You don’t need to kidnap me. I won’t scream. Whatever you want to do to me, you can do it here. Please sir, so I can go home after.’

  He ignored her suggestion as he reached in the van for a roll of black tape.

  ‘My sister is coming home today. She’s been away. I must be back before she gets home. I promised.’

  He paused and glanced down at her. ‘Oh, why didn’t you say sooner. I’ll take you straight home then.’

  She drew breath. ‘Really?’

  ‘No, now shut up and hold still.’

  Before she could speak again, he tore off a strip of tape and pressed it across her mouth. Then he tore off two more and applied them over the first. She tried to force open her mouth but the tape held firm. He pushed her backwards into the van onto a thinly padded mattress and wrapped her ankles together with the tape.

  She looked up at him standing there with the sun beaming down behind him. A large silhouette framed in the van’s doorway, his face shrouded in shadow, but she could just make out the whites of his eyes as he stared down at her. He must be enjoying this. He must get a kick out of being in control. Why else would he be standing there in silence, just watching her?

  After a long moment he stepped back and slammed the doors shut.

  Everything went black.

  The rear compartment was separate from the cabin. No windows, just complete darkness.

  His boots crunched the dry earth alongside the van. She felt the vehicle rock. He must have just got into the drivers seat. The engine started and sent a low rumble through the floor, changing tone as the van began to move.

  Where was he taking her?

  3

  NATASHA

  Natasha Caraman’s eyes were closed but she wasn’t sleeping. There were too many conflicting emotions swirling around inside. The last six weeks had been the most traumatic of her twenty-two-year life, and now her challenge was to get things back to normal. Whatever that was.

  She was going home, back to her family. Maybe she could get her old receptionist job back at the local hotel. That’s if they hadn’t replaced her already. Had the manager forgiven her for leaving? Did he understand why she had to accept the opportunity of a lifetime, a chance to work in the modelling industry in London? After all, what girl could resist?

  She sighed and slowly shook her head. How could she have been so gullible? Why is it that when girls are dazzled by the chance of a glamorous life their natural suspicions are suppressed? They ignore the worries and concerns expressed by family and friends. And how right they were. And how wrong she was not to think twice when an English woman in a Bucharest bar, whom she had never met before, told her how she could make good money as a model in London. She had said all the right things to draw Natasha in. You are so pretty, you will make so much money.

  Two hours later Natasha had left the bar with a promise of an introduction to people in London who could make her dreams come true. And a few days after that she had taken a flight to Heathrow Airport, and a new life.

  Or so she’d thought.

  She had arrived in London as a typical naive girl with a dream, a dream soon shattered when she was met at the airport and driven to a house in London where she was raped, held against her will, and forced into the sex trade.

  She had become a victim of a brutal criminal industry on the rise. Just another statistic of human trafficking.

  But now, six weeks later, she was on a flight to Chisinau in her home country of Moldova and her life had changed forever.

  As the plane began its slow descent, mixed emotions flooded her mind. Glad to be free and returning to her family but sad there were other girls still under the control of the evil men who sold them for profit.

  As much as she tried to block out the previous weeks’ events, they scrolled in front of her eyes every time she tried to relax, like some horror movie woven into her brain on a continuous loop.

  A woman’s voice from the aisle shocked her back to the present. ‘Excuse me, Miss are you feeli
ng okay?’

  As Natasha’s eyes sprang open and focused on the kind face staring down at her she released the death grip she’d had on the arm rests and dabbed beads of sweat from her brow with a paper serviette. ‘Yes, I’m fine, thank you.’

  The stewardess smiled. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll be landing soon.’

  She returned the woman’s smile and nodded, content to let the stewardess believe she was just a nervous flyer. ‘Is there still time to use the bathroom?’

  ‘Yes, you have about fifteen minutes.’

  Natasha made her way to one of the two restrooms at the front of the plane where she flicked back her long dark hair, soaked paper towels with water, and dabbed her forehead. She stared into the mirror for a long moment, then pulled the hem of her black, fitted, v-neck top over the belt on her faded black jeans, and headed back to her seat.

  The plane was around seventy percent full, and as she walked down the aisle, she scanned the sea of faces and thought how different their stories would be to hers. No doubt a mixture of business and leisure travellers and not one other victim of human trafficking in sight.

  A woman sitting in a window seat a few rows before her own caught her eye. She reminded her of Alison, a magazine writer she had sat next to on her flight to Heathrow six weeks earlier. They had chatted towards the end of the flight and Natasha had told her she was visiting London to attend modelling auditions. Alison had been concerned and had warned Natasha to be careful. She had even offered to accompany her when she met her contacts at Heathrow airport. But when Alison got delayed by a full bag search at customs Natasha went on ahead, a decision she soon regretted.