He wondered about the years after her escape. How much work she had put into her survival. Learning self-defense. Learning how to live on the run. He couldn't imagine how lonely she must have felt, isolated. But still strong and independent.
And, lastly, he wondered about her then, at that moment. Had the years made her strong enough to get through what she was surely going to be put through at Nick's hands? Could she bury deep inside herself and bear it until it was over? Would she cower? Or try to fight back?
He thought back to watching her attack Gabe, effortless, easy. It was second nature.
As much as he knew she would suffer because of it, he hoped she fought back. He hoped she made the fucker bleed. He hoped she would gain some kind of strength from that. And after it was done, she could look back and know she had hurt him back in some small way.
--
Gabe pulled over in front of a restaurant in a seedy area of town. It was half a day later. Twelve hours into her abduction. Xander looked out the window, seeing a sign that read Three Sixes and raised a brow at Gabe.
"When we went looking for Antony," he explained, "we were led here. I think it's a front. Or maybe just a place the dealers hang out. I don't know. But we got information out of some guys here."
"Alright," Xander said, reaching for his door. K was already outside, tense, getting his mind in line.
They stretched their legs for a second, walking toward the entrance. Gabe took a breath, placing a hand on Xander's shoulder. When Xander turned, he saw the struggle on his face. "Man I..." he waved a hand.
And Xander understood. Unlike him and K, Gabe needed to keep a clean record. He worked with the courts. He couldn't have it getting around that he was involved with beating information out of people. "Right," Xander nodded. "You stand here. You're just getting some air," he said. "And if someone comes out, you might just accidentally trip them," he said, nodding to K who opened the door. Xander watched as Gabe positioned himself in front of the door, before turning to look around him.
It was a bar. Of sorts. There was a small bar toward the side. There were tables and chairs. But there were games too: foosball, air hockey, pool table. Situated in a back corner was a huge flatscreen television with a pile of gaming systems attached and a plush leather couch in front of it.
"Guys," a voice said, coming up to them. He was average height, on the thin side, clean cut, "this is a private establishment."
"You should lock the door then," Xander commented, raising a brow. "All kinds of trouble could waltz right in."
The guy sighed. It was a long-suffering sound, like he was tired of something. He held up his hands, shaking his head. "Look, I don't want any trouble."
"Then you wont get any," K said, his tone calm and completely at odds with his tense body, "if you point us toward one of Nick Russo's guys."
The guy's eyes went wide, taking a step back. "Dude, you know I can't. That would be..."
Suicide. It would be suicide.
"I work for Nick Russo," a cocky voice said, coming out from the back room. He was young with blond hair, and a huge assortment of tattoos. "Jason," he said, inclining his head at them.
"Great," Xander said, smiling. It was an awful, sickening smile. Because he knew he was going to enjoy this more than was normal. More than he should. He looked over at the other guy and shrugged. "Sorry dude... collateral damage," he said and nodded at K.
If he hadn't been watching so closely, he would have missed it. K's arm swung up from his side, crushing into the man's jaw, sending his head flying backward. He was out cold before he even started to fall toward the floor.
"What the fuck..." Jason said, looking between the men like he couldn't quite comprehend what was happening. His eyes landed on Xander last, taking in his sneer, the strange glint in his eyes. "What are you smiling about?"
"Because I am going to enjoy the fuck out of this," Xander said, cocking his arm back and swinging. His fist collided with his jaw, making his head jerk to the side.
Jason stumbled back a few feet before stopping and wiping blood off his lip. "What do you want?" he asked, sounding completely unaffected. Like he didn't feel pain.
"We want to know where Nick Russo's house is," K supplied, looking like a caged animal, just waiting for his chance to pounce.
"Yeah," Jason said, smiling, blood in his teeth, "good luck with that, man," he laughed, turning to walk away.
It was K who responded first, reaching out and grabbing Jason's arm, pulling it behind and up his back until he cried out, falling down to his knees.
"See Jason," Xander said, his voice smooth, quiet. "Nick has something that doesn't belong to him anymore. And we are going to go take it back from him. And you are going to help us with that."
"Like hell I am," Jason spat and K pulled his arm up higher, dangerously close to popping it out of its socket. "Wait..." Jason said, turning his head up to look at Xander, smirking, "is this about that stupid bitch?" he asked, and saw the muscle in Xander's jaw start to twitch. "Oh," he laughed, "Nick has a lot of plans for her. He'd kill me if I let you guys mess that up."
"And we will kill you if you don't help us," Xander said, smiling. "Quite the conundrum."
"Oh, please," Jason said, rolling his eyes, "you don't have the balls to kill anyone."
"Want to bet, mother fucker?" K said, his voice deep and terrifying. He released Jason's arm, taking a step back and landing a kick solidly between the man's shoulder blades. Jason went flying across the floor, slamming his face against the tile before he could even brace himself.
Looking at K, Xander saw something there he had missed before. It was something that K had obviously worked hard to cover up with his nice clothes, his on the up-and-up business, his cool and collected demeanor. There was something there, in the tense muscles, the fathomless eyes. It was something grisly and wild, something terrifying enough to make a chill run down Xander's spine. K had secrets. K had the kind of past that you learn to never speak of.
And Xander was suddenly even more thankful to have the man at his side.
"You're only making this harder on yourself," Xander said, watching as Jason pushed himself up on his knees.
"Fuck you," Jason said, getting to his feet.
"Fuck me?" Xander asked, laughing, looking positively psychotic in that moment. "Fuck me?" he asked again, lunging forward and throwing fists. He fell back into the violence like the way you fall back into an old lover: comfortable, giddy almost, knowing the sensations, knowing all the right moves. It was easy, familiar.
He felt K's hand on his shoulder, hard, pulling, pulling him backward. "We need him conscious," K said, looking over at the swollen face of Jason, curled over himself, holding his stomach.
Xander took a breath, feeling the adrenaline start to slowly drain away, bringing back his clear-head. His knuckles were broken open. Blood covered them. His own, probably. And Jason's. How long had he been hitting him? It had felt like seconds. Just a few wild jabs. But from the looks of the other guy, it had been longer.
He took a step back, looking a bit horrified. He needed to get a grip. He was losing it. And they weren't even close to finding her yet. He was going to fall apart or get himself killed if he didn't get himself under control.
"Last time, kid," K said, moving between Xander and Jason. "You tell me, or I'll let him finish what he started with you."
Jason hung his head, touching his face, running his hand over his swollen lip. "Twenty-four fifty-two Elk Circle," he said, his voice a defeated whisper.
Xander was walking toward the door, determined. They had an address. They needed to go. Right then. He needed to save the girl.
"Yo," Gabe said, blocking the doorway. "I mean, I'm no expert or anything," he said, watching Xander closely, trying to lighten the mood, "but I don't think you should just leave them there... with all kinds of access to phones and stuff..."
"Right," Xander said, turning back, walking over to the guy
passed out on the floor and hauling him up. "There's got to be somewhere in the back we can lock them up," he said to K, throwing the guy over his shoulder. "Get his cell from him."
There was a walk-in refrigerator set to a chilly thirty-five degrees. They collected their cell phones and pushed both men inside, ripping the emergency handle off of the inside.
"Alright," Xander said, taking a breath. "Let's go get our girl."
–
They drove in silence again for a long time, Gabe's fingers gripping the steering wheel. Then, finally, he spoke, "I'm going in on this," he said, staring at Xander into the rear view.
"We can't ask you to do that. Not with your business..."
"Screw my business," Gabe said, a certain sadness there. His business was his life. It was what got him off the streets and settled his debts. "You're going to need me for this."
Xander wanted to disagree with him, tell him that he and K could handle it. They didn't need him to screw up his life with them. But the truth was, they were going to need him. There was no telling what could be in store for them inside of that house. Just Nick, maybe. But he could also have a small army around him.
"Okay," Xander said, falling back into silence, preparing.
The house was at the end of a cul-de-sac, situated a good half an acre from the street. It was massive. All clean, traditional lines, and newly painted an immaculate white. There were old-fashioned looking lamps lining the driveway. There were no trees or shrubs, nowhere for an outsider to hide. Xander was sure there were cameras. And there were motion sensor lights all around.
But they weren't trying to sneak in.
Gabe parked on the street and the three of them climbed out of the truck, each taking a deep breath and looking at one another. Xander nodded at them. Then as one big unit, they walked up the driveway.
They hadn't formulated a plan, worked out schematics. Because there was no need. They were going in, and by any means necessary, they were coming out with Ellie.
K was the one to open the door. His foot landing perfectly, making it crack and spring open. And they were in.
Xander looked around, a strange, rising panic working its way into his throat. "No," he gasped, shaking his head.
K looked equally as horrified, his shoulders falling, his mouth open.
Gabe was the only one moving, turning into the room at the side. Xander could hear him moving through the rooms on the floor, toward the back, then the other side before coming back to stand with them. "We need to check the basement and the second floor," Gabe said, his tone suggesting hope when they knew there was none, that needed to check the house before the gave up and left without her.
But the entire God-damn house was empty.
Twenty
It was the sound that woke her up. The darkness tried to keep her under, tried to keep her blissfully in its cold embrace. But she fought her way to the surface, irritated that it wouldn't stop. The whoosh-whoosh-whooshing. It just wouldn't let up. She grasped toward consciousness, immediately regretting it. But there was no way to go back into that comforting nothingness. There was no way to escape.
The room was different. That was the first thing she thought as her eyes opened, struggling against the splitting headache that was at her temples. But it was different. Smaller. Darker. Colder.
Ellie looked down at her feet, realizing for the first time that she was standing in water. It wasn't much, just a few inches, barely covering the tops of her feet. There was the aching in her arms and shoulders, a numbness in her fingers. From being shackled above her head. That much, at least, she had been expecting.
She was alone. The door was closed. The cinderblock walls were not padded. Not that it would matter. She wasn't going to scream. Not for help. Not out of pain. Nothing. She couldn't give him that. She'd be damned if she gave him that sick sort of pleasure he would get from her begging. She might have been completely powerless, but she was still in control of her voice if nothing else.
Ellie took a deep breath, smelling must and old water, and she wondered how long she had been there? A few hours? Days?
The worst part was not knowing, being completely in the black about basic things. Like the time of day, the day of the year, how much of her life she was losing.
She flexed her feet in the cold water until the pins and needles vanished, standing up straighter to ease the stress on her arms, her wrists. They weren't bleeding yet. She couldn't have been there long.
Wherever she was.
Obviously, it was not in Nick's old house. It wasn't her familiar, old, personal little house of horrors.
The hysteria bubbled up unbidden, instinctual, and she fought against it. Freaking out wasn't going to fix it. Nothing was going to fix it. She needed to find ways to bear it.
Over the years, between the endless hours of trying to create new lives, the thought would pop up. The 'what-ifs'. What if he finally got her one day? What would she do? How could she escape? Or how could she not completely lose her mind while stuck in there?
She had read stories, stories from survivors of torture. If you aren't a person of faith, they suggested, it was time to find God. Pray. And when prayer wasn't enough, meditation could work. Buddhist monks could burn themselves to death without moving an inch. You had to think of things that keep you positive. Your spouse. Your parents. Your children.
Xander.
K.
They were the only two people in the world who meant anything.
They were the only ones who could help her through it.
She wondered about K. What he must have thought when the line went dead. Had he panicked? God, would he try to find her? Even as the thought was forming, she knew he would. Of course he would. But it wouldn't matter. Because he wouldn't find her. Not now that Nick had moved. Not if, maybe, she was stashed away in the middle of the woods somewhere. Who knew where she could be?
As if sensing her thoughts, the door opened, and the only person in the world who did, indeed, know where she was, stepped inside.
He looked older. The only times she had gotten a look at him in the recent past were full of panic, of dread, of trying to plan an escape. She had never stopped and taken a look at him. But his hair was starting to thin at his temples. The frown lines between his brows had etched deeper and there were new ones from the edge of his lips toward his chin, cutting deep, the skin almost looking like it was folding in on itself. There was even a little pouch of fat around his midsection that had never been there before.
How old was he? She found it weird that she never asked him that while they were dating. But he was older by at least ten years. She used to guess he was about thirty when they met. Way too old for her. So, that put him somewhere in his mid, or late if she was off in her estimation, thirties.
He had marks on his face from where she hit him. There was a long red and mark across his cheek and nose. His eye was blackened slightly. She felt a surge of pleasure at the sight.
"Eleanor," he said, her name rolling around his mouth with too much familiarity, making her skin crawl. "I missed you," he said, moving toward the wall across from her and leaning against it.
She looked down at his feet, finding him wearing rubber boots. Actual rubber boots. In a bright, obnoxious red. It was so ridiculous that she almost wanted to laugh.
"How terrible for you," she found herself say, knowing she should just stay silent. Knowing that talking was only going to get her beaten worse. But she couldn't help it. Years of bitterness and anger, kept buried deep, started coming to the surface.
Nick smiled, a small quirk to one side of his mouth. "Being away has made you feisty," he said then shrugged a shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll fix that." The threat was there, but mild, under a layer of some kind of sweetness. "How have you been, Eleanor? You grew your hair. I preferred it shorter."
"Get used to disappointment," she said, lifting her chin, knowing that was the one. The last straw.
B
ut he chuckled. It was a low, rolling sound in his chest. "Have you ever ridden horses, El?" he asked, knowing full well she had not. "The only thing better than a horse that already blindly accepts your command, is a horse you have to break yourself." He pushed off the wall, walking closer, the water sloshing about her feet as he did so. He stopped about a foot away from her, reaching out to stroke her cheek.
She wanted to look away, to see anything other than him putting his hands on her. But she kept her chin lifted and sought out his eyes. Defiant. Unbending.
"It is going to be an absolute pleasure to break you," he said, leaning in and planting a kiss on her cheek.
She balled up her fists, wanting to hit him, wanting to hit him more than she had ever wanted to hit anyone ever before. But he moved back, looking at her for a long moment, before opening the door. He stepped out and she waited, holding her breath. Because it wasn't over. He wasn't going to just... not do anything.
Just as she thought maybe she was wrong, Nick was back with Bobby and a battered-looking Jason on his heels. They were all carrying ten gallon buckets in their hands. Jason smiled at her as he threw the first bucket onto the floor. Ellie watched as ice splashed into the water.
More and more buckets came until there was more ice than water. Until she felt the hopelessness of it fill her.
Then Nick was closing the door, watching her, smiling.
It didn't take long for the cold to set in. She took turns lifting one foot out of the ice and water, wiping it against her pant leg, holding it up until it thawed. Until the skin wasn't an awful, angry red. Then she sunk it back in and repeated the same process with the other foot.
It would melt. She comforted herself with that idea. Eventually, it would melt. It was cold in her cell, but not freezing. It would melt. And then it would just be like a cool bath. No big deal.
She needed to stay positive. She needed to be clear minded and alert. She couldn't even think of sleep until the ice was fully melted. She didn't want to risk frostbite because she was sleepy. In her mind, she ran the streets of her old city. Seattle and D.C. Philly and Portland. New York. She cleared out the people, the noise on the streets and concentrated on the routes. Up and down. Over. Through.
Dark Mysteries Page 18
