“Hey, don’t worry about it. You should get him to make it up to you. Is he taking you out for dinner tonight? You having a big night on the town?”
“No. He’s gone to Shenzhen with some business associates. He won’t be back until tomorrow.”
While I say the words, I cross my clammy fingers.
“So… does that mean you’re free tonight?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“My friends just called me to join them for a car club meeting tonight, here in Hong Kong. It would be great if you could join me.”
“A meeting? Just like last time?”
“Yeah. The usual showing off the latest models and hopefully, a bit of racing.”
“I’m not sure, I was actually thinking of going to the casino.”
“To Macau?”
“I guess. I just feel like gambling. Earn back some of the money I spent.” I try to lighten my tone, making my pitch unnaturally high. “You know, someone has persuaded me to blow it all on a vase, can you believe it?”
Ying laughs. “In that case, I’ll have to make sure that you won’t leave Hong Kong empty-handed. I guess that car meeting can wait. Where are you now? At your hotel?”
“Yeah, I’m close.”
“Why don’t you stay put and get ready? I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes.”
I hang up with a shaking finger, releasing a long rush of breath I didn’t realize I was holding. It’s a long shot, especially with so little cash on hand, but it is worth trying. And I know it can be done. I have heard stories of people who have won a whole lot more than a million from gambling at the casino, even though those were the ones that spurred my mother on to continue her gambling sprees.
I have to believe it—that I can do this, that this will work.
It has to.
It is my only chance to get Ryder out alive.
Ryder
I pace up and down the room.
A million thoughts cross my mind. What should I do now—plan for an escape or try to persuade my captor to release me? Being locked up is so damn frustrating, especially for someone like me who can’t sit still, who likes taking action more than anything else.
I have explored every corner of the room, but it’s pretty bare. Apart from the table, chair, and bed there is nothing that could be of any use. The cabinet is empty save for some crumpled receipts in one of the drawers. The bathroom doesn’t turn up anything either, apart from a few sheets of toilet paper. Behind the flowery curtain I found a window, but it is nailed shut with horizontal wooden slats. I tried taking them off, but was unsuccessful—they are fixed too securely. As much as I try, I can’t think of any way of escaping this place, aside from the door to the next room.
I sigh deeply and lie down on the bed. Closing my eyes, I’m willing myself to fall sleep before I drive myself nuts thinking of more impossible ways to get out of here. But sleep eludes me. Images of Elle keep on flashing in front of me, and a feeling of guilt gnaws at my conscience. I won’t be able to sleep knowing that she is out there, trying to save my ass.
Inevitably my thoughts turn back to ways of escape. I can see only one way out of here—to talk my way out. And that means to outwit my captors somehow, which is going to be damn hard. If only it were money they are after, I would have been free by now. But this is clearly more; I bet it’s revenge.
What I still can’t figure out is why. As far as I know, I don’t have any enemies. In business, I do face some stiff competition. It is no surprise, considering fund management is a multi-billion-dollar industry where everyone is fighting for a slice of the pie, and even a thin sliver can prove to be lucrative.
But I can’t imagine anyone in the industry would stoop so low as to stage this abduction. I am no threat to anyone—the profits most fund management firms have made in the past quarter surpass mine, especially after my computer woes. In fact, many of my clients have since run straight into their arms. Strangely, I don’t think my competitors would want harm to befall me—they’d miss going head to head with me. Most of us have accumulated so much wealth that money alone is not enough to satisfy us; only a challenge will. And I won’t be offering any while I’m locked up.
If not one of my competitors, I wouldn’t know who else could have beef with me, taking such extreme measures to incapacitate me. I like to keep to himself, both in my business and personal life, not bothering to attend any business or charity functions unless absolutely necessary. I’m too busy with work and my leisure pursuits—rock climbing, racing, skydiving.
Unless it would be one of the many, many women I bedded before I met Elle. Could it be a jealous boyfriend or husband? I doubt it. I have always been careful never to disclose my identity to the random girls I used to pick up from bars and clubs, and in the past year I have only used escorts to fulfill my needs.
How empty my life was back then. Fearless, I lived from day to day, from one thrill to the next. To me, there was nothing more to life than high-risk trading, extreme sports, and moresomes. If this abduction had happened then, I wouldn’t even care—I’d see it as a challenge.
So much has changed. For the first time, I feel intense fear. Not for losing my life, but for losing Elle. Fear for not sharing a future with her.
A loud noise causes me to flick open my eyes. It is a door slamming, followed by a male voice shouting. It seems to come from the window. I leap out of bed, taking a few strides to get to the curtain, which I grab and yank aside. The voice outside bellows in Chinese what sounds like an order, and another slam of the door follows. After a short silence, I hear a sweeping sound— a broom?
If only I had some tool to remove the wooden slats. Letting go of the curtain, I scour the room for anything I could possibly use to lodge between the slats and the window. But there is no point; I’ve looked everywhere and this time, I come up with nothing either. I am such a dickhead. Did I really think a tool would magically appear?
I am about to throw my hands up in despair when my eye falls on the table. The tray—I could have used it if it weren’t so thick. The spoon would also be handy if it were metal, but this plastic one is useless, just like the bowl and the cup. But how about the plate? If I can find a gap between the slats, it could be just thin enough to wedge it in.
I pick it up the plate, putting it on the floor just below the window. With my fingers, I follow the outer edges of the slats, in the hope of finding a gap. But to my dismay, they are nailed up securely without a single gap for the plate to fit.
Shit!
I hit my fist against the wood. The slats rattle, and I notice a small change—the bottom slat protrudes slightly. An inspection of its side reveals a slight lift-off from the window frame. I pump my fist in the air. There’s still some hope yet.
Encouraged, I try to widen the gap with my fingers, but the slat doesn’t budge.
I give it one more hit, but hurry back to the bed just in case my captors check up on the noise. After a few minutes of silence I decide it is safe to check the slats again. And when I run my fingers along the protruding slat, I discover the gap between the slat and the window frame has widened. My heart racing, I pick up the plate and shove it into the gap. Only the outer edge fits in, so I hammer the side with the palm of my hand.
It works!
I manage to slide it in only half an inch or so, but it is enough to lever at the slat. The gap slowly expands, exposing the nails, and when the gap is wide enough I jam in my fingers. I give it a forceful yank, and one side of the slat comes off. Yes!
Another yank, and the other side dislodges. Carefully placing the slat on the floor, I squat down and peer through the window. I can’t see much—it’s nighttime, and the window frame partly blocks my view. When my eyes adjust, I find myself looking out on a small lit courtyard. The sweeping sound comes from a broom, as I expected, but all I can see is its handle.
The window appears to be double casement, so I wedge my hand in between the slats and the window to find the handles. When I
find one, I pull it down and shove. The window opens a few inches, and I spot the source of the sweeping sound. It’s a young Chinese girl with her hair in a ponytail, wearing a short sleeveless dress and flip flops. As her eyes are fixed to the ground, I am unable to see her face clearly.
I clear my throat. “Hey.”
The girl lifts her head a little—she must have heard me.
“Come here. I want to talk to you,” I whisper.
After a glance around her, she keeps on sweeping, but her broom changes course to the direction of my window, and she stops just outside it.
“Hi there. Do you speak English?”
She gives a small nod. “Little bit.”
“What’s your name?”
“Meifen.” She lifts her head for an instant, and I am struck by how young she looks—fifteen or sixteen.
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
I arch my brow in surprise, but she looks up again, and I know she’s telling the truth. Her eyes belie a sadness that’s way beyond her years. I have seen it before, in the eyes of the destitute, the homeless—people who have experienced extreme anguish in their lives.
“My name is Ryder. I’m American. Where is this place? Are we in Hong Kong?”
“No, this China. Guangdong province. Close Hong Kong.”
I’m taken aback. How did they manage to get me across the border without anyone noticing?
“What day is it today?”
“Wednesday.”
“And what time, do you know?”
She shrugs. “Ten?”
If that’s the case, I have been here for a much shorter time than I expected. Elle has a deadline to meet, but I have no idea when it expires. Surely they will give her more than a day, won’t they?
“Are you working here? Or are they keeping you against your will?”
Meifen knits her brow—she clearly doesn’t understand what I am saying.
“Are you locked up, like me?” I make a gesture of two closing doors, and point at myself, then at her.
She nods her head, staring at the door on the opposite side of the courtyard. And when she turns back, I notice a bruise on her cheek.
“So you can’t get out?”
She shakes her head.
Damn. I was hoping she could help me get a message out somehow, but that seems unlikely right now. On the bright side, she appears to have more freedom than I do, being cooped up in a locked room.
“How long have you been here?”
Raising her index finger, she gazes up in thought. “I think, one year.”
“Is it only you here?”
“No, more.”
“How many?”
Meifen shrugs. “Don’t know. Come and go. Maybe ten?”
“Adults? Children?”
She nods.
Oh my God. What kind of place is this?
I want to ask her a lot more questions, but a muffled scream at the far side of the courtyard makes her stiffen and turn. She bolts across to the other side, dragging the broom behind her in a flurry of leaves. When I see her disappear through the door, I close and lock the window. With a sigh, I force the slat I removed, back into place.
Back on the bed, I process the information I have gleaned from Meifen. It is no wonder that no one has noticed me being smuggled out of Hong Kong into China—these people are professionals. This house, or compound, or whatever it is, must be the center of their criminal activities, with people coming and going. If I were to guess, I would say I have landed in the middle of a human trafficking ring. This is where they hide their victims before moving them on for sale. To what purpose, I wouldn’t dare guess— slavery, prostitution, the bride trade?
Clearly, Meifen is one of their victims. But if she has been here for a year, they must be using her as a slave rather than selling her on. I wonder how she learned to speak English. It must have been at school. Have they snatched her away from her family, from school—from everything and everyone she was familiar with? A chill runs down my spine. How can anyone in their right mind subject a young girl to such cruelty?
A wailing sound makes me sit up. It sounds like a baby, coming from outside the window. I switch off the lights in the room and the bathroom and feel my way toward the window in darkness. The wails are getting louder, echoing in the small courtyard. A male voice bellows, and the crying stops. But then a door slams, and it starts up again, albeit slightly softer.
I carefully pry the slat off the window frame, and peer outside. I can just make out the outline of a baby crawling on the ground wearing nothing but diapers. He is moving across the courtyard, stops, and turns back to the door where he came from. A faint scream makes him stop and sit up. Another scream, louder, and he starts shaking, his little hands flying up to his face as sobs escape his mouth. I have read about child kidnappings in the papers, but to be confronted like this—seeing it with my own eyes—is heartbreaking. My hand shakes as I cram it into the gap to open the window. I must reach out to that poor baby somehow.
But before I pull down the handle, the door opens, and a bulky man appears in the courtyard—Flat Face. The screams are loud now—they clearly belong to a female. Flat Face looks down for a second and swoops the baby up under his arm, causing the launch of another round of wailing. He whisks him through the doorway, letting the door slam behind him.
My gaze remains on the door they disappeared through.
I feel so powerless. I want to help that baby, I want to help Meifen, but I can’t even help myself. If I ever get out of here, I’ll make it my mission to rescue them and whoever else is imprisoned here.
A familiar sound jolts me out of my thoughts.
A sound that is coming from behind me.
The click of the door lock.
Chapter 10
Elle
I stare into the walk-in’s full-length mirror.
The crimson silk dress hugs my figure, its hem reaching just above half-thigh and its open back showing off my tattoo. Matching stiletto heels, loose curls, and sultry make-up complete my get-up—one that is guaranteed to make heads turn. This wasn’t exactly Ryder’s intention when he picked this for me in the Versace store. I still feel his finger tracing my neckline, his warm breath in my ear. “I’m getting you this dress—for me. For me to put it on you, and for me to take it off. Only for me, no one else.”
I avert my gaze from my reflection. If he’d only know I’m wearing it now, he’d be pissed. But I’m doing this for him. Who knows what role I need to play tonight? This get-up seems versatile enough to deal with any situation that comes my way.
Leaning closer to the mirror, I touch up my glossy red lips. Despite my best efforts, my make-up barely disguises the worried lines on my face. I shove the lipstick back in my purse that is stuffed with bills. Bills worth a thousand bucks that I hope will buy Ryder’s freedom.
I clutch my purse tightly against my body. It’s a long shot, but it’s my only shot. This has to work.
Smoothing down my dress, I take the elevator down to wait for Ying. I feel eyes sizing me up in the hotel’s lobby, exploring that fine line between designer chic and high-priced ho.
Ignoring my swirling stomach, I hasten my step, my killer heels clicking against the marble. Thankfully a white Lotus appears right when a bellboy opens the doors for me, and the humid night air hits my exposed skin. A scissor door lifts up.
“Hop in.” Ying motions to the empty seat.
Holding on to the roof, I fold myself in the car, careful to keep my dress from riding up even further.
As the door closes, Ying grins at me. “Ready?”
I nod, and she revs the engine, its deep rumble vibrating through my body. Ying accelerates with screeching tires, pushing me back into the deep leather seat. For a few seconds I forget the grave situation I’m in. The break-neck speed at which she handles the roads is exhilarating, and I can’t help but admire her driving skills. I’ve never had driving lessons, nor do I have a license, a
s I’m barely able to afford anything but my motorbike.
We weave through the traffic, and at every light Ying rockets away the split second the lights turn green. An unexpected twinge of guilt gnawing at my conscience, I turn to her. “Listen, you don’t have to go with me. Just drop me off at the ferry, and you can still go to that car meet.”
She shakes her head. “Nah, don’t worry about it. It won’t start till after midnight, anyway. The casino is always fun. I was surprised that you wanted to go. I thought you said you didn’t like gambling.”
“I guess I changed my mind.”
“Well, I’m glad you did.”
We arrive at the harborside, where a big sign overhead marks our destination: “HK-Macau Ferry Terminal”. After entrusting the car to a valet, we enter the building. I expect us to head straight towards the ferry, but Ying makes a turn and leads me to an elevator. She presses the top button, marked “Helipad”.
I take a step to the doors, holding out my arm to prevent them from closing. “Listen, Ying, I don’t think I can do this.”
She draws her eyebrows into a frown.
“I—I’m afraid of heights. I don’t think I’ll survive a helicopter ride. But why don’t you go ahead, I’ll take the ferry. I’m sure there’s a fast one.” I step out of the elevator, the doors closing behind me.
Ying must have pressed a button, for the doors slide open again. “You realize it’ll take you more than an hour to get there? You’ll have to walk all the way to the terminal, get a ticket, and wait for the ferry to arrive. By helicopter, it’s only about fifteen minutes.” She looks at her watch. “From now.”
Damn. It looks like I have no choice—time is of the essence.
I sigh. “Okay, you win.”
When the elevator doors open, a fierce wind makes me wobble on my heels. In front of us stands the helicopter, its powerful blades producing a deafening whir. Tightly gripping my purse, I follow Ying. My hair whips around my face as I bend over to make my way to the open door.
Burn for You Page 12
