Burn for You

by Jillian Leeson

  Forcefully, he grabs my wrist. “I can make you disappear, just like that. Or if you prefer, make you suffer for a long, long time, until all you’ll do is beg.”

  From out of nowhere, Sleeveless Shirt and his bald friend step forward, underlining his threat with balled fists. I look down at Lance’s hand, intending to bite away the death grip on my wrist, but before my teeth reach his flesh, my eye falls on his watch. The unfamiliar ‘LH’ logo on its face has me stumped for an instant until I realize they’re his initials—it is a custom-made watch.

  A thought flashes through my mind that causes my heart to lurch and my mind to spin.

  “That’s it!”

  I lift my gaze, pinning it on Lance. “I know how to find him.”

  Raising his eyebrows, he immediately releases my wrist. “How?”

  “His watch. I gave Ryder a smartwatch, a special one that connects to his cell phone. He can send and read messages from his watch, even if he’s not carrying his cell. But I don’t know why he hasn’t sent me any messages. Perhaps the kidnappers have confiscated it.”

  “So, how would that help to find him?”

  “One feature of the watch is that it has an in-built GPS, even if it’s switched off. We’ll be able to trace him.” I hold out my hand. “Let me use your cell.”

  I look up the number on the internet before I dial. I hope he picks up—this may be the only way of locating Ryder. My palms are sweaty as the monotonous connecting tone beeps in my ear.

  Come on, pick up.

  “Hello?”

  Thank God. Relief floods through me.

  “Damon, it’s me, Elle. Listen, I need your help.”

  “Babe, how’s your holiday?”

  I must have caught him at the right time, for the upbeat tone is uncharacteristic for Damon, who’s been irritable lately as he has been juggling several jobs at a time. One of my few true friends—maybe the only one—, he has always been there for me in times of need. I know I can trust him.

  “I’ll fill you in later. I need you to do something for me. It’s urgent.”

  “Shoot.” His tone is serious—he must hear the desperation in my voice.

  “Remember Ryder’s smartwatch? Can you get me the current GPS coordinates for it?”

  “Why? Did he lose it?”

  “Just do it,” I snap.

  “Hold on a minute, I’ll look it up. I’ll have to put you on hold.”

  “Fine.”

  I gesture to Lance to get me pen and paper, and tap my foot while I’m waiting for Damon to return to the line.

  Suddenly there’s a click, and my pulse spikes.

  “Elle?”

  “Did you find it?”

  “Yep.” He gives me the geographical coordinates—the latitude and longitude of the watch’s location—and I scribble them down, a flare of hope spreading in my chest.

  “Thanks, Damon. You’re a lifesaver.”

  “Sure thing. When will you be back?”

  “No idea. Have to go now.”

  Before he can say any more, I cut him off. I’ll make it up to him later—I hope.

  Lance looks at me intently, and I hand him the scrap of paper. “My friend has traced the signal. It’s coming from the south of China, from Guangdong province, just across the border from here. How fast can we get there?”

  Lance enters the location in his cell. “It’s about an hour from here.”

  Turning, I yank at his arm. “Let’s go.”

  I just hope it’s not too late.

  Ryder

  I never expected to miss feeling Flat Face’s sharp knife against my throat.

  But I do now.

  He’s replaced the knife with a gun, and through the cold metal barrel against my temple I can feel how the tension emanating from him could cause him to pull the trigger at any time.

  We follow Michael, who strides down the hallway, stopping in front of a door that he pushes open. When I step in, I am surprised to find myself in the same windowless room I was before, where I found the vials on the shelves.

  Flat Faces shoves me to the table in the middle of the room and motions me to lie down. As I do, he knots a rope around my wrist and secures it to a hook attached to the side of the table. He does the same to my other wrist and uses another piece of rope to bind my ankles to a hook at the end of the table. By the speed and skill with which he’s tying me up, it’s obvious he has done this many times before. Grinding my teeth, I try to move, but I can’t; the rope is too tightly fastened.

  “Hey, what’s this about? You’re punishing me for running away?”

  With his back to me, Michael says, “You wouldn’t have gotten far. We’re in the middle of nowhere, in a strange country where you don’t speak the language. Did you really think you could escape?”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I could’ve.”

  Spinning around to face me, Michael grins. “Ah, you thought you’d be saved if you reached the next village. Think again. The village belongs to me. All this land is mine.”

  His grin transforms into a hysterical laugh. “And so are you, Mr De Luca. Running away wasn’t a smart move. You’ve just expedited your fate.”

  “Go on then. Just shoot me if that’s what you want.”

  “You wish. Death is easy. Life is when real suffering takes place.”

  I sigh. I’ve had enough of his cryptic shit. But one thing he said acts in my favor: he doesn’t plan to kill me.

  I say, “You know what? I don’t care anymore. Do whatever you want with me. Just promise me one thing. Leave Elle alone.”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t make promises, Mr De Luca.”

  “At least tell me why you’re doing this. Is this some act of retaliation? Who do you work for?”

  “Don’t insult me. I’m my own boss. I don’t—I will never—work for anyone.”

  I rack my brains, trying to find something to provoke him so I can find out what he’s really after. All of a sudden, a crazy thought crosses my mind. “I know what you want.”

  “Really, now?” Michael tips his head to the side in what looks like genuine surprise.

  “You want Meifen to fall pregnant,” I say. “So you can sell the baby. Or who knows, keep it for yourself.”

  “A baby?” He burst out laughing. “You’re entertaining, I can give you that. Actually, it’s not a bad idea. At least I can get a bit more out of your little performance. That video of yours proves to have many uses.”

  As he looks over at the tripod, a suspicious thought enters my brain. “Uses? Is that it? You’re distributing the video as a home-made porno? But how? It was much too dark.”

  “Nothing cutting-edge technology can fix.”

  It doesn’t make sense. Why the hell did he put in the effort to make this video? I’m pretty sure it didn’t reveal much; I made sure of that.

  “Even if you did fix it up,” I say, “who wants to watch that trash anyway when there’s so much more interesting stuff available on the internet?”

  “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, Mr De Luca. Not only will your girlfriend find this fascinating to watch, I’m sure your friends and business associates won’t be able to look away, not to mention the Wall Street Journal. In fact, it will result in headlines all over the world. A billionaire American fund manager involved in an underage sex scandal. I’m sure the police will be interested, too.”

  A scorching fury invades my veins. “She’s not underage. And we didn’t have sex!”

  “Of course you’d say that. But the video shows otherwise.”

  “What the hell have I ever done to you?” I spit out. “I didn’t even know you before this. Why don’t you man up and tell me, in my face, what your beef is with me!”

  “I never said I have anything against you. As a businessman myself, I feel your pain, though. To lose your business, everything you’ve worked for, and lose your precious girlfriend at the same time. You’ll have a lot to think about when you’re in jail.”

 
How dare he, the asshole! I whip my head from side to side, struggling against my restraints. My head feels like it’s about to explode. I hardly notice Michael talking to Flat Face until he takes a step away from the table.

  “And now, Mr De Luca, it’s time for me to say goodbye.”

  As he starts to make his way to the door, a thought enters my head. “Hey, how about the money? I thought you wanted it all?”

  “If you still haven’t figured it out, I don’t need any handouts from you. I already have more than you’ll ever have.” He raises his hand. “Goodbye, Mr De Luca. Enjoy the rest of your life.”

  On his way out, Michael pats Flat Face on the shoulder and utters what sound like instructions, as if he’s leaving him in charge. Soon after, he disappears through the doorway.

  That’s it. I’m in the hands of Flat Face. And from the way he glares at me and lifts the gun in his hand, it’s clear he doesn’t have the best of intentions. What is he going to do to me? Torture me? What the hell for?

  His attention is drawn to something by the door, and he starts talking rapid Chinese. A male voice answers; it turns out to be Skinny, the guy with the glasses who performed the medical on me before. He walks into the room wearing a green lab coat. When he comes nearer I notice the coat has dark stains on it. A chill runs through me. Is it dried blood?

  Skinny walks straight toward the shelved cabinet while Flat Face looks on, stepping away to let him through and in the process, blocking my view. More talking, with Skinny sounding irritated, every few words punctuated with a cough. Clanging sounds, of metal on metal, emerges from behind Flat Face, who looks increasingly agitated.

  A scream from outside makes him look towards the door, and after checking my restraints, he makes his way to the hall. I turn my attention to Skinny—I can finally find out what he’s up to. Even though he has his back on me, I spot a metal tray in front of him, similar to the one he carried into my room. It is now filled with metal instruments. Next to him is the blue plastic box with a handle that I spotted when I was in this room before. I realize what it is: a cool box.

  A cool box?

  Then it hits me.

  I’m being prepared for surgery. They’re going to cut me open. They’re going to remove my organs. And they’re going to sell them on the black market.

  These assholes are organ traffickers.

  All the pieces of the puzzle fit together. Now I understand why they’ve been treating me relatively well and why they’ve been medically examining me—to check on my health and therefore, the quality of my organs.

  I’ve read all about it in the media; the illegal trafficking trade is a multi-million dollar industry. It comes as no surprise considering the huge number of people who are waiting on transplants. Its victims are not necessarily people who are kidnapped and drugged like me. For some desperate people it provides a much-needed source of income. They can sell their kidneys or livers for thousands of dollars, although they’ll be sold on the black market for more than ten times their original price.

  These people take a huge risk. Surgeons are often not qualified and conduct the surgeries in less than hygienic conditions. Many of them fall seriously ill or die from complications. Judging from the makeshift set-up in this room, this will probably happen to me. So much for thinking I won’t end up dead.

  No, I won’t. I’m going to get through this. Because Michael wants me to live. He wants to see me suffer.

  I still haven’t figured out why, but he is well on his way in getting his ultimate revenge. Not only will he succeed in ruining my business and my love life, he’ll also wreck me physically. His hate for me must run exceptionally deep.

  But before I can speculate on his possible motivations, a dazzling light blinds me—Skinny must have switched on the photographer’s light. My eyes adjust, and I see him approach me with scissors in his hand.

  What the hell? Is he planning to cut me open with some blunt implement?

  I say, “Hey, you don’t have to do this. I have money. I give you money.”

  As he ignores my desperate pleas, he pushes up his sleeves, transferring the scissors from one latex-gloved hand to the other. Under the rim of one glove peeps out a black watch, which looks unremarkable until I notice the distinctive yellow crest in its face.

  “You like Ferrari?”

  Eyebrows raised, Skinny looks down at me. A slow smile spreads across his face, and he nods.

  I say, “I love Ferraris. I have six of them in my garage.”

  “Six?”

  Skinny talks! This is my chance—I have to get him talking and try to make him delay this surgery.

  “Yeah, one of them is a LaFerrari. There are only about five hundred of those in the world. It’s a pretty amazing machine.”

  I rattle on about its greatness, even delving into the technical specs as I notice Skinny is showing interest in every little detail.

  “How about you? Do you own a Ferrari yourself?”

  He shakes his head. “Too expensive ah.”

  “Listen, I can get you one of your own. But you have to help me.”

  “I can’t do. They kill me.” He slides his finger across his throat.

  “Do you have a phone? A cell phone?”

  He pulls out a cell from underneath his coat, and my heart lurches.

  “Let me borrow it,” I say. “Free my hands and let me make a call.”

  He looks up for an instant, then nods. “Okay.”

  After loosening one of my wrist restraints, he hands over his cell.

  I quickly dial Elle’s number and let it ring at least ten times, but there’s no answer. Next I try the New York office. I am about to press the last digit when I hear coughing just outside the door. Skinny immediately snatches back the phone and stores it under his coat. I stiffen up, trying to lie perfectly still in the hope no one will check the loose rope around my wrist.

  I’m in luck, for when Flat Face steps back into the room, he is more concerned with Skinny’s scissors than me. Pointing at them, he barks some command to Skinny, who scurries to the shelves. Flat Face stands next to him to inspect his work, making the occasional terse comment between fits of coughing.

  Even if I can’t move them, my legs feel restless. Why didn’t Elle pick up her cell? She would have noticed the unknown number—wouldn’t she wonder if it has anything to do with my abduction? If it were me searching for her, I would have followed up on every single lead, no matter how small or insignificant.

  An alarming thought strikes me. What if it is true what Michael has been telling me—that she’s given up on me after she saw the video? Could I blame her for feeling hurt, betrayed—devastated?

  I have to face it: I can’t count on her or on anyone else to bail me out.

  There is only one option left. While Flat Face is admonishing Skinny yet again, I surreptitiously slide my hand into my pocket. A quick flick of the thumb, and my hand returns to the same position alongside my thigh.

  A few moments later, Skinny spins around, holding a tray with a scalpel and other medical instruments on it, including a syringe. Wiping the sweat off his forehead, Flat Face barks at him, and when Skinny replies in a defiant tone, he grabs something off the shelf. Next he turns to me, holding a white folded cloth in front of him. A pungent, penetrating smell reaches my nostrils.

  “No!” I scream as I realize what the smell is—chloroform.

  Flat Face is so close now that I can see the individual droplets of sweat all over his face.

  My hand dives into my pocket and zips out again. With as much force as I can muster, I stab the syringe into Flat Face’s thigh.

  But it’s too late.

  The white cloth is the last thing I see before the darkness closes in.

  Chapter 14

  Elle

  We’re here—the source of the GPS signal.

  It didn’t take long to reach this secluded place; about an hour on the busy freeway, followed by half an hour on unpaved country roads. As the SUV travers
ed the valley of green fields surrounded by mountains, I felt more and more anxious, doubts clouding my brain. Lance didn’t speak to me the whole way, preferring to converse with Sleeveless Shirt beside him, who was driving. Next to me in the back, their bald associate from the gambling den was just as uncommunicative, continually staring out the window through his sunglasses.

  Now that we’ve stopped, the confines of the car start closing in on me, the air thick with a tense silence. I feel the unrelenting summer heat penetrating through the windows, despite the AC whirring at full blast.

  We are on a sandy road, in the middle of what appear to be rice fields. At the end of the road stands a collection of low, brick buildings, which seem to be connected to one another despite their differences in height and color. They look similar to the few we’ve passed on our way here—it must be some type of farm.

  Lance points at the buildings. “That’s probably their headquarters. It’s in the middle of the countryside, without any houses for in sight for miles. I wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out to be a center for illegal trade.”

  I arch my brow. “What type of trade do you mean?”

  “Who knows—the slave trade, the child trade?” He shrugs. “But most likely it’s organs.”

  “You mean, those horror stories where you wake up in a bath and discover your kidney is gone?”

  My scrunched-up face causes him to grin. “That’s an urban legend. Some of it is true, though. People do get kidnapped and have their organs stolen. But I’ve never heard of anyone being left in a bath. Here, it’s more likely they’re found dead.”

  I swallow. The thought that Ryder may have fallen prey to an unscrupulous gang stealing his organs before letting him bleed to death makes my stomach churn.

  “It’s a very lucrative trade,” he continues. “Desperate patients in need of organs are willing to spend hundreds of thousands for a successful transplant. And the traffickers get them for free or for a fraction of what they’ll sell them for. It’s big business.”

  “So, you think it’s organ traffickers who’ve taken Ryder?”