Hunt Me

by Elodie Colt

  When we reach the entry doors made of rust-colored steel with golden carvings, Michael Jordan types an eight-figure code into a control panel embedded in the side. A green light blinks, and the doors swing inward.

  Cool air engulfs me as I’m escorted through a maze of corridors. Our shoes click on the marble floor echoing off the high walls holding golden sconces. Various staircases carpeted in red lead to different wings, making the entire place look even more mysterious.

  Whoever owns this place seems to have a taste for art. Diego Rivera, Rufino Tamayo, Angelina Beloff, and various other masterpieces decorate the walls. I’m not an expert on Mexican art, but the pieces look damn close to originals.

  We reach our desired destination as we stop in front of another set of polished wooden doors, and my two bodyguards adjust their ties and smooth down their shirts.

  “Jeez, are we meeting the Pope or what?” I can’t refrain from uttering, causing Ice Cube to give me a death glare.

  “Watch your mouth, girl. You don’t want to piss him off,” he snaps in a heavy accent, and his tone makes me obey.

  “Come on in,” a cool, composed voice resounds from the other side as Michael Jordan knocks, and I’m escorted into the unknown.

  Thanks to Victoria’s web of connections, it didn’t take long to find information about the man who found it a good idea to deal in my territory.

  Piero Alvarez, as he’s called, met Sofia back when he lived in Spain. She was a hobby artist and moved with her husband to the states in hopes of pushing her career. Piero made his business by selling Sofia’s paintings to clients all over the world. That was until he found a far more lucrative business, the most lucrative of all—dealing drugs. Hiding the pouches inside the paintings’ frames, he sold coke.

  As the money started to flow, it didn’t take long for Sofia to find out what her husband was doing behind closed doors. Together, they pushed the business, but then Sofia took a shine to the coke. The addiction affected her work, and her creativity went to pot, her career as an artist going down the drain.

  Sofia realized that her addiction was not only poison for her career, but also for her daughter. Then again, she was too weak to keep her hands from the stuff and begged Piero to quit. He refused. That left her with only one way out which was to take her daughter and be off, again something Piero wouldn’t allow. He threatened to start a custody battle, knowing she’d never put her daughter on the line, so Sofia’s only choice was to leave without her.

  And now comes the real deal.

  The day she left, she took a painting with her, a painting of high value—Paradise in Space—a surrealistic masterpiece from Sofia’s father, Leonardo Mateo Vila, one of the most sought-after artists around the turn of the century. Its value is estimated at a fucking one million dollars, something Piero was not aware of. After Sofia left, she rewrote her will, in which she stated that her daughter should inherit the picture on her twenty-first birthday.

  A corrupt cop in Mexico knew an insider who knew a guy who heard about a painting worth a fortune. When Piero found out it belonged to Sofia’s father, he knew it was in her possession. He made it his mission to go after her, no doubt to blackmail her into handing over the prize.

  Turned out Piero went to great lengths to find her, hiring hotshot investigators all over the continent. When he discovered where she lived, he came to hold her to task. Unfortunately for him, it got her killed.

  So, I figured, why waste my time searching for that bastard if he could as well come to me? Why not bring the girl who’s responsible for this mess in the first place here?

  Which brings me to the here and now, watching the door open as Emilio and Javier escort the person of interest into my office.

  My first look at her takes me completely off guard. I don’t know what I expected. Maybe a spoiled brat kicking and screaming. Maybe a Barbie doll with fake tits and bleached hair.

  She’s not like that. At all.

  If it weren’t for her face where a nose and lip ring pierce her skin, I would have mistaken her for a boy with the black military pants, worn and ripped in a few places, and the white goth shirt displaying Slayer in blood-dripping letters.

  Her hair, a brown so dark it’s close to black, frames a fair-skinned face and reaches her shoulders. Tattoos cover her arms, reaching up to the sleeves of her shirt. A ship sailing in the stormy sea adorns her right upper arm, whereas a compass with the words Follow Your Own Path in between the cardinal points is branded onto her left forearm.

  And then there’s the cut on her lip, blending with a bruised jaw. I clench my fist trying to hold it together. Knowing his hand caused this, I’ll need to teach Javier some manners.

  The girl takes in my office with her mouth agape as if she’s Alice in Wonderland and just fell down the rabbit hole. Her eyes roam over the books, vases, and statues littering the space long before they even land on me.

  I approach her with slow but deliberate steps so as not to scare her but to display my status at the same time. The girl looks like trouble. Better she knows beforehand whom she’s dealing with.

  I succeed in my task if the breath hitching in her throat is anything to go by, but when I stop in front of her, I only see curiosity instead of fear glimmering in a pair of the brightest, turquoise eyes I’ve ever seen. When I slide a hand into my suit pocket, she watches the movement as she examines the Jesus Christ tattoo on the back of my hand with keen interest.

  Javier shifts behind her, and she startles, whipping her head around, her eyes suddenly huge and wary. When she turns her head forward again, she makes a strange jerk, rolling her shoulder as if an insect just crawled down her back. The tendons in her neck strain, and I notice her forming fists with her shackled hands.

  For some reason, it looks as if she’s trying to gather her composure. I wait patiently, giving her the time she needs to process whatever made her so panicked all of a sudden, considering she was perfectly composed a second earlier.

  Finally, she draws her eyes up to mine. I lift a hand, brushing a finger over her bruised jaw in what I hope is a soothing gesture, but she jerks back, horrified. Abused by her father, maybe? As far as I know, she ran away from home when she was fifteen, so chances are high her love for drug-dealing-daddy doesn’t run deep.

  My eyes fall to my men standing behind her in true bodyguard fashion, arms folded behind their backs, eyes staring straight ahead. Javier’s suit sleeve is slashed open, blood crusting the fabric. Emilio’s forehead sports a bruise, one eye blue and swollen.

  “Explain,” I demand, my voice oddly calm despite my growing rage.

  “Boss, she… she had a knife,” Emilio mutters, handing me the weapon in question—a switchblade with a curved blade and ragged edges.

  Flipping it open, I whirl it around and press it under the girl’s chin. Before she can jerk back a second time and likely cut herself in the process, my other hand comes up to keep her face in place while I examine her injuries. Her eyes shoot daggers at me, but I’m distracted by her mouth—heart-shaped, toned a soft pink and pouted in defiance.

  “What were my orders?” I request, my voice still cool like the blade resting on her skin.

  Javier answers, knowing the question is meant for him. “To bring her here. Unharmed.” He adds the last word in annoyance.

  “And does she look unharmed to you?” I continue the interrogation, the girl’s eyes flicking between mine as if she’s trying to solve the mystery of the decade.

  “No, boss.”

  Her head jerks again, and she rolls her shoulder as if Javier’s words hurt her physically. Damn him for raising his hand against her. She’s an innocent girl, for God’s sake, and already damaged beyond repair.

  “He won’t hurt you,” I assure her.

  “I don’t like people standing behind me,” she mumbles, and she slaps my hand away with her shackled ones before saying in an oddly strong and demanding voice, “I have no idea what the fuck is going on, but it’s clear you’ve got the
wrong person.” Javier shifts, no doubt ready to show her some manners, but he retreats when I lift my hand in warning.

  “What’s your name, girl?” Of course, I already know, but I want to see how she reacts in my presence.

  “Leo.”

  “Your real name, girl.”

  “I just told you, boy,” she mocks back, clearly offended by my words.

  Defiant. Challenging. Rebellious. Foolish?

  Oddly refreshing.

  Still, I have a reputation to behold, and I can’t allow this girl to cross my plans, so I clamp my hand over her throat showing her who’s in control. The panic in her eyes is back, and I loosen my grip the tiniest bit.

  “I’ll ask you one last time.” I scrape the switchblade lightly along her jaw. “What’s your name?”

  She pants through her nose, probably assessing how much she can push but admits defeat as I hook the knife’s tip through her lip ring, pulling and watching her lips part with the movement. “Leonara.”

  “Leonara,” I repeat, liking the sound as it rolls over my tongue. Considering her grandfather’s name, I guess Sofia named her after Leonardo.

  She seems taken aback for a second, as if me saying her name affects her in some way. “Why am I here? What do you want from me?” She wants to know.

  My hand slides from her face, and I step back. Her question makes me realize that she doesn’t know about her mother’s death.

  “Will you behave for now?” I ask with a nod to her wrists, signaling I’ll cut her loose if she complies.

  Her gaze only hardens. “I asked you a question,” she presses in a dark voice.

  I tug sharply at her bound hands in response and cut her loose. Before I free her, I clutch the rope, yanking her into me, so her body is flush with mine. Tilting my head, I whisper into her ear, “Don’t make me regret this.”

  Sliding the rope from her skin, I nod at my men. “Take her to her room. And Javier,” I add, my tone hinting he should heed my warning. “If I see another bruise on her next time, I’ll throw you in my terrarium to keep the snakes company.”

  “Yes, boss,” he quickly complies, and I watch them lead the girl out, her eyes full of despair before the door closes behind her.

  They usher me into one of the many rooms housing the mansion. A clock on the wall tells me it’s 11:00 a.m. I’m relieved to find that I’m not dumped in a cellar with bars locking behind me, but it doesn’t make the space any less of a prison.

  As soon as the two guys remove their hands, I put a safe distance between them, pressing my back against the nearest wall and feeling my nerves calm instantly. They remain unfazed by my behavior.

  “What are you going to do with me?” Not answering, the one called Javier walks out with a bored look and gets into position next to the door.

  “Rest,” is all Emilio says before he strolls out too, locking the door.

  “Hey! What the fuck?” Cutting the distance to the door, I pound it with my fists. “You can’t keep me here against my will!” Apparently, they can, but I’m not ready to accept it. “Let me out!” No response. “Hey, do you hear me? Open the fucking door!”

  12:00 noon.

  My throat is raw, and my hands burn from slapping them against the wood for the last hour. Defeated, I take in my new accommodations.

  A single bed sits to my left, the sheets white and wrinkle-free. A wooden desk with a matching chair stands to my right, its surface empty. Apart from the clock on the wall, there’s no decoration giving the space any color.

  A window allows the sun to flood in providing a breathtaking view of a lush, green landscape interspersed with palm trees and rich plant life. I’m surprised to find that the window is void of any bars. Opening it, I glance down only to find the ground looming three stories beneath me. A man in a gray suit stands sentry directly below me. Another marches up and down a pathway a few yards away, also guarding the estate.

  Damn, this place is brimming over with security. Escaping would certainly end in a nasty fight, one I’ll lose for sure.

  1:00 p.m.

  Exhaustion gets the better of me. Walking over to the bed, I grab its frame and pull it into the nearest corner. Plopping down on it, I bring my back flush to the wall, making sure to have a good view of whoever comes in.

  6:00 p.m.

  The sun is setting. Seems I slept through the entire afternoon. Straining my ears, I try to catch any noises. Nothing. Absolute silence. A tray with food and a jug of water stand on the desk. They weren’t there before, so someone snuck in while I was out like a light.

  Walking over to the table, I inspect the tray. My stomach rumbles in response to what looks like soup with vegetables and meatballs, but I’d rather keep my hands off it. Who knows, maybe they drugged it.

  I gulp down half of the water, though, eager to wet my parched throat. Dots of crusted blood litter my forearm, and I use the last drops to wipe them away. My blood or theirs?

  I sit down on the bed again, my gaze settling on the floorboards. Bored, I start to count them.

  8:00 p.m.

  Seventy-two floorboards. Two cracks on the left wall, three on the right. One-hundred-twenty-four square tiles cover the ceiling. One of them is not aligned with the others, and it drives me nuts.

  Panting through my nose, I slowly feel my patience slipping away. I’m bored. I’m depressed. I’m scared. And I’m itching to hold a pencil and move it over some paper.

  Scrambling up, I amble to the table and open the drawers. All empty. Surprise!

  9:00 p.m.

  Javier and Emilio drift in. They approach with deliberate steps, causing me to retreat. “What do you want?” I ask in alarm, not liking them clinching their hands around my arms again.

  “You’re going to take a shower,” Javier announces in a gruff voice I’m slowly getting used to, hustling me out the door. I try to keep track of where we’re going but fail after the third turn. God, this place is a fucking palace!

  I glance at Javier, the slender one with the temper issues. “Care to tell me where I am?” His jaw clenches, but he maintains his poise. “Your tie knot isn’t straight,” I comment in hopes of getting a reaction. Nada.

  I switch my attention to Emilio, the composed one. “There’s a stain on your shoe. Looks like bird shit.” His eyes continue to stare straight ahead. My gaze trails up to his belly. “Wow, one burrito more, and your shirt is going to shoot off its buttons.”

  His grip on my arm tightens, causing me to hiss. Emilio shoots him a dark look, but Javier keeps a firm hold, letting me know to keep my mouth shut if I want to avoid a dislocated shoulder.

  The bathroom is insanely huge. Marbled tiles are everywhere, and the sumptuous walk-in shower unit with milky glass walls is nearly as big as my room at Sam’s. My heart jumps in excitement when I notice the flasks of aftershave lined around the basin, and I already make plans on bopping them on the heads of my supervisors.

  “You’ve got five minutes,” Javier grumbles, stopping directly in front of the cabin. My heart drops. Well, there goes my chance of getting my hands on a weapon.

  With a sigh, I step into the shower, shedding out of my clothes and leaving them on the raised ledge. It’s only now I realize how bad I smell, and I nearly groan in pleasure as the rain shower drizzles water onto my head.

  The gleaming tiles in the cabin are so highly polished, it’s like looking into a mirror. The warm water stings on my fresh tattoo, and I glance at it in my reflection. Immediately, my mind leaps into the past, resurfacing the memory of his hands cutting into my flesh, pressing me into the mattress until my ribcage creaks in protest.

  A fist pounding on the bathroom wall startles me. “Hey! Hurry up. If you’re not finished in thirty seconds, I’ll come in and drag you out,” Javier threatens.

  A pile of fresh clothes waits for me. With a frown, I examine the fringy shorts and tight tank tops. Nope, not my style.

  My bodyguards shoot me a dark look when I step out with my old clothes on, Emilio hea
ving a sigh as if my behavior hurts him physically. They escort me back to my prison.

  10:00 p.m.

  “Hey, would you mind giving me a pencil and paper? I’m going to die of boredom in here.”

  “Eat,” is the only thing Emilio drones with a nod to the soup I haven’t touched before he clicks the door shut behind him.

  “Fuck you, idiots!” I curse, kicking the door with my foot to make my point.

  12:00 midnight.

  Curling up on my bed, I try to go back to sleep. The distinct shuffling of footsteps from the guards outside makes me fidgety, and it takes me forever to fall asleep. Chills run down my spine from the cold wall against my back, but I don’t dare to switch positions in case anyone decides to sneak in.

  4:00 a.m.

  I’m on the speedboat again. It’s pitch black, a storm making the boat reel on angry waves. My drenched clothes cling to my skin. Javier handles the wheel, his suit completely dry. He turns around only to give me a wicked grin, and I watch in terror as his face morphs into one haunting me every night. I try to move, ready to jump into the ocean, but I’m glued to the leather bench covered in my old bed sheets, and there’s nothing I can do as he approaches me and flips me onto my stomach.

  I jolt awake with my heart drumming against my ribcage. Pressing my eyes shut, I try to shake off the remnants of the nightmare. Not working.

  My hand wanders down my panties while I will my mind to concentrate on pleasure instead. Fucked up, you think? Sure. I’m twenty years old and still a virgin. He was only interested in my back hole, so my front is still unchartered territory.

  My breathing becomes harsher as wetness coats my fingers, and I push them inside, chasing the high that would bring me peace. For some unknown reason, the face of the man who’s the reason I’m here pops up in my head. My mind trails off to the moment when he scraped the switchblade down my neck, and I come fast, burying my face into the pillow to silence the groan.

  7:00 a.m.

  I’m pissed that they took my phone. If I could at least text Kendra and tell her I’m fine… I’m sure she’s going insane right now making an entire police unit go crazy.