by Ally Vance
My gaze remains flat, and his smile falters a little.
“Viper can handle her.”
“Yeah, I mean, of course. I wasn’t saying he couldn’t. She’s a fiery one, though, huh? Wouldn’t mind a crack at her myself.”
“So, how did your first take feel?” I say, ignoring his prior comments. He’ll never get anywhere near Red, whether she passes or fails tonight.
“Fantastic,” he replies. “I must admit, I thought you’d be pissed.”
I keep my face schooled, my eyes leveled on his. “Why would I be pissed?”
A hint of red flushes his cheeks, but it’s gone in seconds. “Just, you know, ’cause you’ve been watching her.”
Only my extraordinary self-discipline allows me to keep the shock locked inside. Outwardly, I give no signs that Baron’s admission is even remotely interesting to me. But the fact that he managed to trail me for long enough to know about Calla without alerting me to his presence means one of two things. Either he’s far better than I gave him credit for, or my personal interest in Calla above all the other women I’ve snatched over the years means I took my eye off the ball.
My guess is on the latter. My instincts about Baron are correct. He’s a loose cannon, and when I end him, I’ll be performing a service to The Elite, one I won’t even charge them for.
“I shouldn’t have done it,” Baron continues when I keep up a stony silence. “But when Viper gave me an opportunity, one I know he expected me to fail, I had no choice. You know how much I want this, right, Hawk? If I hadn’t come back with a girl tonight, who knows when I’d have gotten another chance.”
“She won’t pass,” I state flatly. “Viper knows it. That’s why he was about to pull her before Typhon stepped in. So if you think snatching the girl is going to win you plaudits with Viper, you’re sorely mistaken.”
He falters, his overconfident smirk falling faster than if I’d wiped it off his face with my fist.
“She might,” he says petulantly.
“Not with Typhon. She’ll be lucky if she’s still breathing in the morning.” My chest tightens at the thought. I’m not saying that to scare Baron, although the way he’s gone pale means I have. But there’s a possibility Typhon will kill Calla. He’s killed before. All I can do is hope she somehow clings on and gives me the chance to snatch her while she’s being transported to a brothel.
“That’s not permitted, is it?” he asks, his tone laced with uncertainty.
“No, but Typhon doesn’t always play by the rules.”
“Then why is he allowed to stay on as a trainer?”
The way his voice rises an octave is yet more proof that Baron is completely out of his depth. I truly believe he hasn’t fully processed what goes on here, and what our part in it is. In a way, I feel sorry for him, and if he’d taken any other girl, I’d probably use it as an opportunity to lay out a few facts and hope he’d realize for himself how unsuited he is to this life.
But all that is off the table.
He took my girl. My Calla. The one I’d chosen for myself.
I sling an arm around his shoulder. “Take a walk with me.”
He doesn’t hesitate. Why would he? I’m his mentor and he trusts me. Fucking idiot. Yet more evidence of his unsuitability to this life, this world.
We meander down the narrow lane that leads up to the main building and then take a left at the end. It’s dark, and I use my phone to light the way. As we walk, I talk about Typhon and my take on why the rules don’t seem to apply to him. Mainly that I believe Typhon has something on one of The Elite members. Not the trainers, but members of The Elite themselves, and as such, they let him do what he wants as long as none of it taints them. Baron listens intently, unaware of how far we’ve come or how remote it is here.
I draw to a halt and take out another cigarette. I don’t offer him one this time. Returning the pack to my pocket, I light it and take a long drag, staring into the obsidian night.
“What have you brought me here for?” Baron asks, glancing around and seeing nothing but trees, woodland, and a fast-flowing stream at the bottom of the paddock that leads to a major river. I estimate that by the time the trainers have finished putting the women through the tests, Baron’s body will be long gone. There may be one or two questions from Viper—nothing I can’t handle—but soon Baron will be forgotten, and they’ll source a new tracker. One, I hope, that isn’t assigned to me.
Reaching for my knife, I drive it upward underneath his ribs in one quick movement. His eyes widen in shock, the unexpectedness of it all briefly holding the pain at bay.
“I brought you here to die, Baron,” I say, punching the blade even deeper into his body.
The blood loss is significant and swift. Mere seconds later, he draws in his last breath of sweet, clean air, and then a light goes out in his eyes. I withdraw the blade and shove him in the chest. His body rolls down the hill, and I listen for the splash at the bottom. Once I hear it, I jog down to the stream and watch as he disappears beneath the water.
I rinse my blade and return it to its holster, although I’ll need to clean it properly when I get home, and I’ll have to burn these clothes. Jogging all the way back to the facility, I make it to my car without being seen and drive back to my place. I shower, change into an identical black T-shirt and jeans, get rid of the offending clothing, and clean my knife in bleach, which will remove all traces of Baron’s blood. Then I head back to the facility. I enter the main building and amble into the kitchen, where I find Davenport and a couple of the other security guys drinking coffee.
“Where’ve you been?” Davenport queries. “Have you seen Baron?”
“Smoking and no,” I reply, grabbing a cup and the coffee carafe. It tastes bitter, but I can’t be bothered to make a fresh pot. I pull out a chair and casually put my feet on the table.
“Strange,” Davenport says, rubbing at the three-day-old stubble on his chin. “He said he was going to look for you.”
I give him a bored look. “Well, he didn’t find me. Maybe he already left, which is what I’m going to do as soon as I’ve finished this.” I swig the rest of the coffee and rise to my feet. I leave without saying another word, which is exactly what they’d expect me to do. I’m a lone wolf, an unsociable bastard, and engaging in lighthearted chitchat will appear strange and out of character. Everything has to look normal, especially if I’m to succeed in saving Calla.
The van that takes the girls who fail the tests on to the next part of their journey usually leaves around six a.m., an hour from now. Some of the women might end up in a brothel in and around Denver, but most will end up scattered all over the country. A few are even shipped abroad, transported by container ship to Europe, the Middle East, and even Asia. This is my one chance to rescue Calla. If my plan fails, I’ll lose her forever, and I can’t allow that to happen.
I move my car to the lane that runs along the rear of the facility, then jog back to the main building. Hiding in the shadows, I watch as Davenport appears with his head buried in his phone, the blue light illuminating his face. He’s far too distracted by whatever he’s looking at to pay attention to his surroundings. He gets into his car, fires up the engine, and leaves.
I use the time while I wait to go over every single second of my plan, searching for holes and planning escape routes for the parts that might go wrong. I originally considered following the van and running it off the road, but that risked injury to Calla, and so I shelved it. After working through several scenarios, the one I came up with might look like the most ballsy but, in reality, carries the least risk. I’m simply going to wait for the security detail to start bringing out the girls and pluck Calla right from their grasp under the guise of a gift from Viper. The security detail they use doesn’t fraternize with the trainers, but they know who they are, as well as the trackers. I’m banking on them simply handing her over, shrugging, and carrying on their way. They get paid regardless of how many girls they deliver. I doubt very much they’l
l even come into contact with Viper to check my story. As soon as they drive away, I’ll be forgotten, as will Calla.
I hope.
The clicking of a door opening reaches me, and a blond-haired man dressed in a pair of black jeans and a leather jacket appears. He holds the door open while another guy carries out the first girl. She’s unconscious, as they all will be. Whether the girls pass or fail the tests, they are drugged before transportation. The first they’ll know of their fate is when they are brought around, and they’ll either find themselves in an Elite-owned mansion where they’ll receive their assignment of two or three men whom they will service, or they’ll awaken strapped to a dirty, bug-infested mattress with a line of men already camped outside the room waiting for their turn.
And they’ll pray for the sweet release of death.
I almost don’t dare to breathe as, one by one, the women are ferried from the building to the waiting van. Calla isn’t among them. Oh, fuck, maybe she actually passed Typhon’s tests, as unbelievable as that sounds. Depression lowers my shoulders. If she did, then The Elite has her, and she’s lost to me.
But then I see her dirty-blonde hair draped over the arm of one of the security team. My heart stutters and my fingers tingle as I step out from the shadows when the guy reaches the van.
“Not that one,” I say, stepping forward.
He frowns, and then his brow smooths as he recognizes me. “Mr. Hawk, sorry, sir, didn’t see you there. What did you say?”
“Not that one,” I repeat, jerking my chin at Calla. Already I can see the effects of Typhon’s brutality with dark bruises covering her arms and legs, and my hands curl into fists. The fucking vicious bastard. I’ll need to get her to my place in the mountains to carry out a full assessment, but she’s going to require a hell of a lot of recovery time.
“She’s mine,” I go on to say. “Viper knew she’d fail, and he promised her to me.”
He shifts her slight weight, his frown making a comeback. “He didn’t say.”
“I wasn’t aware he had to explain himself to you,” I grind out, using a heavy, authoritative tone. “Now give her to me, or you’ll be late delivering the other women.”
He hesitates, but it’s for the briefest moment, and then he hands her over. I nod brusquely and turn away, but I keep my steps slow and deliberate, all the while praying none of the trainers appear. They usually stay behind afterward to talk through the evening, with those who got a pass raving about their superiority, and those who ended up with an abject failure putting it down to their thoroughness.
By the time I reach my car, my heart is pounding so fast I feel light-headed. I lay Calla down on the backseat and cover her over with a blanket. The entire time, I’m expecting a hand on my shoulder followed by the butt of a gun to my temple, but as I get in the car and slowly pull away, there’s no sign of anyone.
I haven’t gotten away with it. Not yet. I won’t believe I’ve saved her until the next time I see Viper and he mentions nothing. Then, and only then, I might start to believe she’s mine.
An hour into my journey and finally I start to relax. My mind returns to the six women who didn’t make it, and I smile as I recall the absence of fiery red hair. She passed, as I expected her to. It’ll take Red a while to come to terms with her new life, but as much as she might rail on the establishment, she’ll soon understand how much worse it could have been. The Elite treat their girls well. They live in luxurious surroundings, and apart from the times their assigned men visit, they’re left to enjoy the trappings of wealth with the others. Over time, the women form a kind of family. Red should count herself lucky.
It’s midmorning when I nose the car into the garage beside my woodland retreat. Calla is still completely out of it. I easily lift her and enter the house. I take her straight to her room, where I’ve filled it with familiar things. When she awakens, she’ll be disoriented, terrified, and in pain, no doubt, from what Typhon put her through, and to see her personal effects will calm her, I hope.
Even so, I shackle her wrists and ankles. I don’t like doing it, especially with what she’s gone through, but I’ve no choice. I can’t risk her somehow trying to escape while I’m catching up on sleep, and ending up lost in the woods. I’d track her easily enough, but she could break a leg, or worse, wandering around here in the pitch darkness.
I give her a shot of morphine to help with her injuries, and after a final glance, I switch off her light and close the door, then head to my room, where I collapse on the bed and immediately pass out.
Chapter Five
Calla
I come to slowly. My eyes are stuck together as if they’re full of sleep, and my head is sluggish. I lie there, trying to clear the brain fog. Everything aches, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. As I emerge further into consciousness, I force my lids to open.
That isn’t my ceiling.
I roll my head to the right despite the pain that shoots through my temple.
This isn’t my room.
But if that’s true, why are some of my things here? The little jewelry box I picked up at a flea market, the canvas print of downtown Denver I bought myself one year for Christmas. My old teddy bear from childhood that had one ear torn off from when I lost my temper and I was so racked with guilt that I couldn’t bring myself to throw him away.
And then, like a wall collapsing on me, memories rain down, sucking the very air from my lungs. A stark white medical facility. A doctor poking and prodding, his fingers invasive and unwelcome. Lining up with all those compliant women, just like me. Except for one. A girl with waist-length, wavy red hair, whose venomous glares should have stripped the skin off the men who used whips to drive us forward into that room. The room where all those men were waiting. The room where he chose me.
Oh God.
I don’t even realize I’m crying until I taste salt on my lips. I thought he was going to kill me. At times I wished he had. The things he made me do… the pain. God, the pain. That must be why everything hurts so bad. Inside, outside, my bones, my muscles, my skin.
My back aches, and I go to turn over. Only then do I notice the restraints. Both my wrists and my ankles are fastened to four posts, one at each corner of the narrow bed I’m lying on. Nausea froths in my belly, and trembles rack my slight frame.
I’m still here. A different room, but trapped all the same.
Please. No more.
I can’t take it. I’m not strong enough. Not like that redheaded girl.
Come on, Calla. Breathe.
I squeeze my eyes closed, and when I open them, somewhere within me, a well of resilience springs up. As long as I’m alive, there’s hope. I begin a mantra, a chant of sorts.
One day at a time. One hour, one minute.
One second.
Try to deal with things as they come to you.
Most of all, don’t panic.
The last one is the hardest of all. Already my heart is beating too fast, my throat constricted, my lungs striving for air, my body drenched in perspiration.
A scream develops, creeping into my mouth, but I let it die on my lips. The last thing I need is to alert whoever took me that I’m awake. The longer I’m alone, the freer my mind is to try to figure a way out of this nightmare.
The light outside is starting to fade, but there’s still just enough for me to take a good look at my surroundings. The room isn’t large, maybe twelve feet square, the walls are made of wood, and there’s a single bulb directly overhead covered with a beige shade.
I’m clothed in a thin cotton dress that isn’t mine.
And I’m chained to the bed.
I can’t get enough air.
I start to breathe even faster, my lungs working overtime to keep up, and a horrible tingling starts up in my hands and feet. I feel sick. A band tightens around my chest.
I’m having a panic attack.
I recall something I read online once regarding panic attacks and how it was important to take slow, c
ontrolled breaths. Using every ounce of energy I have left, I put it all into trying to follow that advice, and as the numb, tingling sensation recedes and my heart rate begins to return to normal, I feel a sense of control returning. I’m in charge of my body, not the other way around.
And then I hear footsteps, and my heart rate skyrockets again. I keep my eyes trained on the door, and as the handle turns, an impending sense of doom drowns me. I’m going to die here. I know it. A long, painful death at the hands of that man who gained pleasure from my pain.
But the person who appears isn’t my torturer. This one is even scarier. A hulk of a man who could snap my neck without breaking a sweat, his bare arms covered in tattoos, his beard thick, and his eyes dark, cold, hard. Just looking at them almost stops my heart.
And then he smiles, and his whole face changes. For a split second, I feel safe, but then I remember I’m chained up like a dog, and all faith leaves me.
“You’re awake.”
His voice matches the rest of him, a baritone that rumbles in his chest with enough power to shake the building we’re in. His presence fills the room, sucking up all the oxygen. It leaves me light-headed, and the earlier nausea returns. I breathe slowly through my nose to try to quell the awful sickness in my stomach and follow him with my eyes as he reaches me in two large strides. He perches on the end of the bed, and my whole body braces.
“Shh, it’s okay,” he says, surprising me with how gentle he sounds. “I’m sorry about the restraints. They’re for your own safety.”
I snort, and then my eyes widen in horror, and I flinch, bracing for a slap, a punch, a vicious twist of my nipple, or a fist shoved inside me.
But he doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he unscrews the top on a plastic bottle of water and, supporting my head, lets me drink. With my dry throat lubricated, I sink back into the pillow. Only then do I notice how soft it is.
He sets the bottle of water on the floor beside his feet and returns his gaze to me.
“How’s the pain? I gave you a shot last night, but it must be wearing off by now.”
