The gunfire stopped. There was no sound at all beyond the quiet fall of rain on leaves. A light breeze rustled the ferns. Closing her eyes, Ally strained to hear something. Anything.
Was it over?
Who won?
Did she dare crawl out?
Minutes ticked by slowly. She couldn’t stand the suspense and opened her eyes. Pant legs directly in front of her face obscured everything else. Her heart beat as slow as sludge in her chest and her gaze traveled up the pant legs.
“Well, hello, doll-face.”
Bile rose. This couldn’t be happening. She stared into the muzzle of a very large, very ugly gun, not daring to blink to see if she was hallucinating.
“Get up. Not a sound.”
Outside of the ferns, there was rustling of men in the forest and an occasional shout. Greg’s back-up party had arrived and gathered Victor’s men. Now they were looking for Victor.
Ally would’ve gladly helped them out, but she didn’t dare even whimper as she rose. Evil oozed off the man. No doubt about it, Victor would put a bullet between her eyes rather than be caught. So why didn’t he?
The things Greg told her in the car tightened her muscles. No. No way would Victor cart her off for that. She would make a horrid prostitute. Without conscious thought, her muscles locked up and she dug her heels into the muddy forest floor.
Fast as a striking viper, Victor swung around and backhanded her.
Through ringing ears, she heard Greg yell her name. Everything in her screamed in response. She shook with the effort it took to resist answering. Victor waved the gun again, indicating the path in front of him, leading her deeper into the trees. Away from any hope of rescue. Her cheek throbbed and her knees trembled.
She bit her lip, tasting mud and forest, and trudged through the thick trees and bushes. She made no attempt to be quiet. The storm was moving away, but thunder still rumbled in the sky and rain continued to fall. Her nightmare had become reality.
Victor prodded her through the forest.
After an eternity, they emerged from the trees into a small parking lot. Victor grabbed her arm hard enough to bruise and led her to an old sedan. In another lifetime she would have laughed.
It was exactly how every movie she’d ever seen depicted a pimp-mobile. Black-tinted windows, gleaming chrome, dull-green paint and fancy rims. The alarm beeped and he opened the rear door.
He shoved her inside and followed, forcing her to the center of the big bench seat. Terror coiled inside when he grinned, exposing rotten gums and stained teeth. She fought the gag threatening to choke her.
Victor leaned forward. She leaned back. He grabbed her arm. Her stomach churned. He pulled her hand to the far corner of the seat, turning away as he did, and she sagged into the seat.
Her relief was short-lived. Cold metal clamped around her wrist. He leaned over her and grabbed her other arm. Bile rose at the stench of body odor and heavy cologne. Ally struggled, twisting her wrist, but the image of his gun kept her from fighting too hard. Seconds later, arms spread wide, she wore matching bracelets. Defenseless.
Sitting back, he grinned. She didn’t know what was more frightening, his grin or the handcuff rings permanently attached to either side of his car.
Beady black eyes perused her body. She averted her face, feeling violated.
“I expec’ you’ll clean up good.” He nodded. “You’ll do.”
His words were magnanimous enough, but deep inside, a horrifying certainty grew. The car, the handcuffs, his inspection…tears Ally could no longer control filled her eyes as Victor climbed out.
Despite its obvious age, the engine purred like a well-loved animal when he started it. He steered out of the parking lot, driving away from any lingering hope of salvation. Tears rolled unchecked down her dirty cheeks.
All sense of direction fled as they drove. Whether from sheer paranoid habit or necessity, Victor wove an intricate pattern through the streets. By the time he pulled over and killed the engine, they might as well have been in Peru. Ally swallowed repeatedly before she recovered the ability to speak.
“Where are we?”
“No need to worry yer head abou’ that, doll face.” He turned around and shot her another creepy grin. “Now, you jus’ sit tight and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
He climbed out, chuckling.
Really, he could take all the time he needed. Growing old right there in the seat held definite appeal. She would mummify in his pimp-mobile without the tiniest whimper of complaint. With absolute certainty, being handcuffed to his car was preferable to whatever awaited her.
Chapter Twelve
Too soon, Victor returned and unlocked the handcuffs. Ally cringed back, stomach churning, but he hauled her out of the car. He dragged her by her wrist, grinding the bones together, up the worn concrete steps of an inconspicuous building.
The simplicity ended at the door. The entryway’s garish, brilliant shade of purple escalated her throbbing headache. A chandelier hung from the tall ceiling, dripping crystals and tassels. Sconces echoed the same design, lighting a path down the hallway, enticing visitors to explore the hidden depths.
Ally trembled, immensely grateful for her empty stomach. Victor didn’t allow time for sightseeing and dragged her through a maze of hallways and nonsensical stairways as they descended to the seventh level of hell. They finally stopped in front of a solid, intimidating door. He opened the industrial-strength lock, light reflecting dimly off his massive key ring.
With a grotesquely out-of-place courtly gesture, he motioned her inside. Ally looked from him to the doorway. She’d rather face white-water rapids in spring than obey. An unholy glee lit his eyes and she changed her mind. On trembling legs, she crossed the threshold.
Victor followed, flicking on an overhead light.
An iron cot with a thin, uninviting mattress occupied one corner, a metal chair another. There were no windows, which made sense, since they were buried beneath the earth’s crust, well within the mantle. Buried alive. Goose bumps rose along Ally’s arms and she rubbed them, turning a slow circle.
Besides the one behind her, a single door led off the room.
The only escape was out the door clanging shut. The jingle of keys and the snick of the lock nullified that idea. Ally flinched but refused to turn. She couldn’t bear to watch him lock her in, especially with him on her side of the door.
Victor’s footsteps approached and she crossed her arms to hide their shaking. He swept her hair off her neck, baring her nape. The fine hairs stood on end.
“What are you doing?” The cool, controlled sound of her voice surprised her. Gratified her.
“I thou’ we could get to know one another,” Victor purred, his fetid breath washing over her skin. She ruthlessly suppressed a shudder of revulsion.
“You’re not my type.”
His hand tightened on her hair, yanking her head back so hard a vertebrae popped. She gasped.
“You’ll discover soon enough tha’ you don’ have a type. You’ll learn to enjoy every type, doll-face. And if you don’…well, your enjoymen’ don’ really matter.”
“What do you mean?”
Victor released her hair and strolled around in front of her. Ally rubbed her throbbing scalp, looked at the bed, shuddered and dropped her gaze to the concrete floor. He grabbed her chin and forced her head back up, his cold eyes drilling into her.
“It’s simple. I pu’ out the word tha’ you’re dead. In reali’y, you’ll be working for me. On your back. I’ll ge’ paid twice over.”
“Like hell.”
“Tha’s up to you. It can be hell, alright.”
Rage obliterated her common sense. “It must be annoying not to be able to pronounce words properly. How long have those T’s been dropping off your speech?”
One minute she was standing, the next he had her on the floor, sitting on her belly, hitting her. One cheek, then the other, cold concrete biting into her backside under the press of his we
ight.
Her ears rang and black spots swam at the edge of her vision. She’d never been hit before. She instinctively raised her hand to block the blows. He yanked her arm down hard and her shoulder popped. Ally shriveled deep inside, recognizing on a visceral level the threat Victor represented to her sanity. She retreated within herself, to a place of rain-scented pines and blossoming sun-yellow tulips.
She went numb, barely feeling the hard blows raining down on her. Eventually Victor stopped, panting, and climbed off her.
“You shouldn’ have made me lose my temper.” Genuine regret colored his voice. “It’ll take you days to heal. I can’ presen’ you to clients looking like this.”
Well, that explained the regret. She was cutting into his profit margin. A bottom-line kind of guy. The urge to laugh rose and nearly choked her, but she clamped down hard on the rising hysteria.
“I suppose it doesn’ matter tha’ much, though. You’ll need training. Time to learn your new role and all the necessary tricks of the trade. We’ll keep you out of sigh’ in the meantime.”
Ally remained silent, ears ringing.
“Excellen’.” Satisfaction oozed from the single word. “Regretfully, we’ll have to postpone sex. I no longer find you tha’ appealing.”
His footsteps moved toward the door. Ally’s muscles loosened with relief.
“No need to worry, though. I sample all of the girls before they hi’ the floor.” He could have been talking about clothing. “There’s a bathroom off this room. I sugges’ you make use of it. You reek. Your clothes will have to be burned.”
Victor locked the door behind him when he left, an eerie silence settling in his absence. Ally rolled to her side. Sucking in a deep, painful breath, she forced herself up onto all-fours. She swayed and clenched her muscles, forcing them into obedience to gain her feet. Weaving like a drunken sailor on shore leave, she stumbled into the little bathroom and dropped to her knees beside the toilet.
She’d been wrong about the empty stomach.
Just not enough to prevent dry heaving for an eternity of agony. Finally spent, she collapsed on the cold floor and surveyed the bathroom through eyelids swollen almost closed. A pedestal sink—no mirror. A toilet. A shower stall—no curtain.
Wow. The place could be mistaken for The Ritz.
On her hands and knees, Ally crawled back into the poor excuse of a bedroom. Agony rippling through her body in waves, she hauled herself onto the disgusting mattress. She refused to contemplate the filth. Shutting her eyes, she prayed for the sweet oblivion of sleep.
Where was Greg right now? She pictured him, brought him vividly into focus in her mind’s eye. Dipping further into her imagination, she felt his hands on her, soothing, and an ache started deep inside.
She hadn’t trusted a man, really trusted him, in a very long time. If ever. Her dad had taken a back-row seat to the theater of her childhood. Never stood up for her, never interfered when her cousins picked on her, never took her side against her domineering mother. Even so, she had learned to accept him and love him before he died. She still wouldn’t have trusted him to take care of her. Something she’d need in the man she married.
Ally slammed on the brakes. No way was she looking at Greg as husband-material. Even if they had sex—a thought she couldn’t dwell on in her current situation—it would just be sex. Mutual satisfaction. Nothing more.
In some ways, Greg’s Surfer Dude persona fit him to a tee. Here today, gone tomorrow. Once something was no longer fun, he’d head for the next wave, the next best thing.
Illusions were a luxury she could no longer afford.
Shaken awake, Ally groaned. When she tried to open her eyes, only one would sort-of cooperate. Swollen and bleary, the other refused to focus on anything. She made out the hazy form of a woman bending over her.
“You wake now? Eat.”
An Oriental accent. Was she in this hell-hole voluntarily?
She drifted. The hand jostled harder. Focusing came a bit more easily this time. The woman didn’t look very old. Ally’s age and exquisitely beautiful.
“You eat.”
Right. She’d mentioned that. Ally struggled to sit up and bit back a moan of pain. She felt like she’d been run over by a car—or a train—and dragged face-first through gravel.
The woman set a tray on her lap. Ally peered at a bowl filled with a mysterious, gelatinous substance. A piece of toast shared the tray alongside a glass of milk. The toast was cold and the milk warm.
“Eat.” The woman settled on the end of her bed, obviously intending to watch and make sure she obeyed.
Ally spooned up some of the runny, lumpy stuff. The food lacked any taste. She swallowed with effort, pain creeping in and rapidly escalating as more body parts awakened.
“What’s your name?” she asked, desperate for distraction.
“Jia Li.”
“That’s pretty. What does it mean?”
“Good and beautiful. Your name?”
“Ally.”
Jia Li’s English was pretty rough. Learning another language couldn’t be easy.
“Pretty too. What it mean?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea.” As best she could manage through one eye, she studied Jia Li. Her face held the timeless beauty unique to Asian women. A shining curtain of black hair fell to her waist. Her beautiful clear-blue eyes held sorrow, pain and an acceptance of her situation that broke Ally’s heart. “How long have you been here?”
“Two year, three month, twenty day.”
Ally swallowed. A long time. All those months of pain and degradation. She clenched the edges of the tray, fighting the urge to hurl the whole thing across the room. Jia Li would probably be punished if she did.
“I have to get out of here,” she said hoarsely.
Jia Li’s eyes flooded with sadness. “You eat. Need strength.”
That didn’t sound good, but Ally knew she was right. She had to stay alert. Had Victor already collected for her “death”? Her chest hurt. Would Greg believe it?
Shoveling in mouthfuls of slop, she thought about her family. Her mother had wanted grandbabies. Her dad too. Despite their death, she’d planned on making their dreams come true.
She had to get out of there.
Ally pushed the empty tray away and Jia Li nodded.
“Good. Feel better now.”
The other woman lifted a small bag onto her lap from the floor and tentatively scooted closer. Ally squinted as Jia Li unzipped some sort of first-aid kit.
Jia Li opened a container of ointment and faced her. “I help. This make it better.”
She dipped a slender finger into the jar and dabbed the cream on Ally’s face. The cold stuff stung, but Ally bit her lip and endured. She wasn’t vain, but neither did she want to carry physical memories of this place for the rest of her life.
Ally swallowed thickly and stared at Jia Li. “Your eyes are such a beautiful blue.”
Pink darkened Jia Li’s high cheekbones and her lips tightened, but her chin rose. “My father was an American.” She met her gaze. “Because of him, I am a very valuable whore.”
She flinched and closed her good eye against the pain in Jia Li’s expression. Damn her big mouth. Jia Li finished applying the sticky substance and capped the jar.
“You be good,” she said.
It took her a minute to realize she was being given advice. Ally shook her head and winced. “I have to get out of here, Jia Li.”
“You be good.” Jia Li’s gaze drifted around the room before focusing on Ally again. Was she trying to tell her something? Her eyes flicked to the empty wall again.
Was there a hidden camera in the room? Someone watching her?
Jia Li placed the bag on the empty tray. As she grasped the edges of the tray, she pushed something into Ally’s hand. Ally flinched and met Jia Li’s steady gaze. She dipped her chin a fraction in a subtle nod. Ally curled her fingers around the cool, metal object and tucked her hand out of sight against
the side of her leg.
A mixture of hope and fear filled Jia Li’s eyes as she stood. Ally understood. If she escaped, Jia Li had hope. On the flip side, Victor might figure out where it had come from. Whatever it was.
Jia Li locked the door behind her. Ally relaxed her hand, stretched painfully, and glanced down. A little pair of surgical scissors rested in her hand. They seemed so small and useless, but they were better than nothing.
Shifting, she shoved the scissors into a tear in the mattress she’d discovered last night. She had ignored Victor’s instructions to shower. Her muddy clothes were dried to crispy stiffness. Her skin itched and she smelled.
There was nothing for it but to shower. If there was a camera in the bedroom, odds were there was one in the bathroom. She shivered in revulsion.
Slowly, Ally climbed to her feet and stretched. Her face hurt. The lack of a mirror was probably a good thing.
Turning the water all the way to hot, she stripped as unceremoniously as possible. No need to give anyone a show. She stepped under the water and sighed over the simple pleasure. Tiny bottles of shampoo and conditioner occupied a ledge in the shower, along with a small square of soap.
The entire container of shampoo went into her hair. She rubbed the conditioner in and soaped her body. Her belly tightened. She glanced around the small, steam-filled bathroom and rushed through rinsing off, careful to keep her face out of the water. The water stung her abused skin.
Shutting off the shower, Ally snatched a miniscule, threadbare towel off the sink. She didn’t remember any towels from last night. Maybe Jia Li had brought one with her. The thing was so small, she might as well have been drying off with a washcloth.
As best she could, she wrung her hair out before using the cloth. Dropping the sopping towel on the floor, she reached for her filthy clothes, only to come up empty. Disbelieving, she stared. Dried mud scattered the floor where they’d been. No clothes.
Keeping her body inside the bathroom, she peeked out the door. Not a stitch of clothing anywhere. Crap. She’d known taking a shower was a mistake.
Sweet Deception Page 13
