A quick survey of the room tells me that my suspicions were correct — the apartment is empty. Americans are notorious for finding European living quarters cramped, the walls thin, and someone inside would have been stirred by my knocking and entry.
But it strikes me how little the apartment looks lived in. The place is virtually spotless, something I never would have expected from the equivalent of college freshmen in their first time away from home. The only sign I see of someone having moved in at all is a Kindle plugged into a charger by the wall outlet, a little current converter awkwardly bulging from the end. By now, I’d expect to see clothes strewn about haphazardly, boxes of leftovers about the tables, and maybe a few wine bottles in the garbage, but the place looks impeccably tidy.
I take a few more strides around the room, inspecting the place for any signs of what might have happened. It’s clear that they’ve at least entered the apartment, but for such tidy people to have abandoned the first day of class makes me even more suspicious as to what might have happened. With no further hesitation, I take a few steps into the girls’ shared room.
Here, it’s almost as bare as the living room, but there are more signs of life. The beds are newly made, and the suitcases are hardly unpacked. I glance between the two beds and raise an eyebrow with a soft smile. One of the beds surrounded with suitcases, each one laden with clothes to the point of bursting, and I can spot designer outfits in the open suitcase, along with a number of other personal affects that betray wealth. The other bed bears a lone suitcase with a few store-brand outfits stuffed neatly inside. Having recruited the girls personally, it’s plain as day as to which belonged to whom.
I can’t help but feel a little sympathy for Liv. Her frugal belongings remind me of my own upbringing back in Russia. It was harsh, harsher than anything I’d ever wish on the likes of any of the girls here, and far more frugal. I was never given the kind of opportunity I’m able to give the girls now. But for people like Liv, I can only imagine how overwhelming and inspiring this kind of chance must be. I almost chuckle to think back on the harsh winters of my homeland, my one good friend and I getting an offer to be whisked away from the frigid and desolate Siberian tundras to the city of lights and magic that is Paris — to get a university education, of all things. We probably would have turned it down, knowing us. We were too concerned with scrounging for food and not freezing to death each week to bother thinking about the kinds of luxuries France enjoys.
I can’t help but see something of myself in Liv. Her little American hometown with probably fewer citizens than this university has gymnastics students didn’t know wealth of any sort. It might not have been the crushing poverty I knew, but it was not a life of ease by any measure. I want to see her succeed. And I know talent when I see it.
And that makes me all the more sure something is amiss here.
I spot a laptop open on Liv’s bed, and I turn it towards me, brushing my fingers over the touchpad to wake it up. The screen lights up, and I narrow my eyes to look at the email notification in the corner, pulling up the newest one that’s already been read.
It takes me a moment to realize what I’m looking at, but realization dawns shortly, and my eyes widen.
“A party,” I mutter out loud, my brow furrowing. The email I read doesn’t sit well with me in the least. So the girls did indeed go out for a night on the town last night. Ordinarily, that would simply mean that they might be sleeping off a hangover this morning, and that they’d stumble into the gym later on, but as I straighten up and look around the apartment once more, the events piece together.
The girls get to the apartment, they set their things down, start to unpack, and then this email comes in around the time they’d be getting settled. A couple of young foreigners might be easily enticed by the idea of a party with some Parisians...but who’s this inviting her? What kind of man digs up a young woman’s email address from a roster like that?
Then again, I think to myself, what kind of man breaks into his students’ apartment on a hunch? But my motives have some purpose behind them. She doesn’t seem to know the sender of the email well, though.
I start to run a hand through my hair, thinking twice about my actions. Perhaps I truly am overreacting. It’s perfectly natural and fairly frequent for young people, particularly these college types, to flirt and hook up with one another right off the plane, as it were. Liv probably met this man and decided to really start enjoying herself for her first night in Paris. Can I really blame her for that?
Of course not, but some things simply don’t fit here. Suppose Liv really is waking up beside her new French lover in his cramped apartment — why is her roommate not around either? They must have been watching each other, so why would they have not helped each other home? And the email I see before me suggests that Will was the one making the advances when they met, and he was apologizing. He stepped over the boundaries and Olivia seemed to have rejected his advances. So unless something changed at the bar, what are the odds that she’d have gone home with him after turning down his kiss?
But all I have to go by is this email address and the name of the bar, I realize as I curse under my breath. There’s nothing definitive here. But the evidence is deeply concerning: however I rationalize it, two young American girls went to a party their first night in Paris and did not come back home. I think back to my past, to everything I saw back in Russia. Even what I saw when I headed west. I grimace. Even in the best cases, that doesn’t look good.
Then my heart sinks. I feel a burning drive to dig deeper into this matter, but as I glance back at the little email address on Liv’s computer, I realize that I don’t have the expertise to follow the rabbit hole further. On my own, the trail stops here, my lack of technical know-how finally catching up to me.
Anger swells within me. Two young women go missing, and what can I do? Sit in their apartment and strut around furiously while the trail gets colder because I don’t know how to maneuver the backdoors of internet and computer systems. I’ve never taken kindly to my rustic background holding me back, an icy chain digging into my flesh no matter how hard I fight against it.
Perhaps that’s overly dramatic; in truth, I really don’t want to reach out to the one man who I know could open those encrypted doors for me.
I pull out my phone as I walk back into the living room, grimacing at the screen as I flick through my contacts to the name I have on my mind. A few times, I think again, putting the phone away and going back to the laptop myself, trying to trace it through a few simple searches and going through the university’s database. Nothing.
A low groan escapes me, and I want to punch a wall as I draw the phone out yet again, staring at the contact on the screen before taking a deep breath.
One push of a button later, I put the phone to my ear and listen to it ring.
9
Liv
We cling together in the darkness, barely daring to breathe. I can feel Maggie’s fingernails digging into my arms, her thin body trembling with fear. A lump forms in my throat but I can’t bear to even swallow, I feel so frozen with terror. A beam of sickly light floods through the open doorway, blocked in part by the hulking mass of a man. He looks like a shadow creature, some kind of monstrous Minotaur come to feast on us, the unwilling sacrifices. My mind runs wild with horrifying scenarios of what he might do to us.
He’s too big and bulky to be Will, and I don’t remember anyone from the party at the bar looking like this guy. In fact, once he takes a few steps closer and turns his face slightly to one side, I have to stifle a gasp of horror.
His face is deformed, or perhaps just badly scarred. He looks like he might be a burn victim — and a bad one at that. Maggie whimpers, shaking in my arms. The man turns back to face us, and even in the darkness I can feel his eyes boring into me. I tighten my hold on Maggie, pulling her closer, as the scarred man begins his slow walk toward us in the dark. His footsteps are heavy and lumbering, slightly uneven as to indicate a limp.
I wonder what could have happened to him to make him look this way. Who hurt him?
And is he going to hurt us?
I almost wish he would say something, anything at all, to break the cold silence over the room. In the faint light trickling in from the doorway, I can finally make out where we are, to some extent. Through the open door I can see a set of steep, moldy-looking stairs leading up, hinting that we are underground here, as I suspected. The room we’re in is fairly large, but it’s partitioned off into several sections with floor-to-ceiling chain link fencing. The floor is made of filthy concrete, and my stomach churns at the sight of more than a few large stains that look like they might just be made of blood. What happened here? What’s going to happen to us?
The scarred man stops short in front of the fence separating our particular enclosure, his two meaty hands coming up to rattle the metal links, causing a horrible racket. Maggie yelps and begins to sob as the man’s disfigured face cracks into a wide, malicious grin. He reaches up. There’s a clicking sound as he pulls a string hanging from the ceiling and a single lightbulb illuminates the room. Maggie closes her eyes tightly and burrows into my arms.
I immediately survey the whole room, blinking in the sudden painful light. Yes, I conclude darkly, those stains across the floor are a blackish-red in hue. Definitely blood. And the man in front of us looks even more terrifying in the light, with his rippled, cracked skin, black eyes, and devilish grin. He had to have walked through fire to land a face like that. Some part of me wonders if he encountered that fire in hell.
Flameface walks along the length of the fence, shaking it violently, sometimes punching it, all the while smirking at us with his crooked, yellowed teeth. Then he stops suddenly, staring at us, standing totally still. He waits a long moment, and then reels back and slams his fist into the fence, making the whole enclosure shake and rattle. Maggie lets out a startled shriek and Flameface bursts into cruel laughter, cackling like a madman.
“Ooh, didn’t mean to scare you,” he growls in a heavy accent. “Ozornoy devushki! Are you ready for your nakazaniye?”
“P-please leave us alone,” I stammer, struggling to make my voice sound clear and strong in spite of my overwhelming fear. I don’t want him to see how frightened I am. I don’t want to let him win so easily. If I’m going to die here, I’m going to die with dignity.
He chuckles and tilts his head to the side. “Oh, she speaks! How are you feeling, malyutka? Did you sleep well? We gave you our best milk and honey to help you rest.”
“Please don’t hurt us,” Maggie sniffles, her voice barely audible with her face buried in my arms. Flameface clucks his tongue in mock pity.
“Hurt you? Nooo! Well, perhaps a little. But not to worry. I know how to twist and bend a little stick without breaking her for the next man. I’ll only loosen you up, make you limber. You are gymnasts, after all, no? Just think of me as your uchitel — your coach,” he sneers, shrugging as though it’s the most innocuous statement in the world. Maggie’s sobs wrack her entire body and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my own tears in check.
I refuse to let this beast of a man see me cry.
“What do you want from us?” I ask, holding my head high.
Flameface lets out a long, low hiss of pleasure at my question.
“What do you have to offer?” he propositions, leaning against the fence. He leers at me through the links, his pitch-black eyes sizing me up.
“For you, nothing,” I reply scathingly, surprised at my own bravery.
He turns quickly and grasps the fence, his thick fingers poking through the links as he gives me an angry, threatening glare. He bares his teeth like a wild animal, like a rabid dog.
“You’ve got a nasty tongue on you, malyshka,” he snarls. “But I can temper your tongue along with the rest of you. And I need no offer in place to take what I desire.”
My throat goes dry at this threat. I’ve never been in a situation like this before. I’ve never been so close to true danger. But I cannot let myself simply melt and fall to pieces like Maggie has — one of us has to stay strong. If I can only keep him distracted for as long as possible…
I’ve got to play his filthy game to stay alive.
“What would you do to tame me?” I ask, playing off his sadistic dirty talk. I feel disgusting for even engaging with him at all, but I can tell that provoking and angering him will only make him crueler toward us. If it were just me, I might try to deny him until the last possible moment, but with Maggie here I need to stay as close to his good side as I can. Even if it means resorting to flirtation with this hideous cretin.
Flameface has stopped in his tracks, reviewing me with a new, interested gaze. He’s surprised by my words, obviously, not accustomed to anyone playing along. I assume he’s used to more unwilling participants, and my upfront statement has put him off his usual game.
“Well, well, well. I did not expect such filthy talk from such a pure specimen. You dare to ask me what I would do to you? I wonder if you can even imagine,” he hisses, his hand reaching down to squeeze his crotch. I try not to grimace.
“T-tell me,” I continue. “I — I want to know.”
Flameface grins, his jagged teeth glistening in the low light. “I’m not much for pretty words, malyshka, but I will gladly show you what I have to offer.”
He steps forward and starts to fumble with the combination lock hanging on the gate. My heart races as I realize that I’ve probably only made things worse. My plan backfired. Instead of stalling his advances with talk, I’ve only stoked his filthy fire. I grab hold of Maggie and the two of us scoot backward, as far away from the fence as possible, until we’re backed against a slimy, cold wall. Flameface opens the gate and strolls into our enclosure, his brutish frame blocking the exit as he reaches into the front of his stained pants.
He walks closer to us and gestures for me to get up, but I shake my head and press myself more firmly against the back wall. Maggie cowers beside me, not even daring to look up.
“Stand up, shlyukha,” he orders, snapping his fingers.
“No,” I murmur, shaking my head vigorously and clinging to Maggie. My stomach turns in painful knots as I anticipate the blow to come.
“Ah, that’s not how it works. You see, I make the orders, and you carry them out. You don’t get to say no to me, little suka,” Flameface barks. As he comes closer I can see every ridge of his disfigured face, every shining streak of barely-healed flesh. “Now, get up!”
I stagger to my feet, standing in front of Maggie in a protective stance, my arms outstretched. Flameface gives me a quizzical glare, then a devilish look comes across his ugly features as a different idea occurs to him.
“You’re too easy, aren’t you?” he says to me, standing with his hands on his hips.
“Please, just don’t hurt my friend,” I implore. Maggie is weeping inconsolably on the floor behind me, totally dissociated from the world around her.
Flameface cackles. “You know, I’m pretty hungry. I think I’m in the mood for something a little bigger than you. Your sestra here looks to be a little taller, isn’t she?”
“No! Leave her alone!” I shout, shielding Maggie with my body as Flameface strides over to us. “Take me! Don’t touch her!”
The scarred man gives me an almost pitying look. “Don’t worry, malyshka. I’ll save plenty of room for you next. There’s enough of me to go around. Besides, I think your friend needs a little loosening up, don’t you agree?”
“No, please!” I cry out, but Flameface shoves right past me, flinging me out of the way so that I slam into the chain-link fence, hard. I slump to the concrete floor in a sickening daze, unable to get up in time to stop Flameface from yanking Maggie up by her arm. She screams in fear and hangs almost limply from his grasp, tears coursing down her splotchy cheeks.
“Da, this is what I was looking for,” Flameface croons.
Suddenly, there are footsteps approaching, not as heavy as the first set, but faste
r. A slightly shorter and much more slender frame appears in the doorway, and Will steps through into the dank room. “Drop her, Boris!” he commands.
Flameface spins around and glares at Will, then gives him a plaintive expression. “I wasn’t going to damage the merchandise, nachalnik. Just having a little fun.”
“Back off,” Will says, emphasizing each word intensely. With a sigh, Flameface lets go of Maggie’s arm and swivels around to await his next order. Maggie collapses to the floor in a sobbing heap. I want to run to Will and scratch his eyes out, pummel him until he’s black and blue, funnel my rage and betrayal into a savage attack against the evil, handsome man who trapped us here.
“Bonjour, Olivia,” Will greets me, mockingly. “Good to see you. You overslept a little, though. Looks like you’re going to miss your first lesson.”
Flameface chuckles grimly, folding his arms over his chest.
“Why are you doing this to me?” I demand, my voice catching ever so slightly. Will notices the weakness.
“Oh, what a pity. You trusted me, didn’t you? You know, I thought I’d lost you forever when you denied me that kiss. But then, lo and behold, you gave me another chance. Everybody deserves a second chance, don’t they? Even me,” he says, beaming at me.
“What did I do to you?” I ask shrilly, getting back to my feet. “Why me?”
“Well, there are a lot of reasons for that! First of all, you’re very cute. And bendy. A gymnast? My clients will love that. Deuxièmement, you were very convenient, weren’t you? Just sat down right next to me on that plane! Why, fate nearly landed you right in my lap. I couldn’t have asked for an easier catch,” he concludes with a shrug.
“What do you want with Maggie, then? Let her go. You can take me instead,” I bargain.
Hitman - the Series: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Collection (Alexis Abbott's Hitmen #0) Page 59
