Darkest Night

by Megan Erickson

  She’d left her hair down, and the weight of her thick hair was heavy, but it was also her most recognizable feature. She couldn’t believe that these men wanted them back. Over the intervening years some of the women had probably married, had children, and wouldn’t have twenty-year-old bodies anymore. Which made her think…maybe this was it. Maybe they weren’t getting out of it this time. One last hurrah and then they’d silence all of them. A baker’s dozen of women removed for no other reason than that rich men had wanted to play with toys and then got bored.

  She really hoped she got a chance to kick Henry Chamberlain in the balls. Hard. Maybe gouge out his eyes.

  The plan was for her to leave Trikes on foot and walk a few blocks outside of the neighborhood, where she expected they’d take the opportunity to nab her. Screams there would draw no Good Samaritans. Even now as she walked out of Columbia Heights, she heard about five arguments coming from apartments all around her.

  When they came, she would have to put up a good fight. They’d already expressed surprise that the Lion had returned directly to the pride. That she was in DC.

  Car tires screeched and she whirled around, but it was only an old Cadillac taking a sharp turn, music blaring from its open windows. The driver catcalled her and she ignored him.

  She turned on her heel, took one step, and crashed into a large body. “Oh, sor—” Strong hands gripped her biceps to the point of pain, and she looked up into the eyes of Harvey, the enforcer. Just like that, she was twenty-one again. She didn’t have to act, not one single bit. She screamed, right in his face, because terror was crawling up her throat. Yes, she’d agreed to this, but it still didn’t change the fact that she was scared shitless.

  He clapped a dirty hand over her mouth and dragged her into the alcove of a boarded-up shop. “Shut up,” he growled into her ear, and even his acidic breath was familiar—like he had persistent heartburn. She flailed, her instinct to get away from him, run, flee this man who only meant bad things for her.

  “Knew we’d find you. White is going to be so fucking happy. Party couldn’t start until everyone arrived, and I guess you’re just fashionably late.” He squeezed her breast and she had to bite her tongue so she didn’t elbow his gut. This mission required her to be taken by him, which went against her fight instinct.

  A car careened to a halt in front of them, an all-black sedan with darkened windows. He pushed her forward, her small stature no match for his considerable bulk. She struggled as the door opened, as he shoved her inside. She rounded on him but he was already in the car, shutting the door behind him. “Fuck you!” she spat. “Let me go!”

  “Not a chance.” He held up a small needle and the sight of it nearly gave her a heart attack. “Welcome to the party.” He stuck the needle into her neck and she fought to stay awake, to keep her eyes open, to fucking focus, but in less than a minute the world receded and everything went black.

  * * *

  When Fiona came to, her skull was being hammered and her stomach flipped and flopped like she’d had too much alcohol. She groaned and rolled over, expecting the feel of her soft sheets and the warm body of Jock. She was in a bed all right, but it wasn’t hers, and Jock’s arms weren’t surrounding her. She opened her eyes, blinking blearily. It took a moment for her vision to clear. She was alone in a bedroom—and it was nearly empty. The only furniture was the bed she lay on. One overhead light cast the room in a yellow glow, and there were no windows.

  She tried to sit up, but she couldn’t gather her hands under her. Her wrists had been bound together, and a rope tied them to the headboard without much give. She finally managed to bring herself to a sitting position but it was awkward with so little slack in the rope.

  She still wore her clothes, which was great, but she wasn’t naive enough to think she was getting out of here unscathed. She had no idea where she was or how long she’d been out. All she knew was that she still felt the itch of the tracker. She didn’t dare touch her hair, worried there might be a hidden camera somewhere in the room. She couldn’t see one, but she wasn’t able to adequately study the light fixture above her.

  She could hear crying, the sound faint. She knew she wasn’t the only one here, and that it must be coming from another bedroom. Another girl. She closed her eyes and wished she could call out to the girl, tell her it would be okay, but Fiona needed to not draw attention to herself.

  So she sat, and she thought about Jock. About the moments he’d let the ice wall over his eyes and heart melt so she could see what was underneath. He was wrong. So wrong. She’d dug and dug, and she’d found his hot core. It was warped and red and damaged, but it was there, and even if they couldn’t find a future together, she took comfort that he wasn’t dead inside like he tried to make everyone believe.

  When she’d agreed to this, she’d been prepared to do whatever it took. She didn’t have family. Jock would take care of Sundance. But now…she wasn’t so sure. Not with Jock’s words ringing in her ear. How would he take it if something happened to her? He had enough anger pulsing through him, and if the woman he loved was hurt…She bit down on the inside of her cheek as the backs of her eyes began to burn.

  Then she thought, fuck it. She could cry. She should cry. It was believable that she’d burst into tears. So she did, thoughts of Jock causing the tears. Life was so fucking unfair. They knew where she was by now; the tracker would be working, but they didn’t want to nab the men just on kidnapping charges. They wanted them for everything, and that meant Fiona had to hold out a bit longer.

  The door opened, and she hastily wiped her eyes as Harvey entered the room. He stood at the foot of the bed staring at her. She curled her legs under her, instinctively squeezing her thighs together.

  He snorted. “Not here to fuck you. You think White would let me get first dibs at his prized pussy?” He shook his head. “Maybe when he’s done, though. No shame in sloppy seconds, and I never got some when we first had you.”

  She shivered, the fear pounding into her skull, and she bit down harder on her cheek until she tasted blood. He held a pill in one hand, and a scrap of black fabric in the other. “Take this,” he said, holding up the pill, “so I can untie you, and you can put on this.” He tossed the piece of fabric by her side. It was a tiny negligee, and she wanted to throw up just thinking of putting it on.

  She tried to look as beaten down as possible. “You can untie me, and I won’t struggle. Promise. Just please don’t make me take the pill. I’ll do…whatever. Quietly.”

  Maybe that had been a mistake because his brows dipped a minute. “Ten years ago, you didn’t do a single thing without kicking and screaming. Now you’re sedate and agreeable?”

  “I’ve changed in ten years, and I’m just trying to get this over with and get out alive.”

  Something else flashed in his eyes, something violent, and it seized her heart. “Whatever. I’ll untie you, but swear to God, you fuck with me and I’ll fuck you up.”

  She didn’t doubt it. “I promise.”

  He cut the ropes holding her hands and then stepped back, eyeing her. He jerked his head to the clothing. “I’m locking the door, so don’t try any shit. Get dressed, then wait for me.” A slick grin crossed his face. “Party starts soon.”

  He left, and Fiona had her pants down to her ankles when she heard a scream somewhere outside of her room. Screaming, crying, and then a smack. Then silence. She squeezed her eyes shut, vowing to also rip off Harvey’s balls.

  There was no mirror—smart choice as she would have broken that sucker and gripped a shard from it—but she could see the negligee fit her well. It was a baby doll style—black thong panties and a bra with sheer fabric draping down over her stomach. It wasn’t cheap. She could tell by the feel of the fabric and the crystals lining the bra. This wasn’t like before. She knew that back then she’d been moved to several locations during the two weeks she was with them, and they’d never cared to put her in anything like this. They’d kept her naked. She still didn’
t love walking around her house alone naked.

  Her nerves were on edge, anxiety spiking. When she undressed, she’d let her fingers brush over the tracker. It was still there, a hard little bump under her hair. That was her tie to Jock, to the crew, and the way she was going to save these girls. And herself, she guessed.

  Five minutes later the door re-opened and Harvey entered again. He took one look at her and adjusted himself. She felt her vagina dry up like the goddamn desert. He gripped her biceps—way harder than he had to because she was walking willingly—and dragged her out of the room.

  She went on full alert. She didn’t want to glance around too much to be obvious, but she took stock of everything. The hallway was long, with heavy wooden doors on each side, and the walls were covered with dark wallpaper in a swirling maroon and gold pattern that she imagined some rich person thought looked expensive. The carpet runner beneath her feet was plush, laid down over dark hardwood. Dark, dark, dark. When she got out, she was painting everything she owned goddamn white.

  He tied her hands together again at the end of the hallway, and she suffered through it. Then he tugged on the rope as if she was a dog and led her into another large, high-ceilinged room. She was starting to think she was in some sort of old mansion. This room looked like an old ballroom.

  And in this room were a dozen women.

  Tall, short, curvy, skinny, all skin-tones, all hair colors. Fiona gazed around the room, her heart breaking at the utter devastation she saw on the faces of these women. They were broken. They’d been here before, and they were here again, and the fight was gone. Despair welled up in Fiona, nearly fucking choking her. She hoped her rescuers came soon.

  Harvey shoved her inside and growled. “Don’t get comfortable.”

  “What?” she asked. “How long will we be here?”

  “They”—he gestured to the women—“are staying. You”—he smirked—“White has special plans for.”

  And then he walked out. The door shutting behind him and the lock sliding into place sent a bolt of fear down her spine.

  She spun around, taking in the girls, the windowless room. There was nothing in this room to use as defense. All their hands were tied and they were barefoot, wearing practically nothing.

  If Harvey’d made a point to say they were leaving then that meant…she was leaving. She was leaving with her tracker and all these women would be left here, helpless. Fuck.

  One redhead was sobbing, her whole body shaking. “H-H-Harvey told me I wouldn’t see my kid again. What did he mean by that? Are they hurting our families?”

  Dread slithered down Fiona’s spine. No, she didn’t think that. She thought it meant they weren’t getting out of here. Shit. She didn’t say that, though; she didn’t have to. Because a black woman with long braids said in a tone that was both firm and kind, “Honey, I think it means we’re not meant to go home.”

  The redhead sobbed harder. Fiona met the deep brown eyes of the woman who’d spoken. She stared back at Fiona—the expression of a woman who knew what was coming but hadn’t let it break her. Not yet. There were a couple of women around her, others who still had clear eyes, who hadn’t yet given up hope.

  Fiona glanced around the room and saw another young woman crying. “I’m supposed to get married in six months,” she whispered. Yet another said, “I spent thousands in therapy to be able to sleep at night by myself, and now I have to deal with this again?”

  Fiona made a decision. A decision she’d known she might have to make, but one she’d hoped to avoid. She hoped Jock understood, she hoped he’d find a way to forgive her.

  Mindful of possible microphones and cameras in the room, she stepped toward the black woman with braids. “Hi, I’m Fiona.”

  The woman stared back at her before her face softened a bit. Fiona couldn’t tell her age—she had beautiful high cheekbones and full lips with a bit of red lipstick left over from whatever life she’d been living before she was taken. Again. She also had long black nails filed to points.

  “I’m Tianna,” she said.

  Fiona stepped even closer, right up in Tianna’s space. The woman frowned slightly and tried to step back, but Fiona locked eyes with her and got right up in her space again. “I need a favor,” she said.

  Tianna blinked at her. “I’m thinking now is a time when I’m not able to grant many favors.”

  “I just…” Fiona screwed up her face, wishing she was a better actress, but she had no other alternative. She crashed her body into Tianna’s, sobbing on the woman’s shoulder.

  Tianna was stiff for a few seconds before trying her best with her bound hands to calm Fiona. “Honey, it’s…I know. I know this sucks.”

  Fiona pressed closer and continued to let her shoulders shake as she shoved her face into Tianna’s neck and angled her mouth toward Tianna’s ear. She whispered, “I have a tracker in the back of my neck, past my hairline. I need you to dig your nails in and get it out.”

  Tianna didn’t react, didn’t do a thing but continue stroking Fiona with her bound hands.

  Then she slid down the wall until her butt hit the floor, and she spread her legs, patting the space between them. “Here, baby. Lay down on my lap. You like your hair played with?”

  Fiona nodded vigorously, nearly weeping for real with relief. If that tracker came out, she could leave it there. The crew would find the women. They’d be saved. How was Fiona’s life more precious than the lives of twelve other women? It wasn’t, and after a lifetime of wondering what the fuck her purpose was, she felt like she’d found it.

  She settled herself between Tianna’s long legs and rested her head on her thigh, facing out into the room so the back of her head was accessible to Tianna’s hands. Thank God for Fiona having a shit-ton of hair, because it hid Tianna’s nails moving over her scalp. She called to some of the other women. “Come on, let’s all huddle. Kinda cold in here anyway. Could have given us a blanket or turned the fucking heat on. Assholes.”

  Women surrounded them at once, all of them seeking some sort of heat, some sort of comfort. Fiona met the gaze of a pretty Southeast Asian woman, who smiled at her. Fiona reached out her hand and gripped the woman’s fingers and grinned back. The woman squeezed her hands.

  They were a shopping list. It was easy to see now. All body types and all ethnicities. Whatever the men ordered, these women were meant to provide. Fiona saw women with stretch marks from their bellies being full of babies, women with wedding rings, women with laugh lines and tattoos. With fucking lives.

  Tianna was talking to the woman next to her, and Fiona closed her eyes as a fingernail raked over the lump of the tracker. Tianna didn’t flinch or make any other sign that she noticed, but she did, because immediately a nail flicked over a tiny stitch. Damn, Fiona had chosen right.

  It hurt. The more Tianna dug at the tracker, the more Fiona had to close her eyes and grit her teeth against the pain, but the woman didn’t let up. Fiona squeezed the woman’s hand she held—her name was Gita, she learned—and tried not to whimper. Tianna brushed the side of Fiona’s head and said a soft “I’m sorry” as Fiona felt a trickle of blood leak out of her hairline. It was quickly wiped away.

  Tianna was talking about her boyfriend, a retired NFL player who was probably worried sick about her. “He’s probably losing his mind and stomping around yelling, aggravating his ACL tear from ’06. The year before was when he won the Super Bowl.”

  Tianna was fucking gorgeous, and her diamond earrings were massive. Fiona was not surprised she had a rich sports-playing boyfriend. Then Tianna started talking about her job—she had her own clothing boutique in Atlanta. From the sound of it, Tianna had plenty of her own money. Fiona comforted herself that Tianna would get back to her store and her customers and her famous boyfriend.

  Other girls were talking about their men, and a few talked about their women. She wanted to be fucking normal, not the freak who couldn’t bear to be around anyone for ten years.

  Tianna’s hair stroked h
er face. “You got someone, honey?”

  “Yeah,” Fiona said on a whisper. “J. He just told me he loved me, too.”

  Several awwws followed her words, and Tianna’s soft voice came after that. “I’m sorry, baby.”

  “Me too,” Fiona said.

  Finally, the digging stopped, and Fiona’s gut unclenched. Tianna patted her shoulder, and Fiona lifted herself to a sitting position. She was a little lightheaded, but when she looked down, Tianna had her fist tightly closed, a bit of Fiona’s blood on the tips of her fingernails.

  “Thanks,” Fiona said. “I feel much better.” She hugged Tianna and whispered in her ear. “Don’t let that tracker leave this house. Rescue is on its way, okay?”

  “What about you?” Tianna whispered back.

  “Don’t worry about me.”

  When Fiona pulled away Tianna didn’t look happy with that answer, but she raised her hand and fiddled with one of the braids in her hair. She was tucking the tracker into them.

  Just then the door opened and Harvey stomped inside. Fiona rose, lightheaded from the pain in her scalp, to see White standing behind Harvey. The sight of his face pulled her back ten years, and her knees nearly buckled. Then his mouth stretched into a grin. “Show time, my little lion.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Erick shook his leg nervously, Roarke muttered to himself, and Wren chewed a nail. Marisol ate five candy bars. Jock…well, Jock sat immobile. His whole body was ice. Was his blood flowing? He didn’t know. He’d checked his pulse to make sure, and it was there, steady and strong. His heart was beating, but he couldn’t figure out how he was alive with ice in his veins.

  He had a reputation for being ice cold but that had never been it. He’d been…nothing. Not warm, not cold, just nothing, because he was unemotional and calculating in his jobs.