by Emmy Ellis
There was a slight delay and then, “Yeah, I see you.”
A man’s voice. Heavily accented. Columbian?
“Good.” Jan nodded and took a sip of his drink.
“You have the girl?”
“Yeah, sure thing, Boss.” Jan spun the screen my way.
The image of a man, dark-skinned, sleek black hair seemingly pulled back into a ponytail, and with a moustache and goatee beard, stared at me. His mouth was way too wide for his face, his lips thick.
“That is not the girl.” He frowned.
“No, this is better, Boss. This is Rupert Montague-Fostrop’s daughter.”
There was a pause. “You found her?” He nodded and raised his eyebrows. “Good.”
“I found them.” I folded my arms and tipped my chin.
“Ah, I see.” His mouth twitched, almost as though he was amused by my response.
That annoyed the hell of me, and heat rose over my chest and up my throat despite the chill.
“Where is my father?” I asked. “Let me see him.”
“Sweet little señorita, I am in charge, not you. In case you haven’t noticed, you are our prisoner.”
“And whose prisoner am I? I think I deserve to know that.”
He inclined his head, giving the impression of a man of fairness, yet I knew damn well he was no such thing. “I am Fabian Emmanual, and it is a pleasure to meet you.”
“I can’t say the same about you. There’s a million other places I’d rather be than in this shit-hole.”
Rick walked up behind me and smoothed his hand over my hair.
“Get off,” I said, shifting rapidly forward. “Pervert.”
Fabian chuckled. “I apologise for my uncouth staff. That is what happens when I recruit from London.”
“Yes, well,” I said. “The sooner I’m on my way, the better. What do you want with me?”
“Nothing, actually.” He shrugged.
I was silent.
“It’s what I want from your father that’s important.” He turned from me and gestured to something at his left. “Get Montague-Fostrop on the other line for me.”
Oh God. Father? Now?
I blinked rapidly. A gush of emotions tumbled through me. It had been so long since I’d seen him. Months. And now…like this?
Fabian held another screen up, and my father’s image filled it.
“Claudine?” Father leant forward. “What…?” He was clearly confused.
“Ah, good to see you.” Fabian twisted the iPad he was holding.
We were in an odd three-way FaceTime conversation.
Jan nodded to Rick as though giving him a signal to do something.
The cool point of a gun was prodded against my temple. I knew it was a gun, I could see it on the small image of myself at the bottom of the screen.
A revolting metallic taste filled my mouth, and my heart rate trebled.
They won’t kill me.
They won’t kill me.
I said that over and over as Fabian and my father spoke, their words sounding fuzzy, as though said underwater.
“So you see.” Fabian’s voice pierced my mantra. “You really have no choice but to deliver the goods.”
I was going to be sick.
My father’s image appeared before me again. His eyes widened, and his mouth slackened. “Claudine. No…fuck. I swear, if you hurt her, I’ll…”
“What?” Fabian grinned. “Shoot me up with those guns of yours?”
“I’ll…”
I held back a sob. A tear trickled down my cheek, leaving a wet track.
The fire crackled. Jan stared at me and held the tablet a few feet away. Rick’s revolting smell surrounded me.
All I could think of was the bullet primed and aimed at my brain.
But rather me than Guilia.
“What you’re going to do,” Fabian said calmly, “is deliver the goods to me as we originally planned.”
“The original deal didn’t include landmines,” my father said, “or an army manned by child soldiers.”
“What concern is it of yours who holds the weapons you sell?”
Rick jabbed the gun harder against my head.
My neck jarred.
My father grimaced as he stared intently at me.
“Or,” Fabian went on, “what the original deal was. I’ve changed my mind, end of story. Business is an evolving game, is it not?”
“The guns, not the mines,” my father said. “I won’t sell you mines that will kill innocents.”
I wanted to shake him. Why the hell wasn’t he just giving Fabian what he wanted?
“I want the mines,” Fabian said. “Don’t I, Rick?”
“Yeah,” Rick said. Without taking the pressure from the point of the gun from my temple, he ran his other hand over my cheek. He slipped it down the column of my throat, to the buttons on my coat. Slowly, he undid it, exposing my jumper.
I trembled. His nearness was revolting.
“You have a beautiful daughter,” Rick said to my father, the image of his face not quite on the screen. “Very sexy.”
“Get the hell off her,” my father growled.
“Daddy,” I said, the word scratching my throat. “Please.”
“You gonna watch?” Rick asked my father. “As I fuck her?”
Father shivered. “Carry on like that and…”
Rick laughed. “What do you think, Boss? You want me to make her scream?”
“No!” my father shouted. “No, I’ll do whatever you want. Don’t touch my daughter.”
“Very wise,” Fabian said. “Rick, leave the señorita alone while we work out the details of our deal. But keep her there. If Rupert forgets to cooperate, you might get your fun after all.”
He leant forward and winked at me, then the screen went blank, leaving me alone with my two captors and my father’s horrified face filling my mind’s eye.
Rick didn’t move his hand.
“Get off.” I wanted to push and shove but didn’t dare to. One flick of his finger, and it would be all over for me.
“Nah, I like touching you. Wanna play, too, Jan?”
“You have at it,” Jan said, setting down the tablet. He poured another drink then sat by the fire. “I’ll watch.”
“You wanna watch me fuck her?”
“You’re sick, both of you.” I squirmed. “This isn’t the deal; you have to leave me alone. My father agreed to do what Fabian wanted.”
“Yeah, well. No one will have to know.” Rick took the gun from my head, but, quick as a flash, circled his hand around my neck. “Except us. You’ll have the memories for the rest of your life.”
I heaved, my throat contracting against his hand, but there was nothing in my stomach. Adrenaline spurted into my system, and I reached for his wrist and tugged.
He dropped his head to speak into my ear, his stubbled chin scratching my face. “Yeah, that’s it, fight me, baby. That yanks my chain. Fight me till you pass out. I love that.”
A shadow.
A glimmer of something.
At the window behind Jan.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I looked into Rick’s eyes to keep his focus on me. I didn’t want him distracted, turning, able to see that shadow. A shadow I prayed was Sutton’s, but really, so long as it was anyone who could help me, it didn’t matter who it belonged to. I’d take the cabin’s cleaning lady if one existed.
Rick tightened his grip on my neck. The ends of his fingers bit deep, nails probably leaving crescents. The span of flesh between his thumb and pointer finger was tight over my throat. My ears buzzed, and I went light-headed for a second, blinking to give me something else to cling to other than me fainting.
“I could snap this, you know that?” he said. “Squeeze just a little bit more and you’d be well and truly fucked.”
I sat still, refusing to fight him like I suspected he wanted. If he got off on a woman battling for her life, he’d be more likely to rape me quicker.
Remaining inert would mean he’d have to bait me into squirming and showing my repulsion. That would take up some more time—and time was what I needed. Whoever was outside had hopefully seen through the window. What person in their right mind, if they saw two thugs, one with their hand around a woman’s neck, would walk away?
“Rick, just get on with doing her, will you? I’m getting bored waiting,” Jan said.
Shit. Conflicting emotions went through me. Should I try to fight and escape into the forest? Or should I keep going in this vein and pray that the shadow would set me free? What if Jan got so bored he went to the window, spotted someone outside, then ran off to investigate? What if he killed whoever was out there?
It had better be you coming to save me, Sutton, or so help me God…
Rick turned back to look at Jan over his shoulder.
I moaned, and Rick snapped his head round to stare at me again.
“Oh, so you like this sort of thing, do you?” he asked me.
I wheezed in a breath that was nothing more than ribbons of air.
Jan came over to stand beside Rick.
I swallowed as best I could, bile rising.
Rick flared his nostrils. “Ah. I can smell the desire on her, can you?”
That wasn’t desire he could smell, it was outright fear.
“Yeah. She wants us all right. Who wouldn’t?” Jan said.
A frisson of loathing skittered through my body. Goosebumps sprang up, as did the hairs on my arms, the back of my neck, and the sides of my face. Everything in me prickled with apprehension.
“She’s shaking,” Jan said, trembling even more himself. “Shaking with wanting us, you reckon?”
“Yeah.” Rick took his hand from my throat.
The relief was instant. I calmly breathed, even though my lungs burned, my heart beating way too fast, and my throat was swelling.
Rick fumbled with his zip, yanking it down to expose his black boxer shorts.
It’ll be okay. Keep them distracted.
“Take off your coat,” Rick demanded.
I did so, slowly and deliberately. The chill of the cabin seeped through my jumper with icy, cruel fingers that poked and jabbed at my flesh.
“Get your jumper off.” Rick rubbed his crotch.
I obeyed once again. If I thought of it as a game, one that would be ending soon, I could manage the fear. I dropped my jumper to the floor
Take one second at a time.
Rick turned to grin at Jan. “I don’t want to kill this one, after all. I’m going to keep her for myself. You don’t get many up-for-it women like this to the dozen.”
“Boss won’t like it,” Jan panted out.
His rancid breath reached me, skating over my face. I shuddered again.
“I don’t care. He doesn’t have to know she’s not dead once he tells me to off her.”
What was Sutton doing? Had he even arrived? Had the shadow been a figment of my imagination?
Not for the first time, I thought of his abilities as a spy, his lack of common sense, and the way he handled things. My life was at stake here—which was fine if it meant my daughter was safe, but what if they went after Guilia next?
“Say you’ll let me go…after this,” I said loudly, for want of something diverting to say. “And I won’t fight, I promise.”
“Not fucking likely,” Rick said. “And we might like—”
A loud clatter barged rudely but so delightfully into his sentence, followed by the distinct sound of something smacking into a wall. Jan whipped his head in the direction of the front door, reaching behind himself for his gun. Rick spun to stare at the doorway, eyes wide, mouth gaping open.
I turned. Sutton stood in the doorway, a blackened figure against the blinding white of the snow behind him. He held a gun in each hand, one pointing at Jan, the other at Rick. He fired one, and Jan went down, staggering in reverse until he hit the wall. A large petal and a scattering of smaller red blossoms seeped through his top, and he slid down to sit haphazardly, his cheek leaning on his shoulder, eyes opening and closing in slow motion, legs sticking straight out in front of him.
Another shot had my attention on Rick, who twisted to face me then careened forwards, arms outstretched. I lifted my hands, planting them on his chest to stop him from falling on me. Hot blood warmed my palm, and I wanted nothing but to be away from him, to clean my hand and get the hell out of the cabin. Instead, I shoved—hard—and he flew backwards. Sutton was there then, landing a roundhouse kick to Rick’s chest that sent the man sprawling. Rick was down on his back inside a second, arms and legs akimbo, one foot twitching spasmodically. He shook his head as though surprised to find himself where he was, then lurched to his feet.
I leapt from the chair and lunged at him, intent on clawing his face so he couldn’t see where he was going. Sutton got to him first, though, and with another savage kick to Rick’s groin, Sutton aimed to fire. Rick shouted something intelligible then sank to his knees, raising one hand while cupping his balls with the other.
“Don’t,” Rick said. “If you kill me, the boss will come after you.” His eyes watered, and mucous dribbled from his nose.
“He might have a gun.” My voice was strained. I grabbed my jumper and coat then backed away from the pair of them, my intention to leave the cabin and run as fast as I could, returning to the school so I could make sure Guilia was safe.
“I don’t give a shit about your boss,” Sutton said.
How ridiculous that the sound of his voice froze me where I stood. I leant against the doorjamb, my desire to run suddenly gone, leaving me struggling to draw air into my lungs. I sank onto the ladder-back chair beside the door and quickly put on my jumper and coat.
Sutton planted the sole of his boot on Rick’s face and pushed. Rick fell onto his side, and Sutton was on him, holding the man’s arms down with his inner thighs while he patted him for a weapon. He found a gun and tossed it towards me. I reached out to pick it up.
I glanced at Jan, ready to use the gun on him if I had to, but his eyes were closed, and his chest had ceased moving. Rick was another matter. Despite the wound to his chest, he struggled beneath Sutton, spitting out garbled words that made no sense.
“Go outside and wait for me there,” Sutton said without turning to look at me.
I did as he’d asked, leaning my back to the cabin wall, the chill of the wood sending sharp ripples of ice down my spine. Two more shots. I closed my eyes, teeth chattering, and crossed my arms over my chest. What if it wasn’t Sutton who had fired them? What if Rick had had a concealed gun and he’d killed Sutton? I’d have to use my gun on Rick then.
Sutton joined me outside, drawing me against him, arms around me so I couldn’t move. I sagged into him, allowing myself a moment to regroup.
“Where the hell were you at the school?” I asked, my voice muffled from the folds of his jacket. “And what the bloody hell took you so long to get in the cabin?” I reared back and slammed the sides of my fists on his chest, the end of the gun waving perilously close to his chin. I struggled, wanting away from him before I pistol-whipped him in the face. My fear was coming back out to play, and although I wanted to give in to it and let it take me down, I couldn’t. I had to harness it, use it as fuel to get through the next few hours.
“I was…waylaid. I’m sorry.” He stepped back then took my hand, leading me towards a vehicle-shaped smudge in the distance.
He’d parked a bloody car so it could be seen. What the hell…?
“Waylaid?” I shouted. “Way-fucking-laid? Is that the best you can come up with? I stand there, at the school, like a moron waiting for you to come and bail me out, then you’re a no-show and I’m carted off to this place”—I stumbled as one of my feet went into a hidden hole beneath the snow—“and was on the verge of being raped, and all you can say is that you were waylaid and that you’re sorry?” I shoved his hand off me. “You need to come up with a better excuse than that. What if I hadn’t had the tracker? What would y
ou have done then? You’d have found me dead, that’s what.” I forged ahead of him, anger giving me wings, and waved the gun about. “Oh no, I wouldn’t have been dead. Silly me, I forgot that Rick is going to keep me for himself.” Tears burned my cheeks.
“Was,” Sutton said.
“What?” I stopped walking and turned to face him, my cheeks hot. I jammed one hand on my hip to stop myself from using that fist to smack his bloody impassive face. “What are you on about, Mr Shitty Spy?”
“Was,” he repeated, not a flicker on emotion on his face. “Rick was going to keep you for himself. He’s dead now.”
“Oh, so we’re splitting hairs, are we?” I snapped. “It matters, does it, whether I speak in past or present tense at this particular moment in time, when we’re in the middle of some crazy…crazy thing that’s overtaken our lives? You just had to be all manly and make it clear that those two shots were you killing Rick and making certain Jan was dead, so I know without a doubt that you’ve been doing your job. That you’re my hero and came to save me.” I shook my head. “You are… Oh, it doesn’t sodding matter what I think you are. Get me to my daughter, for God’s sake. I need to see that she’s okay.”
I stalked off, heading for the car, feeling like a spy myself by keeping an eye out for anyone hiding, gun raised, me sweeping it from side to side. It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest to find myself face to face with someone after they’d jumped up from being prone beneath the snow. Stranger things had already happened the past few days. I’d learnt to expect the unexpected.
My life was out of control—that was the understatement of the year—and it just kept getting worse. But that was okay. I could take anything anyone threw at me.
Anything except the loss of Guilia.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Warmth blasted out of the car’s heater, defrosting my freezing body, stopping the jitters that were a result of being so cold and frightened. I kept my sights ahead, not wanting to look at Sutton, who drove sedately—or so it seemed—back towards the town. A typical Sunday driver, so the English saying went, and it gave me the burning need to reverse time, go back to London to before this had happened and have things how they used to be, me basically ignored by Father, me shagging anything that moved, me being oblivious to arms deals and land mines that could kill children.
