Finding Faye:

by A. J. Andersen

  Over and over I tell myself, “Travis is coming. Travis is coming.”

  The smiling man whispers directly into my ear, “Not in time.”

  I can’t stop the sob that rips from my tortured throat. I didn’t realize I was saying the words out loud. “He will come,” I croak out, forcing my eyes to open and look into his. “And he's going to kill you,” I finish, digging up the tattered remnants of my courage.

  If I'm going to die today, I won't be a sniveling baby about it. I'm going to fight him every way I can. Even if it’s only with my words.

  That's what I tell myself anyway as he sets me in a wooden chair, cuffing my hands to the spindles behind my back. I stifle a cry as pain lances through my already injured shoulder. That’s when I see the small table beside me. I lash out with my feet, not wanting him to restrain them. I don't know what even half of the items laid out there are, but every single one of them looks designed to make me suffer.

  My foot makes solid contact with his abdomen as he grapples with my flailing legs. YES! My celebration is cut short when his hand strikes a hard blow to the side of my face, making my cheek throb and stunning me enough that he is able to shackle my ankles as well. The taste of blood blooms in my mouth, but I’m beyond caring. I have no hope of getting away now.

  I tried, but I'm well and truly fucked. I expect him to start hurting me right away, but instead he pulls up a chair and sits down in front of me, his knees pressed against mine.

  “So tell me where it is,” he says, his voice quiet and eerily conversational now that he has me subdued.

  “Where is what?” I ask, confused. I have no idea what he is talking about.

  Travis

  We burst through the doors onto the twentieth floor expecting something to happen, but the hallway is empty. Xavier stands ready beside me, his sidearm in his hand. Tension radiates off of him but his posture is relaxed. I most likely would look the same to an observer.

  My skin prickles. I can’t shake the feeling of being watched. Someone knows we are here. I'd be shocked if they didn't, although I'm not convinced that we are dealing with mental giants by any means.

  Anyway, we know they are here too, and now we just have to flush their stupid asses out of whatever hole they are hiding in and get this shit over with as quickly as possible. I need my girl back in my arms, and from the look on Xavier's face, he's ready to put this shit to bed and get his woman home as well.

  He hasn't mentioned her being pregnant.

  I'm pretty sure that is going to be a shock for him since Faye told me he only fucked her the one time. I’ve considered telling him, but there hasn’t been a good time. I don’t want to just blurt it out.

  From somewhere down the hall the faint sound of raised voices reaches my ears. I step closer to Xavier, our shoulders almost bumping into each other as we watch the rows of doors extending down the hall. Wherever the fight is taking place, we can’t see it.

  The angry sounds stop without the addition of gunfire, so I'm confident that Mike and John contained the problem without much trouble.

  The sounds from the altercation did echo enough to draw the interest of the goons in residence, and a door halfway down the hall opens. X and I are ready to roll.

  Two guys in jeans and dirty undershirts rush out of the apartment they had been holed up in. The smell of takeout and cigarette smoke drifts down the hall as they glance around, looking for the source of the angry voices.

  We are almost on them before they see us coming, and it’s clear they were not expecting visitors. Especially not the hostile kind.

  They push at each other in their haste to get back into the apartment they just vacated, most likely to get to the weapons I’m sure that they left inside.

  I make first contact, grabbing one by the arm and spinning him toward my waiting fist. His nose crunches and blood blossoms, flowing down over his mouth and down the front of his shirt. He's a fighter, it seems, or fancies himself one. He stumbles back a step, squaring his shoulders and lifting his fists and takes a wild swing toward me, his eyes dazed and angry at the same time. The angle of his nose tells me it’s broken, and I feel a surge of satisfaction before I step back toward him, my fists ready. He narrows his eyes and rushes me, swinging again and making contact this time.

  The blows barely faze me. I barely register the pain as I get in close and release an onslaught of rapid punches. I rain blows to his face and torso, his hits taking on a desperate quality as I feel him growing weaker. He rocks back on his heels and I see my opening. One last hard right hook drives him to his knees in front of me, his battered hands hanging limp at his sides; his head hanging low as blood drips down his face.

  He’s giving up.

  He’s lucky I want information more than I want to beat his sorry ass into a pulp. Looking around to see if we have attracted any attention—by some miracle we haven’t—I yank his arm up behind him and use the pressure on his shoulder to steer him into the apartment.

  The sound of Xavier pounding on the other man greets me as I enter and close the door quietly behind me.

  “Where. The. Fuck. Is. My. Wife?” he growls between savage blows. His left eye is swollen and discolored. He must have taken one hell of a hit. A trickle of blood seeps from the corner of his mouth. He looks enraged. The man under him is nearly unconscious and bleeding freely. He seems to be missing teeth.

  Don’t know if that’s a new development for him or something that happened before he tangled with Xavier. I chuckle darkly and say, “Remind me never to piss you off.”

  His lip curves up in a feral smile as he looks up at me.

  “Fucker wouldn't tell me where my Ana is,” he grumbles as he pushes to his feet.

  “Only because he can't,” I gesture to the limp form under him. Pulling zip ties out of a pocket on my pants, I press the man I subdued into a chair and secure his hands and feet.

  “Why don't you ask this one?” I offer, stepping away from him. The bloody thug glares up at us before glancing at his friend. Something like shock passes over his face as he takes in the destruction Xavier wrought in just a few short moments.

  He's gonna talk, I can see it all over his face. Men like this one are loyal only to themselves. He won’t think twice about telling us everything he knows.

  Xavier takes a knee beside him, a wrathful scowl twisting his face into a menacing mask. “You will tell me where those women are being held.”

  The man shakes his head, opening his mouth to speak.

  “Don’t worry about Dominic,” X grinds out, “since he won’t be in any position to come after you when this is over. But I WILL kill you if you don’t talk.”

  His voice holds no mercy, no compassion. It is the voice of a killer. This is the man who was raised to follow in the footsteps of his mob boss father. It’s the first time I have seen this side of him. It’s fucking impressive.

  The man nods once, clearly weighing his options and realizing that Xavier is serious. “Apartment 205,” he finally spits out.

  I'm a little surprised it was that fucking easy. I knew he was going to talk, but thought for sure that it would take a little more persuasion.

  “Thanks,” Xavier says his fist crashing down, knocking the bound man out. Working quickly, we gag the unconscious man and bind the other one before dragging them into the filthy bathroom and locking them inside.

  “Dominic's men aren't very loyal,” I observe with a small amount of humor. I’m still a little high on adrenaline and it makes me find things funny that aren’t. But I’m ready to get moving and find my girl. The likelihood that I will get to fuck up a few more asshole along the way is just a perk.

  X rolls his eyes at me. “Dominic’s a douchebag. You get from people what you give, and he isn't loyal to anyone but himself. I’d be surprised if any of these guys don’t roll over on him.”

  “Nice of him to make it easy for us.” I shrug.

  He nods and motions back toward the hall. “Let's go get our women.”
<
br />   I can’t disagree with that. We check our weapons, making sure they are ready to be used after the altercation, and together we proceed down the oddly silent hall and upstairs, approaching the room that is supposed to contain my whole world...I hope.

  My Glock finds its way into my hand again as we prepare to enter the apartment.

  Xavier tests the knob, but it’s locked. He lifts a booted foot, preparing to kick when a muffled scream obliterates the uncanny silence surrounding us. The sound almost knocks me to my knees.

  It's Faye. She screamed my name, and she is below me somewhere. Not behind this door. Thank God for thin walls. In a newer building I never would have heard her.

  I have to find her now. I wasn’t able to stop them from taking her, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let anything else happen to her. Not when I’m finally close enough to stop it.

  My eyes meet Xavier’s and words aren’t necessary. He claps a hand to my shoulder with a hard squeeze before I turn and sprint back down the hall to the stairs. I hear the wooden door splinter under Xavier’s boot behind me as I barrel into the stairwell, my heavy footsteps echoing around me.

  He has to save his girl. I'm going to save mine. Or die trying.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Faye

  “Where is what?” I whisper, scalding tears flowing over my throbbing cheek. I think I might be a little in shock because that probably should have hurt more. I can taste blood in my mouth where my teeth cut in when his hand made contact with my face.

  It's been years since someone smacked me like that, and it is every bit as shitty as I remember it.

  At least when Brad hit me I knew he didn't intend to kill me—he was just trying to prove that he was the boss of me.

  This man, on the other hand, I have no doubt that he has every intention of killing me.

  I feel sick to the stomach. Scared. More than scared. Knowing that my only value to this man right now is because he thinks I have something he wants. It is, undoubtedly, the worst feeling in the world.

  I would happily go back to those first long weeks alone. As frightened as I was then, it was nothing compared to the soul-deep terror I feel right now. I don’t want to die. Not yet, not when I just found the missing half of myself.

  “I know you took it that night,” he tells me, his voice quivering with intensity or insanity, maybe a combination of both. He bends toward me, bringing his face level with mine. He is almost conversational, like there is nothing out of the ordinary for him to be interrogating a woman bound to a chair.

  This freaks me out almost more than anything else. Maybe kidnapping and torture is his thing. I can’t stop my eyes from darting back over to his collection of tools gleaming in the morning light. Saliva floods my mouth and I swallow hard trying to control my urge to vomit. I’m not nearly as tough as I try to tell myself I am.

  His eyes shine black in the dim light of the room. I can't bear to look at them, so I lower my chin to my chest and let my hair fall in a curtain around my face. It doesn’t stop me from feeling his eyes on me.

  Shaking my head, I force my gaze past him and take in the rest of the room. It is in the same state of disarray as the one Ana and I were being held in. It's hard to tell if this shithole is going to be renovated or demolished. I hope they tear it to the ground.

  “All I took that night was some clothes and my money,” I tell him, but he doesn't believe me. His lip curls up in a nasty sneer and he picks something off his table of horrors, turning it over in his hands. I refuse to look.

  “I can make you tell me what I want to hear,” he threatens, and I'm sure he's right. It probably wouldn’t even take much to get me to talk, but I'm not lying. I have zero clue what he is talking about.

  As much as I'm fighting them, tears keep slipping down my face. He catches one on his finger and brings it to his mouth.

  “Scared tears taste the best,” he tells me, a crooked grin distorting his mouth. I'm sure he's had the opportunity to taste plenty of those.

  I have to try to give him something. Anything to distract him from hurting me. To give Travis time to come for me. If he’s coming… When he’s coming.

  “Maybe if you tell me what you are looking for, I might remember if I have ever seen it,” I plead, knowing he's going to hurt me soon. Whatever he’s holding is sharp. I can see him testing the point against his thumb. I think it’s an ice pick, but I don’t want to look. I don’t want to know.

  “The fucking ledger, you stupid little bitch,” he whispers low in his throat as his meaty hand grasps my injured shoulder, the fingers digging in as he puts the sharp point against my cheek, tracing a line down my throat.

  My breath stutters to a stop and I swallow the pained cry begging to be released as he adds pressure to my injury. I am afraid that if I even breathe wrong he will slip the cold metal into my flesh. If I survive today I have no doubt that my shoulder is going to hurt for a long time.

  “I never saw a ledger.”

  He drops the tool onto the table with a metallic clatter. Before I can release the breath I was holding, his hands are on me again. I whimper quietly as he shakes me by the shoulders. The whole chair comes off the floor with the force of his grip.

  “I know you have it. He told me it was in the pool house with you,” he roars, his hot breath and the clean smell of his toothpaste rushing over my face taking me by surprise. “Where is it?” he screams again, snapping me back into focus.

  I shake my head in denial. Sobbing uncontrollably now as a fresh wave of terror overtakes me. “I never had anything like that,” I choke out the words.

  He has a knife in his hand now, a big one. He runs the blade down my face, starting just below my eye and tracing a line down to the curve of my jaw with the point. He’s not cutting me, but the tiniest bit of added pressure and that would change. I force myself to hold still. I don’t even breathe.

  “I really don't want to cut you,” he says. “You're a pretty little thing. Maybe if you be real nice to me, I won't have to make you hurt.”

  He sets his knife down beside his other tools and palms the bulge in the front of his pants, bringing my horrified attention to it. Fuck.This is even worse than the threat of being cut. I sob out loud like a child, turning my face into my shoulder as best I can. Anything to get myself as far away from this nightmare as I can.

  Another sob tinged with the vile bitterness of regret comes after the first, opening the floodgates to every fear, every regret I’ve ever had.

  The biggest one in this moment is that I had the chance to make love with Travis, and instead I passed out like an idiot. Just a couple of days later and I'm looking at the smiling man from my nightmares, realizing that this might be how I lose my virginity.

  Raped at knifepoint by the monster who murdered my mother.

  At least I won't live long afterward—once he sees I really don't know anything about his ledger, he will end my misery. It doesn't surprise me when he removes the shackles from my ankles, spreading my legs and wedging himself between them.

  “So pretty. Just like your mama.” He sighs against my ear, his hands twisting into the front of my shirt before tearing it from my body. Cool air washes over my bare breasts. I should have worn a bra. I try hunch forward in a vain attempt to hide myself from his eyes, but it’s pointless with my hands bound behind me. I’m on full display. His hands cover the soft skin of my breasts, and I recoil when I see the madness reflected in his eyes. Too cowardly to watch him, I squeeze my eyes shut tightly and try to picture Travis’ face. He won’t even allow me that small mercy.

  “I told you if you were nice I wouldn't have to hurt you.” His voice is almost- petulant. Suddenly the soft touches stop as blunt fingers pinch my tender nipples then twist brutally. White spots dance behind my closed eyelids and I can't stop the scream that explodes from my throat.

  It comes from the depths of my soul, my mental anguish as great as the physical agony ripping through me.

  He nuzzles his
face into my hair, repeating the assault on my breasts. His hand wraps around my throat, choking off my next shriek of agony, until everything goes black.

  I come to on the floor, confused and hurting everywhere. My eyes flutter open and lock on the raised fist above me. It seems like it moves in slow motion as it descends toward me, ending in a symphony of agony as it smashes into my stomach, forcing the air from my lungs. I turn my head and vomit, struggling to breathe as the other fist repeats the impact.

  I can’t breathe. Can’t think beyond the pain. Vaguely I hear someone begging. “Please stop. Please.” The voice is a broken whimper and somehow I recognize that it’s coming from me.

  The man above me tears at my thin leggings, ripping them down my limp legs, until I'm bared to his gaze. He is muttering to himself, I hear him say my mother’s name several times. Hopelessly I try to curl myself into a ball, but his hands around my throat stop me, banging my head against the dirty floor until I give up and let myself go slack in his punishing grip.

  I'm fading back into the darkness, thankful for the respite, when there is a crash outside the door and my attacker jumps up. I suck in an excruciating breath while my tormentor drags me to my feet, holding my sagging form against him like a shield.

  There is a second shuddering blow and the door flies open.

  My vision is hazy but I see him as though from a great distance. I must be dying for God to be letting me have this vision of Travis coming to save me.

  “I knew you were coming,” I whisper into the eerie silence permeating the room, my words echoing in my ears. I hear my name being shouted from miles away and sink into darkness as pain rips through me again.

  Travis

  Above me I can hear the muffled sounds of fighting and I mentally cheer Xavier on as I clear apartment after apartment with no sign of Faye. I move down the hall, opening doors. Nothing on this floor has been locked and I haven't seen evidence of anyone even being here other than the obvious remodeling activity.