Saved By The Enemy (Hacienda Heights Book 3)

by Emma Roberts

  Baldy's dark eyes flicked to his partner.

  Pornstache was opening one of the cans of beans for Julienne. He’d stuffed a paper towel down the front of her shirt in what was apparently the kidnapper’s answer to a bib. He spooned about a dozen beans into her mouth with a grimace and shrugged. “Take her. I had enough of ze smell of piss on zat ship.”

  “But that bathroom is small,” Baldy griped. “We won’t both fit in there. You know the boss will have my hide if she’s out of my sight for too long.”

  Pornstache’s eyes rolled heavenward, as though he were praying for patience to deal with his stupid American partner. “Zen wait outside of the door, putain idiot. Zat window is a half a foot wide. She couldn’t fit through even if she were unbound.”

  Well, damn. That dashed my hope of escaping without a serious confrontation. I’d just have to make do with whatever I found in the bathroom.

  Baldy seized me by the elbow once more, his grip bruising as he led me down the hall and to the last door. He opened it and shoved me inside. “You have three minutes to do your business before I come in after you,” he warned before slamming the door in my face.

  I turned to eye my surroundings. He’d been exactly right, of course. The room was so ill-proportioned it gave me an immediate sense of claustrophobia, even though I wasn’t particularly afraid of tight places. There was only a narrow space a couple feet wide between the large marble sink and the door. I cringed at the old, ugly brown shag carpeting. Who the hell installs carpet in the bathroom? I held my breath, just in case there were mold spores floating in the air.

  I scrutinized the sink. The fixtures were a little dingy, like no one had been here in a while. Tentatively, I leaned over and nudged one with my bound hands to see if it still worked. Clear, cold water dribbled out of the faucet and I breathed a sigh of relief as I positioned my head so I could catch the liquid heaven in my mouth. At the very least, I maybe I could get another drink each time I used the bathroom.

  Knowing time was short, I forced myself away from the water, crouching down to open the cabinet doors and peer beneath the sink. I was disheartened to find nothing but a plastic cup lurking in the space. Not even a bottle of bleach, nothing that could be useful in an escape attempt.

  Scooting toward the toilet situated just beside the sink, my fingers felt fat and numb as I drew back the shower curtain to the bathtub. There, I found a cheap cake of soap on the shower caddy, about a dozen travel-size shampoos, and a small aerosol can of shaving cream. And propped beside the can was a small pink razor. I nearly shrieked in delight at the find. A razor was more than I’d dared hope for.

  It took several tries to get the damned thing out of the caddy. The tips of my fingers were purpling and I knew I didn’t have long before I lost all circulation. I fumbled and dropped it in the bathtub. I froze in place, waiting for Baldy to charge in and find me lurking over the bathtub. The only sound was that of muttered cursing and some very nasty things being said about Pornstache’s mother.

  I leaned over the edge of the tub and seized the razor in both hands, coming away with it gripped between both palms. The question was, how best to pry one of the razors loose from the casing? I hesitated for just a moment before bringing the razor to my mouth. I clamped my teeth onto the corner, where the plastic locked around the blades. Pain shot through the right side of my face as the blades nicked the side of my mouth. I bit down hard and tore at it with all my strength, taking a small fraction of the plastic off.

  Blood rolled down my cheek and my tongue darted out on instinct to lave the wound. It stung like a son of a bitch, but I’d accomplished exactly what I needed. The bottommost blade was exposed.

  I braced one elbow against the towel rack and angled the razor in my mouth toward the zip tie around my wrists. It was an awkward angle, and at first I wondered if I’d accomplished anything other than making myself bleed. Determination welled up in me. I just had to keep at it. Logan had told me the key to breaking zip ties was friction. Generate enough heat, and I could snap the damn thing like the brittle plastic it was.

  Sawing hard, I kept an eye on the door. My arms burned with the strain of trying to keep my hands at an unnatural angle, but I was committed now. If Baldy came in and found me half-out of the restraints, there would be a beating, at the very least. I’d be shot dead, if he was feeling very pissy.

  I was halfway through the cuffs when the grumbling outside the door came closer. I dropped the razor, deciding I’d have to risk my handywork. I braced my foot on the toilet lid and brought my hands down hard on either side of my knee, pulling my arms apart with all my might. The cuffs snapped, the plastic spinning toward the door.

  I knew I didn’t have much time left. I was free, but only momentarily. If anything, I was in more danger.

  Reaching under the sink, I found the plastic cup and turned on the hot water. It came out warm, and I waited until the spray was scalding to fill the cup. Then I reached over and pressed down the flusher.

  As soon as the loud flushing of the toilet filled the room, the doorknob began to turn. Baldy stepped inside, already speaking. “Get your panties on and let’s get some food in you. We got makeup coming for you in the morning and—”

  I tossed the water straight into Baldy’s face. The way he reacted to the spray, it might as well have been acid. Baldy staggered back into the hall, hands batting frantically at his face. His eyes were shut tightly and he slammed into the wall behind him with an audible thud that was sure to draw the other guard straight to me.

  I searched the narrow hall for anything I could use as a weapon. The walls were bare of photos or hangings, but there was a squat lamp resting on an end table nearby. I seized it at once, yanking its cord out of the wall.

  “What ze hell is going on back there?” Pornstache demanded. “You had better not be sampling ze merchandise again, John. I swear to God, I will pop your head off like a wine cork.”

  The French guard paused at the end of the short hall when he didn’t find what he was expecting—John molesting me—and instead found his tall and very wild-eyed captive free from her bonds and holding a makeshift weapon. I leaped toward him, even when every instinct I possessed screamed at me to run, and swung wildly, bringing the porcelain base of the lamp down on Pornstache’s head. It broke apart on impact and his eyes rolled back into his head.

  He impacted the floor like a sack of potatoes and I scrambled on top of him, patting his clothes, searching for the knife that I spotted on his person before we left the docks. I needed a weapon. Baldy would be up again any second. I found what I was looking for at the small of Pornstache’s back and yanked it out of its sheath unceremoniously, not caring if I cut him in the process. As an afterthought, I snatched his wallet too.

  Going to the front room, I knelt by Julienne’s side. “Arms out and keep them apart. I don’t want to cut you.”

  Julienne obediently held her arms out and I began to saw at the restraints. The progress with the knife was much quicker than with the razor, and her cuffs snapped after a few seconds of dedicated sawing.

  She flexed her fingers and muttered an emphatic. “Merci beaucoup.”

  “Can you stand? We need to get out of here.”

  “I think so.” She climbed to her feet as I reached out to steady her, her legs wobbling like a newborn giraffe’s.

  We were about halfway to the front door when Pornstache barreled into the living room.

  Julienne froze, her legs locking and making us both lurch to a halt. Gasping, I shoved her toward the door. I didn’t have the time to panic, but even so, my heart lurched when Pornstache reached into his holster and pointed a Beretta in our direction.

  “Move!” I hissed to Julienne. “Run in a zigzag pattern. You’re less likely to be hit.”

  Julienne made it to the front door with me close behind her. The shot was deafening in the close quarters, a thunderclap of sound that seemed to fracture my poor eardrums. They were still ringing a few seconds later, when the p
ain in my leg hit me.

  I nearly crumpled to the floor. I looked down, expecting to find a hole about the size of a quarter in my calf. Instead, there was a bloody gash, maybe just a graze. It wasn’t even bleeding badly.

  I half-fell out the door after Julienne, after she’d managed to fling it open, and Pornstache’s second shot went wide, wood splintering off the door behind us. Julienne let out a shriek and sprinted toward the nearest form of cover, the dark fringe of trees that bordered the house to the south. I followed, lightning shooting up my calf with every stride. I bit my much-abused lip to keep from screaming.

  Pornstache was still loosing potshots in the dark as Julienne and I reached the trees. I was out of breath and fighting the creeping blackness that gnawed at the edges of my vision.

  “What now?” Julienne whimpered. “Where do we go now?”

  “We go through the trees, find out what city we are near and hide there,” I panted as I nudged her forward.

  We continued quietly through the underbrush until the lights of the house were swallowed up by the undergrowth, then we moved faster. Each step was torture. Each breath rasped like sandpaper over my raw throat. My head swam, and my legs were about to give out from under me. The now familiar blackness dragged over my eyes, and I fought it, trying to focus on Julienne as she led us through the brush.

  I latched on to one thought to keep me conscious.

  I hope I get to see Logan again.

  Chapter Six

  Logan

  It was near midnight by the time we’d landed, procured a rental car in Toulon and interviewed everyone we could. Keenan had phoned a friend of his in France, a shady guy who’d gotten us past customs with the guns.

  Tucker called again as we sat in the car, and I was going out of my mind.

  “Got another hit,” he announced. “They were in Toulon about fifteen hours ago. A street camera recorded them in a cargo van at a gas station.”

  Eagerness washed over me in a sweet, exhilarating rush. She’d been here. And if what I’d learned about human trafficking held true, she was probably still somewhere within a two-hour vicinity of where I was right now. I pressed the speakerphone button so that Keenan and I could both be in on the conversation.

  “Anything else?” I asked.

  “I haven’t been able to find out who the second woman is. Her face was too obscured in the photos. But the two men are a different story. Both had hits in the system. The one with no hair is John Falcon, an ex-con who has supposedly kept his nose clean for the last several years.” Tucker snorted in disbelief.

  My phone pinged and I opened the email app. Tuck’s newest missive contained photo attachments. The grainy black and whites showed the men in detail. The first man was tall and had shaved his head completely. The light from a nearby lamppost reflected off his head and shone a glare right into the camera. The second man was shorter and more unpleasant looking. Craggy wrinkles were set into his face, and the bushy moustache undoubtedly covered a mouth set in a sneer.

  “What about the other one?” Keenan asked, tapping the photo so we could get a better look at him.

  “That’s Vincent Perron. No criminal record as far as I can tell. Recently began to rent a house in the countryside not far from Toulon.”

  “Sounds promising,” I said, rubbing my fingers over the bristle on my chin. “If we get there soon we might be able to snatch Mina before they move her again.”

  “Agreed,” Tuck muttered. “Stops like this usually mean one of two things. Either they’ve entered a brothel, and Mina and her companion will be expected to work. Or, and I think this more likely, they’ve stopped to have their clothes changed and makeup done for an auction.”

  “Auction?” I echoed, my voice as hollow as my insides suddenly felt. The thought of someone shoving Mina up onto a stage to be poked and prodded and ultimately sold off like cattle made my blood boil. Beside me, Keenan’s teeth ground together audibly.

  “Yes. It could be online or in person. It will depend on what they think they can get from selling her. I’ve been keeping an eye on some of the more popular sites.”

  “Popular?” Keenan sputtered. “There are popular sites for this?”

  Tucker’s voice came out flat and a little pitying when he spoke again. “Yes, Hollywood Beefcake. There are things going on in the deep web that would make your nose hairs curl. Human trafficking is just the tip of it and not even the most stomach-turning. About twenty-five million people are being held in modern-day slavery right now, as we speak. Women and girls are disproportionately targeted, especially for sex work. But make no mistake, men and little boys are being sold to perverts too. It’s why I got into the business I do. I stop sexual exploitation where I can find it. As soon as Mina is safely out of there, I’m going to make sure I lop the head off of this snake.”

  The impassioned speech made me like Tucker just a little more. I already owed him a debt for helping. But if he managed to stop these sons of bitches for good, I’d make sure he got a goddamned metal.

  “Send us the address of the house,” I ordered. “And if we find her alive you have definitely earned a place with my security firm.”

  I realized at that moment that I was truly finished with Farraday Industries. With Owen Mason set to deploy my father’s blackmail material, there was little chance I was returning to an intact company anyway. I’d do what damage control I could and step down. Even if it could be salvaged, it wouldn’t perform well with me at the lead.

  Which had its possibilities. I could finally start that company I’d been hoping to build since being discharged from the army. With my father’s downfall came grief, yes, but also opportunity.

  “As if I’d ever work for a corporate overlord.” Tucker tried to throw out the quip with bravado, but real fear slipped in, ruining the comeback. And none of us were in the mood to laugh.

  “Thanks for all your hard work, Tucker,” I said, clearing my throat. It was hard to speak past the tight knot of fear that had settled in with the mention of an auction. Mina could be close. Or she could be dead. I didn’t know how to live in a world she wasn’t in.

  “Find her alive,” was the last thing Tucker said before he hung up.

  The address popped up in a text alert and I nodded to Keenan. “Let’s go.”

  I was grateful that the speed limit was much higher on the freeways in France. I would have broken the steering wheel if I was forced to drive anywhere below eight miles an hour.

  “I get why Mina wanted to live here now,” Keenan said after a moment. “It’s pretty.”

  Was it? I hadn’t taken in much besides the traffic and radio updates on the weather conditions and traffic. I shrugged. “I doubt she’ll want to visit much after this.”

  I took a turn off the freeway, heading into a much more rural area. Forced to slow down, I took several deep breaths to push back the irritation that had me wanting to push the accelerator to the floor.

  The GPS informed me that the house was a mile ahead. I began scanning the area at once. I’d been expecting something closer to a fortress, at least. Flipping off the headlights, I turned into the drive, going about a half mile before the house came into view. A house that looked like it belonged on a cul de sac with about a dozen others like it, entirely innocuous. There wasn’t even a fence to keep prisoners in.

  “Are you sure this is the right place?” Keenan asked doubtfully as I pulled the car close to some tall bushes.

  I checked the address. “This is the place.”

  We exited the car, but I caught sight of the door standing open and reached for the holster that contained my Browning Hi-Power. Worry sluiced into my gut and I sprinted up onto the porch, panic joining the worry when I spotted a smear of something dark staining the lower portion of the door. The brown-red and the pattern suggested dried blood.

  Keenan joined me on the porch, gun ready, and his nervous swallow was audible in the still night air.

  “Stay behind me,” I ordered in a low wh
isper. “And whatever you do, don’t get shot.”

  “Great advice, oh fearless leader,” he muttered. But he allowed me to step in first.

  With my foot, I pushed the door open farther and stepped inside, expecting to be greeted by a hail of bullets.

  Instead, there was only dead silence. A five-point scan of the room revealed only one prone figure on the floor at the entrance to a hall, bleeding from a gash in the forehead. My heart lurched, my first thought was that the pale figure must be Mina. And then my mind took in the mustache, and I breathed a sigh of relief. So this was the French man of the duo. What had Tucker called him?

  “Vincent Perron,” Keenan hissed.

  I approached the downed man warily, in case he was only playing possum. Cautiously, I nudged him onto his back with the tip of my shoe. I kicked away the gun that his body had been covering. His chest rose and fell in barely perceptible movements and the amount of blood pooled around his head was troubling. He needed a hospital. But I’d be damned if I called before I got some answers. I jabbed the heel of my boot into his ribs hard and repeated the motion until his eyelids finally fluttered.

  Aiming the Browning between his eyes, I gave him one final kick and growled, “Get up, you piece of shit. If you make me ask again, I will shoot you in the knee, and continue to shoot until you tell me what I want to know.”

  The threat was enough to rouse the man, and his eyes went wide as he focused on the muzzle of the Browning.

  “Where is Mina?” I demanded.

  “Mina?” he echoed in heavily accented English. “I do not know a Mina, you crazy American bastard. You come into my home and wave a gun about. I ought to call ze authorities and—”

  “And tell them about your involvement with a sex trafficking ring?” I countered.

  Vincent’s eyes grew wider for a fraction of a second.