Trafficked

by Alexis Abbott

  A cursory search for her shows me about everything I would think to expect. I find her social media and peruse it idly, and I find that the picture of herself that she has painted for me is fairly accurate. She seems to be a bit of a loner who has her brooding moods, but all in all, she is a bright mind trying to make her way through life and find her own value in things. That’s a kind of ambition that many people don’t appreciate, but it’s both rare and precious.

  Her university has a kind mention of her for a scholarship award she won—the very same that paid her way to Russia to study for a year. It appears to be a prestigious scholarship that had a lot of people competing for it, and I must admit, I am impressed by it. I feel a strange sense of pride for Autumn when I see her accomplishments like this, even though I had no hand in them.

  Some of the information I find is less worthy of celebration. I find her parents’ obituary in the news of her hometown, and I feel my heart sinking. My own parents have no such obituary, and I am not sure whether having a permanent reminder of the events plastered all over the internet would be a comfort or not. There must be a sense of closure in that, but if there is, it isn’t for me. But I have to check, and I find that Autumn’s story checks out. I wonder how difficult it would be to track down her foster homes, but I think by now, I can trust her word as a reliable authority.

  She does not seem to have lied to me yet.

  I decide to do a little more intensive digging. The chances she has a criminal record are next to nothing, but it can’t hurt to see if she has been involved in anything in her past.

  Criminal and arrest search records turn up nothing… but I find something else that makes my eyes widen.

  Her name does come up with at least one law enforcement agency—INTERPOL. There is a notice out for her, saying that she has been kidnapped, and that there is a reward for information regarding her whereabouts, captors, and their demands.

  I stare at the notice for a few moments, stunned. On its own, this would be alarming. It is one thing to deal with the bratva breathing down my neck. They are men the law largely does not care about unless bribes are being thrown their way, and it is straightforward enough to solve my problems in that direction with a gun and a well-placed shot. But INTERPOL is a different beast. Just like I couldn’t simply walk up and shoot a police officer who was in the way without dire consequences, INTERPOL agents can’t be touched without sanctions from the highest echelons of bratva hierarchy, and they’d better have a damn good reason for it.

  It isn’t just a matter of hierarchy. I’m a rogue man, now. I do not answer to anyone.

  But if INTERPOL wants to come down on me like the hammer of the gods, then I might find myself in hot water.

  That isn’t even the most puzzling part of this discovery, though. From everything Autumn has told me, nobody knows she has been taken. She was the perfect kidnapping victim. She had no friends in Russia and no family back home to keep in touch with her. That leaves one glaring question.

  Who the hell reported her kidnapping to INTERPOL?

  I get up and leave in a hurry, carrying my bags out the door and down to the nearest cab. I have questions for Autumn, and I need answers quickly.

  The cab lets me out at the docks, and I hurry across the damp roads toward the yacht, trying to keep from jogging in anticipation. I can’t draw attention to myself even-

  I freeze at the gangplank of the yacht as I hear a shout.

  The sound of a small boat engine revving reaches my ears… and it’s coming from around the yacht. I run to the other side, just in time to see the boat pulled up to the side of it taking off, with three men in black outfits and ski masks looking up at me… while one of them holds down a petrified Autumn.

  I draw my gun.

  Vladimir

  The boat takes off across the water at the same time that my every muscle springs into action. I race across the gangplank and drop the bags on the deck before sprinting across it, shedding my jacket so I can run faster. I need to act, and I need to act quickly.

  I can see the boat speeding out of the harbor across from the ship. I put my gun back in its holster, because I realize that with them moving and the waves bumping them every second, there’s no chance I can get a shot in. I might be able to take a few of them out by getting an automatic weapon from inside, but I could not do that without putting Autumn in grave danger, and that is something I cannot allow even myself to do.

  Fortunately, I might not have to.

  I hear Autumn manage to get a scream out that carries over the water, and I almost wish she hadn’t. The more people that hear her and realize a second kidnapping is happening, the greater the risk that the authorities will get involved, and that’s something we cannot tolerate right now.

  My heart is pounding as I rush down into the bowels of the ship. I normally have a distaste for the gross excesses of luxury yachts like this. The rich have so much money that they don’t even know how to spend it in a tasteful way. But as I near the back end of the yacht, I am grateful for at least one expense that the old man Gregorovitch sank.

  There is a small speedboat nested in the yacht. I have yet to test it out in the water, but I have the keys already in the ignition, and all I have to do is hit a button on the way into the ‘dock’ to open the gate that will let me ride this thing out of the yacht and after Autumn’s captors. I’m not letting them get away with my girl, not when I am this close.

  I hop on board the speedboat, a sleek black vessel that only has enough room for maybe three people. The gate hasn’t even finished opening when I barrel forward, and I duck my head to avoid getting decapitated by the door on the way out. I don’t care about the risk, I need to get to Autumn before I lose these fuckers.

  The boat’s bow, the front, comes to a point at the end, and I watch it gut through the wind and water like a knife through paper as I start blazing forward. I have two pistols, a knife, and a submachine gun with me on the boat. I don’t know what I’m going to need, so I prepared for everything ahead of time.

  And it’s only a matter of time until the Greek police comes out after us in force.

  I see the men racing away in their own boat up ahead of me, but I can’t tell if I’m gaining on them yet. They, on the other hand, do not need to use the same caution that I do, because I am not the one with precious cargo on board.

  Just as I realize that I’m closing the distance in a straight line, one of the men in the boat pulls out a submachine gun and takes aim.

  “Shit,” I curse as I veer the boat off to the right. As I do, bullets ripple across the water where I had been a moment ago, and I duck down as the gunner brings the line of fire after me.

  I start curving a path around them, but I know it’s only a matter of time before they get smart and start firing ahead of me. It’s hard to land a shot over the windy waves, but they only need to get lucky once. I cannot underestimate my enemy.

  A bullet ricochets off the water, and I hear it whizz past me, reminding me that every second counts here.

  They veer around the outskirts of the harbor, and their boat races toward a couple of islands within view of the city. I clench my jaw. If I lose them in the islands, then it’s all over. I cannot let them out of my sight, but the longer they can see me, the greater the risk of a bullet catching me in the wrong place.

  They hook around the little rock in the sea that passes for an island known as Kavouras. It’s little more than a stony outcropping in the water with no buildings on it, and it’s small enough to walk across in a matter of minutes. Right now, all it’s good for is serving as a distraction… but my enemies have something else in mind.

  I have been closing the distance on them, but they manage to whip around the rocky island far enough away that the slight elevation of the rocks keeps me from being able to get a shot in. To my surprise, they do not circle around the other side.

  And when I round the bend of the shore, I see why. They’ve let one of their own men off the boat to
trudge out onto the sand and get a better shot at me as I blaze by. I curse as my boat nears. They’ve forced me to make a choice: stop and deal with the man to give them time to get away, or blaze past him and give him a wide-open shot at my backside. Neither option is good.

  So, I decide to take neither.

  I take out my submachine gun and fire at the gunman on the ground, but rather than aiming for him, I fire between him and the shore, making him stagger away from the land into slightly deeper water. He’s up to his waist, and as soon as I stop firing, he readies his weapon. To have willingly gotten out of the boat like this, he must both be confident and a decent marksman.

  But even the best marksman can’t deal with a boat racing right at him. I get down as I make the engine roar forward, aiming my boat right at him. Bullets fly overhead, and soon, glass shatters and rains down on my back while I crouch low. He just shot out the windshield.

  A moment later, I hear a panicked cry, and then a heavy THUMP as my boat runs the man over.

  I raise my head again and look over my shoulder. The wake is still foamy and choppy, but I see enough red in the water to know that my crude tactic did its job as well as I can hope.

  But the kidnappers are getting further away. I see them now, making a beeline for the nearby island of Mpaos. It is much larger than the little rock we just whipped around, and there are a few rocky coves where I know they might be hiding. I don’t know whether their base of operations is on the main island of Mykonos or on one of the little sister islands that dot the coast. I don’t want to find out, if I can help it. The further we get from the yacht, the worse the situation becomes.

  My suspicions are confirmed the moment I watch them disappear around a rocky outcropping. They must have a cove here they’ve been using as some kind of base of operations. That could be very, very bad for me, because it means I’m going in blind.

  But for Autumn, I would fly blindly into far worse.

  I ready my weapon and push forward after them.

  The rocks do indeed form part of a natural harbor, and when I jet around the corner, I see what looks like a small campsite tucked away from the view of the boat traffic coming and going from Mykonos. The speedboat starts slowing down so that it can land safely. It only has two people on board, not counting Autumn, so they must know that they need reinforcements if they have any hope of dealing with me.

  Unfortunately for me, there are a lot of reinforcements at the campsite. It’s a small operation, which tells me it was probably set up for just this purpose. Four small tents, a portable table, and a radio are all set up, and there are five men rushing outside with weapons out.

  If Autumn gets on that shore with those fuckers, it’s all over. I have one chance to make this work, and if I don’t… I cannot consider the alternatives right now. Navigating in these shallow waters so close to the shore is dangerous, but I have no choice. While the other boat slows down, I speed up, and I draw my submachine gun.

  But I don’t aim it at the boat.

  My little speedboat rips past them, and bullets from the boat pepper the side of the little vessel as it cuts them off from the shore. It looks like I’m barreling straight for the coast, and the men who were taking aim suddenly are forced to break ranks and run.

  At the last possible minute, I pull back and swing the boat around, presenting my broadside to both the shore and the other boat. It’s tantamount to suicide, but I know what I’m doing.

  I let the bullets fly across the shore, hammering the Russians at the campsite with all I can muster as my boat swings dangerously close to the shore. A hard bump tells me I’ve hit some sand, but I have so much momentum that the boat keeps swinging in its deadly arc.

  Three of the men fleeing me go down, and I watch the radio get blasted to pieces. The surviving two men are running further inland, and I have a choice yet again. I can try to land and take them down, or I could deal with the speedboat where Autumn is held. If the men escape, it’s going to make our own escape a lot more difficult…

  … but if I do not deal with them, then they can get away to another part of the island where they’ll have even more reinforcements. I cannot let that happen.

  The speedboat is still coming toward me, though, and it’s going to pass me if I don’t act quickly. I make my choice, race to the back of the boat, grab the anchor, and throw it overboard.

  Then, I get down and brace myself.

  I feel the momentum try to throw me across the boat as the boat starts swinging around, as if I just hit the handbrake on a car, but in a much wider arc. And the arc is taking me right toward the enemy speedboat, where I get close enough to see Autumn’s terrified face.

  No guns, no risk. I drop the weapon, take out my knife, and as soon as we’re close enough, I put my foot on the edge of my boat and leap out to the other one.

  “Fucking mad dog!” the boat pilot shouts as I land with a roll onto the boat.

  They’re too close for gunfire too, but I only have a few moments to act. One of the men is holding Autumn, while the other is at the helm. The pilot at the helm draws his knife and rounds on me, but I’m already halfway toward the man holding Autumn. He tries to get his blade out to hold her at knifepoint, but the moment she realizes there’s a glimmer of hope, Autumn starts thrashing and kicking with all her might. He grapples with her and tries to get her under control, but I hear the sound of nails raking across skin, and he cries out in pain and releases her. I see blood running down his face from where Autumn slashed him, and when he wipes the blood from his eyes, the last thing he sees is… me.

  I descend on him, and my knife is in his throat down to the hilt before he can even open his mouth to speak. He crumples to the boat floor under me, and I rip the knife out and whip around—just in time to hear a single word barked at me in Russian.

  “Freeze!”

  I’m faced with the pilot, who’s gotten enough of a grip on his wits to pull his gun out and point it at me the moment he realized his partner was a dead man. There’s about five feet between us. I clench my jaw. He has a gun, I do not, and Autumn is on the boat floor near the dead man, all too close to risk injuring.

  “It’s over, boy,” I growl at the younger man, holding my hands out to keep him from shooting. “Your comrades are fleeing. Your radio is down. You think they’ll let you live after this kind of failure?”

  “If I bring your head, yes,” he growls. “Hands on your head, now!”

  Before I can reply I see his eyes go wide and turn to my side.

  Autumn has grabbed the dead man’s gun, and she points it with shaking hands at the pilot. There’s no way she could make a shot in her current state, without knowing how to handle a pistol.

  Thankfully, she doesn't need to. All she needed to do was give me that split second of distraction.

  I lunge across the length of the boat, and the pilot realizes what I’m doing a moment too late. He fires his gun at me, but it whizzes over my head. A second later, I tackle him, pinning him against the controls of the boat. My knife goes in and out of him so many times that I nearly lose control of myself, seeing red in a rush of adrenaline and hatred for a man who would even think about endangering my Autumn like that.

  He breathes his last, and I stop myself, stepping back and letting his body collapse to the ground in a bloody mess that stains my fighting arm.

  Still breathing heavily, I look down at myself, then over my shoulder at Autumn. Her face is sheet white, and she’s looking at me as if I’ve frightened her as much as the mobsters have. And maybe it is so.

  Maybe I don’t have a problem with that.

  I give the coast a quick glance and see that the other two survivors are nowhere to be seen. They must have headed inland to regroup and figure out what to do from here. It was cowardly of them, but also smart. I look back to Autumn and nod to my speedboat.

  “Get in. Now.”

  Moments later, I’ve pulled the anchor back up on my speedboat, and I head back to the controls to get us o
ut of here. Autumn and I don’t say anything for a few minutes. She’s partly in shock, and I have to stay focused on getting us out of harm’s way before we can breathe easily and celebrate a victory.

  I drive the boat toward our yacht, where I see what looks like a delivery truck leaving the vessel. That puts my mind at ease for the supplies, at least, but we have other concerns.

  “Why do you keep looking at the sky?” Autumn asks, snapping me out of my trance. I have indeed been glancing up periodically, as if watching for hawks.

  “For helicopters,” I shout back over the wind.

  “Helicopters?!”

  “Da,” I say, looking back at her and nodding gravely. “The second we’re back on board, I’m getting us moving again. We have another problem to deal with now: the police.”

  Autumn

  “You saved my life,” I murmur, eyes wide as I gaze at my captor-turned-savior. He is beginning to turn into quite the Renaissance man in regard to me. He was my unwilling, unsuspecting captor. Then my comforter. Then my protector. My lover. My savior. My captain.

  My everything.

  I still have that nagging voice in the back of my head reminding me of how little time we have actually spent in one another’s company. It has only been a couple of days, right? The clock in my heart is stopped, though, frozen and paralyzed at the moment of our first encounter. Nothing before him seems to matter very much to me anymore. He is all I think about; all my body craves.

  I can’t remember the last time I felt truly thirsty or hungry for something other than Vladimir’s touch. It’s like I’m crystallized in time, fixed at this particular juncture in space, hanging between the beige expanse of my dull, empty, dusty life before him, and the uncertain white horizon of my future with him.

  That last thought jolts me, shakes me to my core at how naturally it occurs to me: a future. With him. With Vladimir. The tall dark stranger who has come booming and looming into my world with his great height and his muscles and his soft growling voice. A future? I can hardly think past the next minute or so lately. It’s hard to picture what my life could turn into from here, when everything I once knew has fallen away like so much detritus, like old clothes that don’t fit me right anymore.