Forbidden Eyes: A Cane Novel 4

by Hart, Charlotte E

  Carter shoves me into the SUV and slams the door. Silence presses down on me from all directions, like the door to the car has shut out the rest of the world. Drugs, guns, death—things I should have no business with, but here I am, involved in every way I can be.

  I look around and expect Carter to be climbing into the car with me, but he’s just standing there, staring around the lot as if he's searching for something. His eyes are narrowed, a look of hatred engrained on his face. I watch him for a second, unsure what he's doing, until he eventually storms off back towards where we just left, leaving me alone. The same panic that gripped me in that building returns, and I feel like I’m a sitting target, just waiting for the next predator to come and catch me.

  Mental images of what just happened—Carter with a gun, the bodies just discarded on the floor—invade my mind. I try to block them out and focus on the hundreds of training sessions I was given in self-defence when I was growing up. It was non-negotiable. First by Torino, and then other instructors. Thinking about it now, it makes perfect sense. Dad wanted me to be protected from the world he lived in. The world he polluted every day with his own version of poison.

  Thinking back to my training forces me to concentrate on my breathing and pull it under control. I’m no good to myself if I’m a bunch of jittery nerves. I might as well hand myself to the nearest drug dealer in my current state.

  After a while, a car starts rumbling its way towards me, and I sink into the darkness so I can’t be seen. I don't know what to do, but Carter should know. What if it's more of the bad men? I'm about to move, perhaps try to warn him wherever he is, when I see him stride back through my eyeline outside again, still looking furious. He meets the car, aggression all over his face, and points back to the warehouse. Three men get out, all of them looking just as nefarious as the dead guys inside, and they make their way into the building with him until I'm alone again. He didn't even look at me.

  Alone. That's how I feel.

  Losing it won’t help, so I close my eyes and try to calm my pounding heart. I’m safe now. Alone, but safe. I try to use the quiet time to think clearly and wait for him to deal with what's happened. It's all too much, though. All of it. I don't even know how to manage this in my head, let alone how to calm myself down.

  The door opens suddenly, breaking me of my inner turmoil, and a gust of cool air invades the space. I turn to look at Carter, but before I register who it is, I’m yanked from the seat, my feet stumbling to gain purchase on the ground. Rough hands pull me along as my feet fight to right themselves.

  “Carter!” I scream, as my hands battle with the stranger’s grip on me. “Stop, let me go.”

  He doesn’t loosen his hold but fists a bunch of my hair to keep me still, dragging me further along towards a waiting car. Panic flashes over my body as I start to see what’s happening. “You can’t do this,” I grit out, as I tussle back and forth.

  “Quiet, little girl. You’re worth a lot more than the drugs we lost tonight. You might pay for the loss of his son.” What son? The man hauls me into the waiting car. My legs kick out and I wrestle to stay out of the vehicle, but another man inside helps to keep me from breaking free.

  If they think I’ll go quietly, they have another thing coming. I scamper across the back seat as the man gets in and speeds away, and my hand works the door handle. There’s no release, and as the seconds tick past I mentally go over what I can do. The confined space won’t help me, but all I need is a weight advantage, maybe with the right turn of the car, and then to distract the driver enough. Maybe.

  The car swerves, and I fall back against my assailant. My elbow connects with his windpipe, but the car turns the other way and then I feel his weight on top of me.

  “Quit messing around, bitch. Save that for later,” he jeers, wrapping his hand around my throat. An evil smile cracks over his face and turns my stomach. I won’t go there. I can’t.

  I force my knee vertically and connect with the man’s thigh. I try again, pulling my leg tighter to me and hit softer flesh, winding him. His grip relaxes and I pull out from under him. It’s too cramped, and the driver isn’t being cautious with his driving. He’s in a hurry. My eyes glance around and I see a dark SUV following in the distance. It’s being driven as impatiently and erratically as this one and I let myself believe that it could be Carter. He wouldn’t leave me, not after how he reacted in the warehouse. If he even knows I’ve been taken.

  All I need to do is get out of this car.

  Minutes tick past and I’m happy to play the willing victim. There won’t be many chances if this is going to work so I must bide my time. I close my eyes and think of Torino and everything he taught me. Putting my training into practice was always the last thing on my mind, and despite how reassured I should feel, my confidence is disappearing like grains of sand in the wind.

  I can’t stop glancing out the back to see if we’re still being followed; that hope is still there and willing me to fight.

  Another tight turn and we’re both flung around in the back. I can’t doubt anymore. I draw my elbow back and thrust it as hard as I can into the man’s solar plexus and follow with another jab to his throat.

  “Hey, stop that, bitch!” the driver shouts, but he can’t do anything from his position.

  The guy in the back is struggling to breathe, so I move in, pulling my weight up and kicking him in the ribs and the side of the head. He’s dizzy, but not out. The car turns again, and I’m in his lap. I push off, scuttling back.

  There’s a tie around my dress and I rush to pull it free. With shaking hands, I hook it over the driver’s head and pull back into my seat, but the guy in the back with me is coming round and moves to block me. His hand slaps my face, but I keep hold with my hands and brace myself, ready for another impact. And then I hear what I wanted. The tires move off the road and we begin riding over bumps and unsteady terrain. Just as the guy raises his fist and I let go of the tie to protect my face, the car drifts to the side of the road and we smash into something. The jolt knocks us all about, and the car is tilted at a strange angle.

  I’m tossed about but don’t hit my head. Driver guy is being smothered by the air bag and isn’t responsive. Guy in the back is looking at the gash on his head. I reach through to the centre console and press the lock button before yanking the door open and racing out. I drop to the ground, the back wheel of the car off the road. We’ve crashed into some sort of ditch along a long gravel driveway. There are no other cars around, but there’s a wide-open field to the left of the drive, which I run for, slinging my heels off my feet and hitching my tight dress higher.

  “Get back here!” One of their voices breaks through the air and only serves to drive my feet faster. As I run, I try to take in my surroundings. There’s a big house at the end of the driveway. I can make out several windows all lit up from the inside. It’s surrounded in part with walls and shadow. More fields with trees and other smaller buildings lie past my position, but the gloom makes it hard to see further. Maybe if I can make it to one of those?

  I look back, hoping to see the car that was following, praying it is Carter.

  A gunshot forces me to drop to the ground. The grass cushions my knees, cool with a sheen of moisture as the evening air cools. I keep my head low to the ground.

  Another shot echoes around me.

  “You can’t hide. You’re just prolonging the fun, little girl.” The cruel voice wraps around the field, carried on the air, and turns me to stone. I don’t recognise it. This isn’t guy one or driver guy from the car, so who is he?

  My fingers splay out in the damp grass as I look around, feeling the need to flee. The direction of the small out-building is the best option, so I force my body to crawl through the grass, keeping as low as possible. With every shuffle forward, the urge to look back and check whether anyone’s behind me grows, but I resist and focus on my goal. Just a little further. A little further.

  Finally, the solid structure is in touchin
g distance. I dart around the corner and find a door. The building is barely standing, but it’s cover. Keeping close to the walls, I slip inside and into the shadows, staying close to the door, and wait. My ears listen for any sign of movement, but all I can hear is my own heartbeat bouncing in my chest.

  Fear swells in my stomach, pushing my heart rate faster, and my breathing shakes to pull in the air I need. For a split second I wish my dad were here.

  A branch or twig snapping alerts me to what might be outside, and I stuff my hand over my mouth to quieten my breathing. The building might provide shelter, but it’s also a dead end. I crouch as low to the ground as I can behind the door. With any luck, if someone comes in, I can sneak out behind them.

  My hand is damp from the tears that have been trickling down my face. I need to get my breathing evened out. A footstep again. More definite this time. I hold my breath. There’s a gap in the wood of the door, and I strain to look. All I see is darkness. Nothing.

  A dark shadow ghosts across my line of sight, and I immediately duck back down behind the door, but not before the eerie creak of the door as it starts to swing open. I crouch down low and wait for them to step in and move clear of the door. A few more steps. A few more steps.

  I crouch-walk around and back out of the door. Straight into more trouble.

  “Hello, beautiful.”

  A hand snatches for me, but I block. He reaches again, but I block again, all the while backing up. The final time he grabs for me, I take his hand, twist his arm back and use the momentum of my weight to push his arm back.

  “Bitch!”

  I elbow him in the nose and send him reeling backwards, ready to sprint back the way I came.

  “Not so fast.”

  The hand comes from nowhere, and pain flares over my face so fast I don’t know where to look. My body thuds to the floor, and even though my mind is willing my muscles to work, to get up, I can’t. Nothing works. I can’t move, can't see anything but blurred images, and darkness creeps in around me.

  My head is groggy; I can’t think straight. Patches of memory flash through my head. Carter. The drug deal. There was a car crash. I open my eyes and flutter them to get used to the dim light. I try to move, but my hands don’t budge and… something is tied around them. And my feet.

  The hit of adrenaline wakes me up like a cold shower. I’m tied to a chair in a room. Two armed guards are at the door and sitting in a similar chair across from me is a third older man. The expensive suit doesn’t offer me any reassurances. He's smoking a cigar, lifting it to his lips and drawing the toxins into his lungs before blowing the smoke out into the air.

  I remain silent, watching him as he repeats this three times. He hasn’t asked me any questions, and I’m not prepared to play the stupid-card again and speak first.

  With every adjustment of my weight, every flex of my arms, the chair creaks and begins to set my nerves on edge. I don’t know who these people are, or what they want, but it won’t end with them letting me walk out of here. Of that I’m sure.

  Still, I remain silent. Finally, the man finishes his cigar and stands. He’s tall, with dark hair and dark eyes that show no hint of mercy. A glinting at his waist catches my eye, and I notice the large knife attached to his belt. This isn’t like the knife that Carter had. This is more like a hunting knife, one used to kill prey. I swallow the rising fear and try to take a breath.

  “So, you’re the girl who caused the death of my son. The daughter of Benjamin Vico.”

  I don’t answer.

  “I believed that we were in partnership with Vico. We’ve certainly profited from his business over the years, but he takes it too far this time. My son.” He stalks towards me, and the creaking of the chair grows as I struggle more and more, fear pulsing through me at his words. He reaches me and crouches down to whisper in my ear. “How much will your daddy pay to get you back in one piece?”

  In a flash the knife that was attached to his belt is in his hand. He runs the tip over the profile of my face, down to my neck, and then hands it to another man and backs away a few feet.

  “Please…” I don’t know what I’m asking, but the fear of what he might do overrides anything else I might want.

  The other guy comes in closer, tilting my head back as the older one looks on. “Please, what?” he says, watching as the tip of the knife is dug under my chin to lift my head to his eyes.

  “Please let me go,” I whimper.

  “Sorry,” he says, his face smiling to reveal shining white teeth. “That’s not going to happen.” He takes another step back and nods, and the tip of the knife shifts from my skin. I feel a trickle of warm liquid snake down my throat instantly and try to rip my hair out of the man’s hold. “Doesn’t that look pretty,” the older man says, nodding again. “Red really is your colour.” The knife comes back and this time the one being ordered to hurt me runs it down my chest, the pressure growing with his stroke.

  “No…. argggghhhh.” My scream pierces the room as the pain slices through my bravery. A throbbing pain emanates from the top of my clavicle down to my sternum.

  “I don’t think your father will mind a few scratches, do you? Something to show him Chelico is serious.”

  I can’t see the mark, but I can feel the heat rushing to my chest and a few dark marks staining my dress. Only my imagination can fill in the blanks of what he’s done to me.

  “No,” I sob, my face dropping as tears fall into my lap.

  “Good. Stay silent like a good girl and everything will work out.”

  Nine

  I lost view of them a mile or so back, choosing to take the left fork in the road to get here instead of following too closely. The second I veered off, I killed the lights to travel in darkness rather than have them see me coming. If there’s one thing these boys aren’t, it’s dense. They’re damn good at what they do. Something I know well from time spent with them. I ease the car around the corners, careful not to knock plumes of the dirt track up into the sky, and finally pull up under some trees. The only advantage I have here is surprise, and I don’t know if that’s enough against this crew, let alone Anchov, but I’m damned if I’m waiting for backup.

  The car door closes quietly behind me, and I hurry to the outskirts of the boundary walls, pulling my gun to get ready. Jesus, of all the fucking times for something to go wrong at a deal. What the fuck was my conscience doing bringing her into the middle of this? Idiotic. And then I left her in the goddamn car as I tried to sort out the mess she’d created? More stupidity. I should have known they’d be watching the deal, keeping it covered from all angles.

  I keep on going past the elaborate gardens of the vast white Chelico estate, hugging the walls to stay out of the line of any cameras. Luckily enough, I was here last year—yet another fucking favour for Vico that involved me being neck deep in drugs—so at least I know the house, know the security systems they have here. They’re all top of the line, but the cameras also leave a two-foot gap skirting the perimeter. That’s hopefully enough for me to get through without anyone knowing I’m here yet.

  I crouch when I reach the old palms and sneak a look through the railings up towards the main house. Where the hell they’ve taken her is a mystery, but she’ll be in there somewhere. There are six guards up on the terrace near the entrance. I duck and change angles to see two more at the back by the pool. A ruckus brings my attention back to where I was originally looking. The main doors swing open, Anchov Chelico himself stepping out onto the patio and looking around the grounds, three more guards crowding him. He lights a cigar and stares into the distance, hatred written all over his aged, tanned face. That’s aimed at me, regardless of the fact he doesn’t know I’m here yet. Killing his son wasn’t the best fucking move, which I guess he now knows, but pissing off Vico by not protecting Fia would have been more dangerous to all concerned. Cane included.

  And so, here we fucking are.

  He walks back into the house, some of his men going with him, an
d I shake my head and concentrate back on the fact that I have to get to her somehow. My eyes search the sparsely lit top levels of the property for more cameras. From what I remember, there weren’t any internally other than at the two entrances. That could have changed in a year, but I can’t see anything and don't have the privilege of time on my side. I loosen my tie, a slight smile coming at the thought of some real action. It’s been a while since I’ve had to engage, and whilst this is fucked up, they’re not going to do any damage to her yet. She’s worth too much. Far too much. Too much time, though, and a phone call will be made to Vico, a bargain offered for her life because of the death of Pierre. Last thing anyone needs is Vico involved. Certainly not me. Not until I'm prepared for it, anyway. That phone call will only be made when Anchov himself is prepared, for the exact same reason—fear.

  Currently, he’s as unprepared as I am.

  I scale the wall and drop softly in behind the palm trees, immediately hurrying through the dense undergrowth to get closer to one of the back windows. None of the guards move from their locations, meaning I’m still unseen. I hurry further around, past their viewpoint, looking for a line of entry. The pool house is attached to the main house by a glass tunnel leading through to the staff quarters. That’ll do. I grip the gun and run faster, ducking and dodging the outlying trees to get to my goal. The second I set foot on a secluded part of the terrace, a guy comes out of nowhere. I keep moving into him at speed and then yank him backwards into the shrubs, my hand closed over his mouth. My knife is out and stuck into his neck before any sound is made, blade twisting and my hold keeping him still under the attack. He eventually slumps in my hold, and warm blood seeps over my fingers as I drag him further into the bushes. Good. One down.

  Another run and I’m through the doors, the smell of chlorine instantly assaulting my senses. I hover, watching the blue hues for any movement and thinking of the pool back home, her body rising out of it. All this is because of her, and now for her. I wish that only meant me being bothered about Vico, but it's not. I'm pissed they've taken her from me. Annoyed that they'd dare. And now I feel protective of her and the feeling that’s arisen for some goddamn reason. No woman's ever given me that sense of meaning, not even come close. I've seen some shit over my life, heard screams under duress at the hands of men like the ones I'm closing in on. They touch a damn hair on her head and I'll kill every one of them, no matter their power.