by AJ Adams
"Kowalczyk's eyes located you and I have eyes on him."
That figured.
"How did you get loose?"
He wasn't raging, just curious. "I kept yanking at the chain and it broke."
"Hmm, so no tricks?"
"Plain muscle power. You need to buy better kidnap kit."
My mouth. I swear, I should wear a gag. But the Zeta didn't mind at all. In fact, he was smiling a little. "I'll make a note."
Well, at least he wasn't mad. "If you try anything, Jorge, I will shoot you." Because I wasn't putting up with any shit.
He pulled up instantly and leaned past me to open the door. "Go, then."
Jesus. Make a stand and it was instant war. I couldn't leave, not with gunmen on the loose, but I didn't want to cave either. "I'll stay but you're not to beat or threaten me."
He stared at me, granite-like.
I shut the door. "Oh, just drive!"
He didn't speak, but I got the message: he decided he'd won. Satisfaction streamed off him. Jorge Santos could not bear not to win. I wanted to thump him, to march off and be a winner myself, but I daren't take the risk.
My regret at staying diminished as traffic thickened. I saw danger in every car, van and motorbike. With that photo all over London, God knows how many crooks would turn assassin. As a dark car sped by, I ducked instinctively. A red light had me gasping. In my imagination, a million guns were aimed at me.
Being tired and freaked meant the drive back to London was a blur. I remember stopping at a petrol station, with Jorge tossing the Toyota keys to a bloke in a hoodie as a gleaming limo slid up. We conducted the rest of the journey in a luxuriously upholstered leather cave behind a glass privacy screen. Jorge didn't say a word to me but he was on his phone, murmuring in Spanish.
Finally, a blur of lights, an arm around my shoulders propelling me into a lift, and then I was back in the penthouse I'd tried so hard to escape from.
"Sit. Wait. I have some business."
In the days he'd kept me locked up, there'd been no callers. Now, a steady stream of visitors dropped by. The tough guy who'd propelled me away from the smoke and fire was first.
"Amit. Amazing job. Your response was superb." Jorge hugged him and piloted him straight to the kitchen. "Want a glass of wine? Or coffee? I want your input for tomorrow's security arrangements."
All I heard was a murmur. Then the man was off, and three wide boys rolled in. The crew cuts and tattoos said gang and the h-dropping indicated pure South London.
"Mis socios!" Jorge embraced them. "I have heard good things about you. I'm impressed. I wanted to tell you myself and to welcome you to my team." After that, they were putty in his hands. Jorge got right down to it. "I need a favour. You all know of the attack on me today." As they leaned in, "I trust you to find me some information."
Despite my troubles, I found it fascinating. Kowalczyk sat behind a desk, stormtroopers at the door, and grunted at his people. Jorge hugged, complimented, and charmed. It worked, too. The wide boys promised results and everyone after, from dark eyed respectful blokes who were obviously Zetas to Londoners of all descriptions, glowed with pride and commitment. Jorge was mustering and inspiring an army.
As Jorge talked on, my mind went back to my own problems. I had hit rock bottom: no family, another sex scandal, and a nutcase putting out a hit on me. It just didn't seem real. It sounded like a bad romance novel.
I went to the kitchen. Jorge was nose to nose with a group of bikers but at my hovering, he looked up. "I want my phone."
"In my jacket pocket."
Facebook was bad; Twitter was worse. I'd had my share of online harassment. I'd featured on and off on 8chan and Pornhub, just like every lingerie model I knew. But fantasy porn mostly stays in creepy internet space where pervs hang out; this filth was trending worldwide.
It was like that awful time with Rick only worse. Back then, there'd been one video. This time there were dozens. To make things worse, Kowalczyk was claiming I'd upped and left him for Jorge, making me a cheat as well as a whore. Scrolling through the poisonous comments made me feel lower than earthworms. Knowing my family had seen them was even worse.
Checking the restaurant Facebook page and Google listing was hideous. All Colin's five-star reviews were swamped with trolls posting porn clips as comments. There were one-stars popping up too. The armchair moralists were having a field day trashing me, my brother and his business.
I felt sick seeing it. I also understood why Colin hadn't stood by me. He lived and died by his reputation. Being publicly humiliated had temporarily unhinged him. This was why he'd not listened. He'd been in shock. And on top of it all, I'd lost my temper. Guilt rushed through me.
Without conscious thought, I phoned him. Straight to voicemail. WhatsApp was worse. He rejected my video call and, most unusually for him, texted, Not now, Persia. I am taking Mum and Dad abroad for a holiday. When we come back, if you are ready to tell the truth, we can talk.
My reply, Please, hear me out was delivered but not read. I got the message. My brother was ghosting me.
With burgeoning fear, I tried Mum. Straight to voicemail. Dad was the same. Then, checking Facebook, they'd disappeared from my timeline. Every comment had been wiped. They had blocked me.
That was worse than being told to leave the house. That had been in the heat of the moment; this was colder. It was a knife in my soul.
I didn't want anyone to see me cry, so I hid in the bathroom. By the time I finished, my eyes were sore and puffy, and I was shattered.
A glance in the mirror revealed I was streaked with dirt. Throwing yourself onto the ground will do that. I had mud in my hair, too. Totally on autopilot, I stripped and washed. Then I raided Jorge's closet again, stealing a pair of black boxers and a tobacco-coloured silk shirt.
Walking into the living room, head up and determined not to blubber, I found a pasta salad waiting for me. My stomach was churning with nerves, but I appreciated the thought.
The kitchen conference was still going strong.
"I am a peaceful man. I avoid trouble. But what can I do when I'm attacked?" Jorge held forth to a banker type complete in a suit and tie. "I can't let my business die. What about my staff? I'm responsible for them."
I wondered if the suit knew Jorge went to work in the mornings carrying more weapons than an ISIS operative.
"Yeah, that's Persia York," Jorge dropped his voice but the low growl still carried. "Her ex is pissed because she's with me. The rat is spreading deepfake porn. I told her she could stay here. You know, until the fuss dies down."
He twisted the truth so neatly and sounded so sincere, that I was cast into doubt. What if he'd lied to me? What if he had some dark purpose of his own? I'd read about false flag operations. Maybe Jorge had made the deepfakes himself and set up the hit but was blaming Kowalczyk. I knew first-hand he was ruthless enough to do so.
My fingers did my thinking for me.
"Yes?" Kowalczyk picked up straight away.
I couldn't think of a word to say.
"Persia?" The cold tone made me shiver. "Where are you?"
"Did you send someone to kill me?"
"You're crazy. Are you drunk?" But the pause had been ever so slightly too long. Kowalczyk was lying.
"I saw that dark web post."
"I've no idea what that even means." He was an awful liar. "Where are you?"
"Zeta Towers." A loaded silence this time. I knew for certain that if he'd been within reach, that he would have punched me. "There are fake sex videos of me all over the Internet."
"It wasn't me."
That was an out and out lie. Jorge had spoken the truth. It was Kowalczyk.
"Persia? We need to talk," the scumbag purred. "When you walked out on me, I was angry. But now I realise I miss you."
I almost dropped my phone in shock. "You've got to be fucking kidding me!"
"Please come back."
"You suddenly realised I'm your one true love? Pull the othe
r one, mate, it's got bells on." I remembered what Colin had said. "Anyway, the debt's paid off."
"I need you," Kowalczyk said quickly. "Between you and your friends, every party is a press event."
That was spot-on. Until I'd come along, he'd bought press coverage. It had been functional but not spectacular. Mainly because he was a boorish twat.
My silence had him crawling, "I'll pay you whatever you want. Call your brother, he'll arrange it. It can all be on your terms."
He'd never, ever spoken to me that way. There was no doubt in my mind what he was after. He was luring me to him and it wasn't because he wanted my amazing talent for hanging out at parties. Jorge had told the truth; Kowalczyk wanted me dead.
I didn't need to look far for a reason, either. The Pole had decided that I'd made him look bad. Therefore, my death was to be revenge and a warning to others.
Knowing how close to the grave I'd been gave me the creeps.
"Persia?" Kowalczyk was sugar sweet. "Are you okay?"
"I'll get back to you." And then, quickly, I disconnected.
"Well?" Jorge, standing right in front of me. By the knowing eyes, he'd heard every word. "Convinced?"
"Yes." It was not a good moment. I looked past the Zeta. The kitchen was empty. "The great host of Mordor is unleashed?"
"What?"
Not a fan of Lord of the Rings, Jorge Santos. But he was fiendishly clever, ruthless, and determined. I needed him. "You said that if Kowalczyk wants me dead, you want me alive."
"Yeah."
He acted cool, but that twitch was there again. It was fleeting, but I was watching and I saw it. "Because it will piss off Kowalczyk or because you can pretend to bankers and such that you're the good guy?"
"Both."
A tiny flicker of hope sparked. If anyone could protect me, it was the Zeta. But life without family would be meaningless. I couldn't make sense of it all but as a twisty bugger, maybe he could help there, too. "My family think this is all my fault, even Colin. I have to make them listen to me."
He shrugged. "That's nothing to do with me."
"That's what Colin said. But it was he who started this."
His sarcasm was patent. "Did he? Your uptight, upright brother? The next Gordon Ramsay?"
"Yes! Why won't anyone believe a word I say? Not Dad, not Colin, not Mum, even." I blinked the welling tears away. "And you're the same!"
"I go by what I see." Jorge twitched a bit and then added, "But I got it wrong on those tweets."
I sharpened up instantly. "I told you it wasn't me!"
"You were with Kowalczyk."
The stubborn bugger.
"You shouldn't have worked with him," Jorge maintained. Then, with an utter reluctance that merited gritted teeth, "But I should not have punished you. My anger was misplaced."
"Misplaced?" I waited for more. There was nothing. Not a flicker. "And the kidnapping, threats and shock collar - that was all okay?"
"Yes."
Abso-fucking-lutely insane.
"Business is business, fresa. When you're in the game, being a woman doesn't get you a free pass."
My palm itched and I might have given him another tight slap, but I knew he wouldn't let me hit him again.
"Exactly." Jorge was eyeing me up knowingly. "You keep your claws in."
"I should shoot you again," I snapped. "And where's the bloody video you made of us? I suppose you sent that to all your mates?"
He shook his head. "Nah, I destroyed it. It's gone."
"Right, you're not hanging on to it."
"I'm not, fresa." He was sincere. "That video was business. I made it but nobody saw it. I'd not humiliate you unless I had to. You fought like a Zeta."
He'd been a complete bastard but ironically, that 'man of respect' fixation was what I needed. I had to talk to my family, to explain, ask their forgiveness and make it right again. But with Kowalczyk after me, I didn't have a chance.
I couldn't fight Kowalczyk. Jorge could.
Although it took massive self-control, I did not belt him. "You owe me," I put my foot down. "My family think I went off with you and made those videos. You pay me back by telling them the truth."
He didn't even consider it. "No way."
"You want me, right? To piss off Kowalczyk?"
"Not that much."
Mum, Dad and Colin needed to know the facts. I'd strain every nerve to make that happen. So, I tried to chat dark devil up. "But think, Jorge." I threw back my shoulders and showed off my points. "You'd get me. The whole package."
"I already have you." Rocks had more heart. "I don't need to negotiate."
Pride surged. "Then I walk."
"The door is right there."
Stymied. I'd told Kowalczyk where I was, merely to get a rise out of him. Now that was biting me in the arse. He'd not need unknown goons looking for me. One of his minders was probably waiting outside right now. I'd last seconds on the street.
Jorge knew and took complete advantage. "This is what's going to happen: you can stay here but there's no deal, no terms, no conditions."
I had no home, no family, and no money. And was between a rock and a hard place. I died a little as I said it, "Okay."
"Good." Jorge sat back, eyes narrowed with triumph. He ran a finger over my cheek. "I like the package."
His crotch was bulging, the brows furrowed with want. The finger moved down my collar bone, my arm, and then slid to my back, running down my spine. His fingers rubbed the swell of my bum. The implication was clear: he would cash in.
"You. Spread face down. Underneath me." The soft growl and glittering eyes pierced my soul. "All mine."
There would be no cuffs or chains. He didn't need them anymore. He'd give me my orders, and I'd jump. I'd been Kowalczyk's for months but that hell had been bearable because I was saving my family. This time, I had nothing to hold on to. I didn't even have a career. With those videos going viral, the world would dismiss me as a whore.
Despair overwhelmed me.
I should have gone into the dark waters.
"Fresa." He put a finger under my chin, forcing me to look at him.
I wondered if he'd slap me. Or perhaps he'd find another collar. If he did, would I have the courage to leave? And be taken down by a bullet?
He gazed at me curiously. "You've been crying. Moment of weakness?"
Thinking he was crowing, I got my backbone back. "No." But it was way too watery for sass.
For a moment he was silent. Then, his thumb rubbed against my cheek. "This shit will blow over," he said softly.
"W-what?"
The glitter turned warm. "You keep your head up and you show your pride."
Even blinking rapidly couldn't stop tears from escaping. "Have you seen those videos?"
"Pooh!" He let me go and settled back. "They're just fucking with you. Don't let them get to you."
He didn't understand. "You're in one too but you're not being trashed."
"Well, no," he conceded. "Nobody gets a rise out of seeing me fuck."
"You said it, not me." I wiped my wet cheeks and tried not to snotter. "You really think it will blow over?"
"Sure! This shit happens all the time. They'll have a new target next week and you'll be forgotten." He handed me his handkerchief. White linen, beautifully laundered. I recognised it as the one he'd used to polish his gun on the day he'd taken me. It seemed a lifetime ago. "It was a mistake working with Kowalczyk. You're much too good for him."
I was too beat to argue that again. "Yeah. Okay. Whatever."
"Trust me: this is a temporary setback." Jorge smiled.
"You think?" He was so certain, I felt a little better.
"Chica, of course!"
"God, I hope so."
"You just wait," he predicted. "Your friends will step up for you too."
Having seen the flood of poison on Twitter and Colin's reviews, I'd avoided checking my messages. Now, I dared sneak a peek.
Where are you? We love you, Pers
ia.
Persia, call us IMMEDIATELY!
Don't you dare hide your face, girl. We've got your back.
Isa, Orabelle, and Tazanna, my BFFs since we worked together as Victoria Secret Angels, had texted in support. There were missed calls from them as well. I wasn't alone and abandoned. Their messages made me light as air.
A raft of notifications from trolls sent it straight back into the gutter. Then, my heart leaped. "Paula, my old agent, has asked me for lunch. And Cara and Magdalena sent their love and support."
Jorge craned his neck to see. "Is that Cara Delevingne and Magdalena Frackowiak? They're hot!"
"And very, very sweet." I clicked away, brave enough to check out my Twitter inbox. "Oh, look! Lots of people say they've lodged take-down reports!"
"Told you," he said simply.
My despair ebbed. Hard as nails Jorge Santos had given me my pride back. "Why are you being nice to me?"
A shrug and the finger rubbed my neck. "You're brave."
We were back to those twisted values. "More stubborn, actually."
"No way." He waved away my protest. "You're a winner all the way. Trust me, I know."
I wanted to believe. "Maybe." If I could convince my friends I hadn't made those videos, my family might believe me too. And, I told myself, pushing back had helped me recover from Rick's video. "Yes, I should fight."
"Exactly." The finger was back, stroking my cheekbone. "You don't get to the top without some motherfucker trying to take you down. Just be patient. You'll be back stronger than before."
He lived in a totally different world from mine, but he understood. I leaned over on impulse and kissed the chiselled cheek, rough with five o'clock shadow. "Thank you."
"Good." He got to his feet. "Come on, fresa. I want to enjoy the whole package." His growl was pure lust. "I have a wish list to work through."
Showtime. But I wasn't feeling hopeless any more. "You've had a hard day. How about another lap dance?"
Instantly, that glower was back. "I told you, no messing about. You know what I want."
"I'm not negotiating," I lied.
"Good." But the hard face said he would make sure I understood he was on top. In every way.
