Manacled Hearts: an Age Gap Mafia Romance (The Sanctum Syndicate Book 3)

PROLOGUE

One month earlier

The screech of the container door plays on a disturbing loop in my head. Hours must have passed since the last time I heard it, closing with a shattering bang that held a finality to it. The loop is never-ending, an excruciating background noise to the whimpers and cries currently reverberating against these walls.

It took me a while, but I finally understood why it plagues me so. My subconscious is demanding retribution for my failure to save Maya from the bastards who took us. Who locked us in this godforsaken place, along with so many others like her.

I had one job—protect my little sister.

I failed.

Miserably.

As if becoming homeless, unexpected orphans, and evading CPS wasn’t enough, now we’re kidnapped. Stuck in this hot, metal box with thirty other children, suffocating in the smell of urine and God knows what else.

Only, I’m the odd one out. I’m not a child.

I’m just shy of turning eighteen, still a minor in the eyes of some laws, but my childhood ended with our mom’s sudden death. Overnight, I became my sister’s guardian, and without siblings, grandparents or other family, we had no one else in the world on our side. Almost two years have passed since she became my whole life.

Sometimes it’s like I’m trapped in a Lemony Snicket novel. Event after unfortunate event seems to have taken a horrible hold of us, and the passing of years did nothing to improve our situation.

It didn’t start with Mom, though.

In reality, it all started with the events that took Dad from us.

The container jolts. Terrified cries erupt from the children, serving as a reminder that the unlucky events haven’t ceased.

“Hold on to each other. It’s all going to be over soon.” I try to soothe them with empty promises.

Still, the cries never stop. Like the little light that used to shine in their souls, they quiet down to fear-stricken murmurs.

Tightening my hold around my sister, I whisper words of reassurance to her. She wasn’t one of the kids who screamed. Maybe that’s why I’m holding her harder. I’m hoping her silence stems from my comfort, but the alternative plays in my mind. Is she in some sort of catatonic state from the trauma?

I yearn for a sliver of light in here. At least then she could look into my eyes with her pretty green ones and see the promises in them. I will never fail her again. I will protect her with all I have and make sure she will be safe. Since they took us and locked us in here, those vows haven’t touched my lips. I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep them. So, words of reassurance are all I can provide. I’m a coward. A failure.

I failed when I chose to park on the dark side too far away from the school—all so I could hide that we live in our car.

I failed when I didn’t immediately notice the men following us, after I picked her up. When I didn’t get her to the car in time.

I failed when they yanked me by my hair, struck me in the ribs, then pushed me away from her. When she screamed my name with such terror in her sweet little voice, it clawed into my soul. I jumped on the man who grabbed her, erratically punching him in the face, aiming at his eyes until he finally dropped Maya.

Then I failed to hold on to her. They ripped her out of my weak arms, punching me hard enough in the gut that I almost threw up before my head even hit the ground. But I got up and ran after them like the pain didn’t exist, following my sister’s muffled cries deeper into the darkness of the alley. I ran even as the worn soles of my shoes gave out and the rocks gouged my socked feet.

When I saw my sister being shoved in the back of the black van, I pushed my way in without thinking. I couldn’t get her out. Instead, the men spit their curses at my hysterics and decided it was safer to take me, too.

Since then, there have been no opportunities to attempt an escape, but I refuse to accept that none will come. There is no other choice. No more room for failure.

With guilt fogging my mind, my exhaustion takes me before I can stop it, and I drift into a restless sleep.

I drift in and out, frequently woken up by the metal screeching or the kids. Even when I manage some sleep, I’m woken up by the children. Some require calming, the really young ones need help to relieve themselves, and I need to make sure they all eat the cheap bread that’s provided. Before closing the doors, the bastards who took us threw in sealed bags of sandwich bread and bottles of water. I tested them on myself before I let any of the kids touch them, and I was fine.

I’m not sure how much time has passed since we’ve been here. The absence of light creates deceit, but I think at least two days have gone by. Although, my measuring system may be flawed. I can’t truly trust my stomach since it’s used to such little food, but I’ve been keeping track of Maya’s hunger. So far, she’s asked for food, albeit reluctantly, six times. I can’t fully trust this method. It’s not like we’ve been sleeping well. We drift in and out, caught in a daze that sometimes gets interrupted by the movements of the container.

I’m convinced we’re on water, but I’ve been praying to all the gods I know that we’re not leaving the country. It covers a vast continent, so maybe we’re going to a different side of it. The alternative is dire. Even when we escape, it will add many more challenges. Requesting asylum with a child who isn’t in my custody will be a sure way of losing Maya to the system. But at least she’ll be out of here.

More time passes by, more meals for Maya, more screams, more cries, more begging for mamas and papas, more drifting in and out of sleep.

Until the jolts come.

I urge the kids to huddle together and protect each other while I keep Maya curled under my arm and the other kids hold on to us. My sister is the happiest, most easygoing and trusting kid, and the fact that she’s been so quiet is unbearable. I’ve talked to her and soothed her the best I could, but even now, as the container jolts in all directions, she barely whimpers.

The exhaustion is almost debilitating, but when the container stops moving and thrashing us around, adrenaline kicks in, pumping new energy back into me. Not the good kind of energy. No, the kind of jittery energy that makes me shake with the fearful anticipation of what’s coming next. I hope that when the time comes, I’ll find the physical strength to do what I need to protect her.

Muffled words sound outside these metal walls, and the cries of the kids grow.

“Shh…” I attempt to calm them. Only some of them listen.

The side of the container rattles, and my sister finally makes a sound, yelping as her small body flinches.

When the noises intensify, I squeeze her tighter. “I’ll keep you safe, Maya.”

The metal box jolts again, and it feels like we’re being lifted. Controlling my fear is proving so much harder than I thought it would be. When my sister groans, I realize I’ve been squeezing her a bit too tight.

My thoughts stray to this unbearable helplessness, to our dad, and to the fact that no one will search for us. Maybe Maya’s school will contact the police when they discover that the address they have for her is fake. That could be our shot at having someone to look for us, but the people who took us are highly professional, so I doubt there’s even the slightest trail.

We’re screwed.

I don’t realize the container has stopped moving until the door cracks open, and the screeching pierces through my eardrums. All at once the kids throw themselves back against the walls.

Squeezing Maya to me, I brace myself for the worst.

* * *

From the moment those doors opened to what seems like a vast warehouse, everything has been happening so fast, and I’m struggling to wrap my mind around things. Initially, I thought we reached our destination, but the shock and disbelief in the expressions of the men looking back at us made it clear these were not the same ones who took us. Those types of emotions cannot be faked, not by men who look as hard as them.

Slowly, pity bled through their gazes.

I counted eight people walking around, running their hands nervously through their hair, talking heatedly. Though a few of them seemed to only stand silent and take orders. Some were dressed for combat—boots, cargo pants, casual T-shirts—but others gave me grave vibes in their black, tailored suits. One in particular seemed to be in charge, and the man stood out in his three-piece suit, ordering the others around to do things for us.

They gave us food, more water, and asked the kids if they were hurt.

But they didn’t let us out.

Instead, they left the doors cracked open so we could get some air and light.

I tried to peek around for an escape route, but I’m too deep into this space. Even so, running while herding thirty kids will be impossible. All I could do was sit, wait, and listen.

Now, something is changing.

More footsteps approach, and with them, another spike of adrenaline surges through my veins. Though it prickles up my spine more like fear.

“This is one thing I won’t work with, and I’m convinced you won’t agree with it either.”

The container opens fully again, and I grab onto my sister, trying to peek from the darkness—four new men stand in front of us. Their features are grim, but there’s something about the look in their eyes that doesn’t just remind me of anger. It’s something more.

Darker.

My gaze flickers to the wavy-haired blonde one who asked a question I didn’t hear, and I can’t tear my eyes away. I can’t see his from here, but that expression… It’s different from the others.

Parts of their conversation breaks through the haze. It sounds like this container belongs to someone they made some sort of business deal with, only, they weren’t supposed to be transporting people.

The moment I hear someone say that they have to close it back up, heat fills my chest. I want to scream, I want to shout at them and beg them to reconsider. But the words don’t come. My mouth falls open, yet the sounds don’t even reach my throat. I manage to rise and lean toward the men and their plan to seal our fate.

The discussion turns heated, kids begin crying, covering their ears as they likely struggle to understand what they’re hearing. I barely can.

“That’s complete fucking madness!” someone shouts.

I think it was the man who towers over all the others. He looks ready to pounce and fight them all, angrily swiping a hand over his buzz-cut hair.

I agree, it is complete madness! My sister and all these kids need to be saved. They have to save us. They have to let us go. I want to shout at them, demand they free us. But the blonde one speaks again, and my thoughts pause all at once when his voice breaks through my own raging thoughts.

“Are you fucking saying that we’re supposed to close these doors and let them go wherever the fuck those assholes are taking them?!” He shouts those words with so much rage woven through each syllable, that I almost miss the emotion at the base of it—pain.

There’s something deep within his chiseled features, behind those golden curls, which hold a particular type of pain. I can’t take my eyes off of him, and he looks like he can’t bear to look at us. Maybe he’s disgusted. I wouldn’t blame him. However, his outrage is unmissable.

“We don’t have a choice,” the man with black hair, who is dressed from head to toe in the same color, says. “They can’t know we’re aware of this. This is the quickest way to find out where they’re taking them, because this operation might be bigger than this one container. The hydra has many heads, and we need to cut the root and find all of them. Saving just them will not save all the others. If there are any others.”

Oh my god, there could be more kids?

I’ve been so wrapped up in our circumstances—our fate. I didn’t even think about the possibility that there are more. That we may not be the first shipment. How many more could there be? Before us… after us? How many children are missing their parents, their grandparents, their siblings? Children stolen from their beautiful lives, maybe even unfortunate ones, now made so much worse.

“We need someone on the inside. But none of Katya’s employees would fit in. None of them look remotely young enough,” someone else says.

My mind reels with images of what those men are doing to these pure souls. Countless missing posters holding the faces of the kids surrounding me flash behind my eyes. Some of them aren’t even in school yet, young enough that it wasn’t long since they stopped wearing diapers. There are others like them taken by the same scumbags. They’re abusing them… raping them.

Oh, my god.

Tears well in my eyes.

They’re raping them!

A visceral shake erupts from deep within my bones, and I squeeze Maya closer. God, why does she have to hear this? Why do all the other children have to hear this conversation? But there could be many more like them who are actually experiencing all these horrific things.

I could do it. Right? I could be their person on the inside.

No, no, no! What if something happens to Maya? Or to me, and I’m unable to protect her? I can’t do this. I have nothing to offer them.

But they’re sending us anyway. Whether I volunteer myself or not, they said they need to make sure there aren’t others, and I’ll end up in the same place. At least this way, not only do we have a better shot at being rescued, potentially not being hunted down again, but more kids might be saved.

Bending down slightly, I whisper to my sister, “I think I’m going to help them.”

“But it sounds dangerous,” she whispers back.

“I’m going to be fine, sweet girl.”

It’s not technically a lie.

“Is it true? Are there others?” she asks, her voice shaky.

“Maybe…”

I feel the bobbing of her head against me, and I have to let go of her, because my trembling seems to increase as the decision sinks in. Two deep breaths don’t seem to help. The third one doesn’t even reach too deep. But this is the only way… the only control I have over this situation.

“I’ll—I’ll do it,” I say out loud before I can talk myself out of it.

I struggle up to my feet, urging Maya to stay where she is. The tall man with a buzz-cut rushes to me as I force my weak legs to move forward. He’s moving too fast, his eyes fierce as he reaches for me, and I scurry back.

The whole space falls silent—both the container and the men watching us. My gaze drifts over each of them, but no one says a word.

I’ve already made a horribly poor choice this week by parking in that alley. Am I about to make yet another one by offering myself up and trusting them? It could be a stupid move, but the anger and disgust at our situation bleeding out of their gazes, gives me confidence.

They will rescue us, even if it’s not happening right now.

It’s a choice I will likely regret, because they can’t guarantee our safety once we’re out of their hands. And something about these men screams of a world I loathe, illegitimate business affairs, and danger. Yet, between the two evils currently in my life, they might be the better one.

One deep breath later, I reach over to the man who, in this confined space, looks like an absolute beast, and he takes my hand, leading me out of the metal box. There’s no missing the wet spots my broken shoes leave on the floor. I would crawl into a hole if I could.

Will they know what that is? What I’m leaving behind?

It’s silly to ponder, but surrounded by all these well-dressed, clean men, I experience an incredibly overwhelming sense of inferiority.

Someone brings a chair, and I’m urged to take a seat. I stifle a groan when I settle on the basic wooden structure that shouldn’t feel like anything special, but after sitting on the floor of a shipping container for God knows how long, this is heaven.

“I’ll do it. If there’s more,” I glance toward the inside of the container, “I want to find them. But it has to happen fast. I can’t risk them getting… I can’t.” I sigh, forcing the images of what could be done to them out of my mind.

“I know. I understand,” the one dressed in all black answers.

When I look at him, I swear my soul stalls. He has black eyes, too, like a dark devil. He stands here, and the anger simmering just beneath the surface is all kinds of wrong. Disturbing.

He says something about a tracker and my gaze wanders to another man I only catch a glimpse of before he turns on his heels and rushes toward a door.

“We’re going to put a tracker on you. It’s going to be small. You might have to swallow it or—” The black-eyed man stops short, as if he’s thinking.

“It’s okay. I’ll do whatever it takes. Slice me open and put it under my skin. I don’t care. Just… help them.”

Guilt has a louder voice than my logic, and I think it’s why I’m so driven to sacrifice myself now. Closing my eyes, I take a deep, centering breath, but I startle when someone asks my name.

“Evelyn,” I answer, though it comes out more like a whisper.

My gaze wanders around the space but settles on the blonde man with sun-kissed curls, and I have to swallow one too many times as his broken, blue gaze pins me in place.

“How old are you?” he asks.

I wasn’t mistaken before—sadness definitely hides behind his anger.

“Seventeen.” I turn toward the container. “My sister is seven.” This is not a piece of information I thought I would share, but it might work as motivation for them. Appeal to their compassionate side—if they have one.

“Fucking hell.” His voice lowers with a different type of fury. An uncontrollable one. Maybe I was successful.

“We’ll get you all out. That’s a promise. But you have to be strong. I just don’t know what will happen as soon as you’ll arrive wherever they’re taking you,” the black-eyed one says. He’s convincing in his uncomfortably honest tone.

I flinch when he reaches over and attempts to soothe me, his hand touching my shoulder. I’m not sure why, but my gaze shifts to the buzz-cut man who stands firm next to me. Maybe I’m going crazy, but for some reason, I think I’m looking for reassurance from him. How bizarre.

Yet, I get exactly that. His eyes reveal the gentlest, most tragic gaze. He’s built like a beast, but all I see is compassion and warmth in his gaze.

“Will they—will they get to the children?” I all but whisper. I don’t want the kids to hear me.

“I really hope not, but I don’t want to lie to you.”

It was a stupid question I can’t believe I asked. They’re not psychic. How are they supposed to know?

“I understand.”

“Where did they take you from?” the one standing beside me asks.

“Various places. We’re not all from the same city… They just brought us all to the same place. My sister and I, they took us when I was picking her up from school after work.”

“What about your parents? They must be looking for you.”

I hesitate. We need to be saved, but we can’t be sent back to Fleeton. Not until I figure it all out. Will they hand us over to CPS? I’m over-thinking this. I need to take it one step at a time.

“They, um—It’s only us two.” I stop to wipe from my cheeks tears I didn’t realize were falling. “I can’t fail her.”

“You won’t. We’ll get you out before anything happens,” the blonde one promises, and once again, I’m fully trapped in his gaze.

It’s so different from everyone else’s in this room. Emotional and tragic. Why is he reacting so differently than the others, even though they all look cut from the same cloth?

Something inside of me, a stray piece of my soul, wants to reach out and find out why. It’s a visceral need, inappropriate too, but it demands his comfort. To give and receive.

Jesus, this is—it’s wrong. I’m… wrong.

The men talk between themselves now, and I quietly ask the one beside me where we are.

“Queenscove,” he answers.

“On the South coast?” I’m filled with a bit more hope.

“Yes.”

Thank God! We’re still in the country. Just… around twelve hundred miles away.

The man who left earlier returns, walking toward me with determined steps.

I sense the blonde man’s gaze, like the brush of heat over my skin. Even as everyone in this room have their eyes on me, only his touch me. It burns. It stings. It almost hurts. Although, that hurt might be self-inflicted by my shame at the pleasure of the heat.

“This is the tracker.” I’m handed a pill. This is a tracker? “It won’t dissolve, it’s specially made. But it will pass through. Keep it in your mouth for as long as you can. Swallow it only if they try to check your mouth, okay?”

I nod, looking at the pill in disbelief before sliding it between my cheek and molars.

The man next to me helps me up and guides me back into the metal box that threatens to be my demise. I won’t let it, though. I refuse to have anything happen to my sister—to any of these kids.

The metal doors grind my eardrums as they screech behind me, and I flinch, memories of the first time I heard them scaring the soul out of me. But it’s different now. These men are trying to save us. They might be seeking their own goals, but a lot of effort seems to be put into us. So, I decide to entrust them with something else.

I stop and turn just before the door swallows the light.

“When it’s done,” the door stops and the men watch me and wait, “I can’t have the police knowing of me and my sister. It’s only us, and they’ll split us up. I’ll lose her to the system.”

The buzz-cut beast nods, the promise vivid in his eyes.

Then, the world turns dark.

The fear returns with a vengeance, but at least now I have something else to balance it—hope.

If only it lasts.

Half an hour passes by. The doors open again, and dread fills me with such force, bile rises up my throat. Especially when my eyes land on the man who took us. He stands next to a new guy who points at me as we’re urged out of the container and into the back of a truck.

The new guy watches me with far too much interest for my liking, but I get it—I wasn’t supposed to be here. I’m too old.

Which means that they might try to get rid of me. I’m no use to them.

The insoluble tracker-pill sits against my cheek, and it grounds me peculiarly. It’s a reminder that I have to stay strong for Maya. And for the other kids.

The urge to grab my sister and run is so strong, my legs shake and fingers twitch. But we’re pushed and forced to move faster, and the truck door closes behind us before the urge settles.

I can’t even process how much time passes until the drive ends. I’ve spent it all going through likely scenarios in my head, whilst holding onto Maya for dear life. She’s still quiet. In a way, I’m happy. Maybe she’s dissociated somehow.

What should I do?

How do I protect her?

I just have to stall. I have to keep an eye on her. Just until the men who own this tracker come for us.

And they will come.

They will come on time.

The curly-haired blonde one promised.

“Take them all to the assessment room!” a man shouts over the voices of crying children as we’re herded out of the truck and into what looks like an abandoned factory.

I stumble but catch myself just as the same man who was watching me before, turns to look at me. He was the one shouting. He leans in toward the guy beside him and whispers something into his ear, his eyes never leaving mine.

I don’t feel good about this. At all.

Driven by instinct, I swallow the tracker pill I was holding in my mouth.

“Evie?” Maya’s voice startles me. “Evie, what’s happ—”

“Not you.” A hand wraps painfully around my bicep, hauling me away with enough force that I lose my feet.

“No! Let me go!” I shout, thrashing to break free as another guy grabs Maya from behind.

All the kids turn, and at the sight, a cacophony of fear fills the space. They cry and yell, some of them shout in pain when the men who watch them hit them to silence, and tears of frustration and fear blur my vision.

I fight the one who holds me, kicking and punching in a whirl of untrained moves that don’t take me anywhere. But I do it anyway, aiming for low spots, for his belly and groin, anything that could make him lose his grip.

With the loudest of thuds, my ear rings. It takes a second to register the pain that comes with it.

“Shut the fuck up!” someone shouts, but the threat sounds muffled.

“Let me go! I need to be there with them! With—”

“No. You’re coming with me. I need to find out what you’re worth.”

I turn my gaze to the man who spoke those heavy words. It’s him… the one who seems to run things. The one who watched me.

“Although,” he continues, “I might keep you all to myself, regardless.”

My lungs heave with quickening breaths, and the visceral scream that breaks out of me is followed by furious thrashes in an attempt to escape once more. But he grabs me by the hair, my messy ponytail so tight in his hand, my skull burns.

It takes but two seconds more, then pain shoots on the right side of my skull, and my world falls into darkness.