39. Tayana
39
TAYANA
“ W e have to get out of here!” I hiss, gripping Maxine’s wrist tightly. My voice cuts through the tense silence, sharp and urgent. Maxine flinches but doesn’t move, her wide eyes darting to the door and back to me. I can’t let myself think about how thin she looks or the shadows smudged under her eyes like bruises. The questions burn in the back of my mind—where has she been, how did she fall into Igor’s clutches—but now isn’t the time.
“Come on, Maxine. We don’t have time for this,” I say, pulling her gently but insistently toward the door. My pulse thunders in my ears as the weight of every second presses against me. Igor might be gone for now, but that doesn’t mean we’re safe.
Maxine resists, her feet rooted to the floor. Her head shakes in small, jerky motions, and her lips part to speak, but the words seem to die before they form. She looks at me with a desperation that makes my chest ache, but still, she doesn’t move.
“What is wrong with you?” I snap, my patience fraying. “Do you really want to be under his grubby thumb for the rest of your life?” My voice comes out harsher than it should, but fear makes me reckless.
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she stares at me with a blank look that makes my stomach twist. Then, slowly, almost robotically, she raises her hands and begins to lift the hem of her shirt. Confusion flashes through me, quickly followed by a sickening sense of dread.
“Maxine?” My voice cracks as I speak her name, but she doesn’t stop. Inch by inch, her shirt reveals pale skin until I see it—a wide black belt strapped snugly around her waist, its glossy surface broken only by a small, ominous device with blinking red lights.
“Mother of mercy,” I breathe, stumbling back a step. The room spins around me, and my stomach lurches as realization crashes over me. Igor doesn’t need to guard us. He doesn’t need chains or locked doors. Maxine is his leverage and his threat. The bomb around her waist says so.
“He’ll kill me if I try to leave,” Maxine whispers, her voice barely audible. She drops her shirt, her arms wrapping protectively around her torso as if to shield herself from the truth. “I don’t think I’m ready to die, yet. I need to get home to my sisters.”
The truth of her sisters wraps around me like a noose. She said her sisters. Which means she doesn’t know about Sophia. She doesn’t know about her twin sister and how she died at the hands of a maniac who shot her up with too many drugs. If she knew, she might be willing to risk escape; she might wish for death knowing that she’s lost her other half.
I shake my head vehemently, my mind racing. “We’ll figure this out,” I tell her. “There has to be a way to disarm it, to get it off.” But even as I speak, I feel the weight of hopelessness creeping in. Igor’s cruelty is precise, his plans meticulous. He wouldn’t have left a weakness for us to exploit.
“It’s wired to a trigger,” Maxine says, her voice hollow. “He has the control. If we try anything, he can activate it from wherever he is.” Her gaze drops to the floor, her shoulders sagging under the burden of her words. “I… I can’t risk it. I don’t want to die, but I don’t want you to die, either.”
Anger and fear tangle in my chest, each feeding off the other. “We’re getting out of here, Maxine. Together.”
“And if we don’t?” she whispers, her voice cracking. Her gaze locks with mine, and in that instant, I see the raw, unfiltered terror hiding behind her eyes. It’s the kind of fear that tells a story without words, and my chest tightens at the weight of it. Whatever Maxine has endured, it’s far worse than I can imagine.
Images try to force their way into my mind—scenes of the horrors I know exist in these human trafficking rings. I’ve witnessed their aftermath firsthand, the broken lives left in their wake. People treated like objects, passed from one set of greedy hands to another, as if they’re nothing more than commodities. Plates of food being shared and discarded. Torture, degradation, inhumanity—all of it designed to strip them of hope, of their humanity. I shove the thoughts away, knowing that while I can block them out, Maxine has no such escape.
And yet, despite everything, there’s something in her that most survivors don’t have. It’s faint, but it’s there—a resilience, a stubborn defiance against the odds that should have crushed her long ago. It’s that spark that’s kept her alive this long, and I’ll be damned if I let it go out now.
“You’ve made it this far,” I say, my voice firm but quiet, an anchor in the storm. “And I swear to you, Maxine, I’m going to get you out of this. No matter what it takes.”
I swallow hard, forcing myself to stay calm. “I won’t let him hurt you. Do you hear me?” My voice softens, but my grip on her arm remains firm. “You’re not alone in this. We’ll find a way.”
Her lip trembles, and she nods, but the doubt lingers in her eyes. I know she doesn’t believe me. Hell, I’m not sure I even believe myself. But I can’t let her see that. Not now.
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to focus. I have to formulate a plan, but most of all, I have to keep Maxine safe. I have to make sure she finds her way back home to Mia.
The room feels colder as Maxine’s voice dips into the shadows of her past. She leans forward, her hands clasped tightly between her knees, knuckles white with tension.
“At first, I was with that man, Frank Falcone. My sister’s ex. Psycho ex,” she adds quickly, her lips twitching into a bitter smirk that vanishes as fast as it appears. Her palms press together, trembling slightly, a silent echo of her unease.
She stares past me, her eyes glassy, lost in the labyrinth of her memories. “We never should have run away.”
I nod, offering no words. Regret isn’t something that can rewrite the past, no matter how deeply it cuts.
Her voice trembles but gains momentum as she continues. “We ended up at a club, and a little while later, Frank turned up. Promised us a night out we’d never forget. So we got in the car with him and a few of his friends. That same night, they split us up. I haven’t seen Sophia since.”
My chest tightens, the air suddenly too thick. I pray she doesn’t ask me about her sister. Mia, I can explain. Sophia… that isn’t my story to tell.
“What happened after that?” I ask softly, careful not to push too hard.
Her hands tighten into fists on her lap. “He kept me in a room… for days on end. Until someone came… to collect me.”
I reach out hesitantly, my hand brushing her knee. “We can stop,” I offer, but she shakes her head. There is a fire in her eyes now, a desperate need to unburden herself.
“He wasn’t a nice man,” she says, her voice brittle. “But then another man came.”
“Igor?” I ask, already bracing myself.
She shakes her head, strands of hair falling into her face. “No. But he took me to Igor. Igor… he leaves me alone. He feeds me. But he wanted to come here. Said he had to collect someone.”
“Rafi said he saw you one night ringside at one of his matches,” I venture carefully.
Her head snaps up, and for the first time, excitement flares in her eyes. “Do you know him? The handsome one?”
A hollow laugh escapes me, forced and brittle. The ‘handsome one’ might soon be a ghost from my past if Igor gets his way.
“I do,” I admit. “But why were you there that night?”
“Igor wanted to watch the fight,” she says, her excitement building despite the ominous weight of the situation. “He took me, pointed out that the handsome one’s brother is married to my sister Mia. I couldn’t believe it.”
“He is,” I confirm, watching as her emotions shift again, flickering like a candle in the wind.
“She got married?” She says this like she can’t believe it. “Have you seen her? Do you know her? How do you know the handsome one?” she presses, her words tumbling over each other. Her excitement feels out of place, almost hysterical, as if she is teetering on the edge of control.
“I met Rafi recently,” I say carefully, choosing my words. “Through a referral. That’s how I met Mia. Although I’ve only met her in passing.”
Maxine’s gaze drops to the floor, the spark of hope in her eyes dimming. She looks hollow, her shoulders sagging under the weight of her fractured emotions.
“How is she?” she whispers.
“Missing you,” I say simply, the truth cutting through the air between us.
Her voice drops to a whisper. “And Sophia?”
I freeze, my breath hitching. The silence stretches, heavy and oppressive, until I force myself to answer.
“I haven’t met her,” I say slowly, hoping it’s enough.
Maxine’s expression softens, her shoulders relaxing slightly, but the sadness lingers in her eyes. She looks away, her hands clutching at her knees again.
“If I don’t make it…” she starts, her voice cracking.
“Don’t talk like that,” I cut in, but she silences me with a look that is both pleading and resolute.
“Please. If I don’t make it out,” she continues, her voice steadier now, “tell them I love them very much. And… tell them I’m sorry.”
Her words hang in the air like a death knell, each syllable a reminder of the fragility of our situation. I nod slowly, the weight of her request settling heavily on my chest.
“You’re going to tell them yourself,” I say, my voice firm despite the fear clawing at my insides. But her eyes tell me she doesn’t believe me, and in a way, I know there’s nothing I can say that will make her believe otherwise.