Chapter Seven
T he floor froze her bare feet. Concrete walls and floor surely meant she was in a basement. The moment she took the first step, a harsh reminder of the fall on the side of the road rushed back as a sharp pain zinged from her ankle up her leg. Not a stranger to pain, Sutton pushed the ache to the back of her mind.
One step after another, she walked across the small space and back, counting fifteen paces before turning around. She made a complete circuit before walking the entire room again. The twelve-by-fifteen space was larger than her childhood bedroom, which didn’t say much.
Her eyes watered at the stench in the farthest corner from the bed. The scent of sweat, puke, and feces assailed her senses—a combination from her childhood. If she stumbled across the suffocating smell of wet dog, the universe could go fuck itself. To her relief, the one corner appeared to be the only one that reeked, which meant several things. The room didn’t have a restroom. They’d held others captive there. She wouldn't be allowed to leave if she had to use the restroom. Fuck.
She managed to catch herself before falling onto the bed face first and smacking herself on the nasty-looking mattress. It was one thing to wake up on a gross bed and even sit on it. Immediately twisting, she sat down on her ass. Where was her kidnapper? Was he planning all the ways he would kill her? Would he rape her first and then beat her before slitting her throat? Her heart began to race with fear.
The door squeaked as it opened. Her very own monster entered, holding a bottle of water. She licked her lips. Anticipation for the liquid made her already dry throat feel like sandpaper with each swallow.
“Did you miss me?” He shut the door without coming any closer to her.
Several tense seconds went by with neither of them speaking. She didn’t want to beg. God, she hated this man with every fiber of her being. Her heartbeat continued to race, and she felt sick from the drug he’d injected into her, along with adrenaline and fear racing through her veins. Hell, she’d be lucky not to stroke out from shock or heart failure.
“What’s wrong, cagna? Cat got your tongue?” He smirked and leaned back against the door. “If you don’t want to speak to me, I can leave and come back when you’re more agreeable,” he said after a moment.
“No. Please. Can I have the water?” she asked.
“That is much better. I prefer hearing a woman ask nicely rather than demanding or being silent. Although, there is a time for them to be...silent.”
His stare was as unnerving as his words. She loathed this man. But Sutton knew that she needed to be smart and play by his rules if she wanted to stay alive.
Stay calm. Wait. Escape.
The man brought her the water, leaning down so their faces were mere inches apart. If he tried to kiss her, she would surely gag, knowing her capacity for fakery wouldn’t hold.
She mentally prepared herself for whatever might happen. Whenever she needed to check out of certain situations in the past, it helped to think about happier times or pretend she was somewhere else. All she had to do was survive.
“Don’t drink it all in one go. It will be all you get for a while. It’s a shame I must leave you here for a while, but I’ll be back, pet.” His nose ran up the side of her face as he inhaled deeply.
Her hands shook in her lap. The bile sitting in her stomach threatened to come up, but she ruthlessly swallowed and pushed the urge down. She didn’t think her captor would appreciate her puking all over him.
As he placed the water bottle in her hand, Sutton tried to control her shaking. He was leaving her in this hellhole. She could die. Alone. Nobody knew where she was. Hell, would anyone care? The truth hit her like a sledgehammer. No.
When he stood back up, she wanted to scream and fight. She did neither. She had to stay calm and focused until he returned, or she figured out how to get herself out of there. She should’ve listened to King and had someone drive her home. He’d told her it wasn’t safe, but like usual, she’d been stubborn, too fucking hellbent on proving to everyone that she was an independent woman.
“How long?” she asked, then licked her lips as her voice cracked. “How long will you be gone?” Her voice came out a little steadier by the time he placed his hand on the doorknob.
“Sounds like you’re going to miss me. If I could stay and get better acquainted with you, I would. Alas, there are things I need to attend to. Trust me. I will return,” he said with a smirk. “Now you be a good girl and don’t do anything stupid.” He nodded toward the water and left.
Sutton struggled to keep calm, but the fear of dying and knowing he held her life in his cruel hands nearly sent her into hysterics.
“You can do this,” she whispered.
She twisted the cap off, and hearing the click gave a measure of reassurance that the bottle was new and hopefully not drugged.
Sutton struggled to keep from gulping half the contents down. The lukewarm water soothed her parched throat. After another sip, she put the lid back on.
Reality settled in as time ticked by. Her heart thumped in her chest. A harsh reminder that she still lived. But for how long, and what waited for her? For now, she was safe until her captor or someone else walked through the locked door.
“God, what did I do to deserve this shit life?”
Growing up, she’d been the bane of her mother’s existence since she’d wrecked her once perfect body and run off the only man she’d loved. Sutton had done everything she could to try to make up for her supposed transgressions to her mama as a child. She took the beatings without screaming too much, lied to teachers when asked about the bruises, and stayed home when the damage had been too noticeable. Not once had she back-talked because she loved her mama and only wanted her mother to love her in return.
A tear dripped down her cheek, splashing onto her arm.
“I’m past all that, dammit.” She got up from the bed, placing the water on the floor so it wouldn’t accidentally fall and possibly spill.
The door felt like metal or steel. She twisted the handle, knowing he’d have locked it, yet she had to try. Her analytical mind told her it was futile, but the little girl in her wanted out.
Sutton twisted and pulled, hitting the hard surface until her hands hurt, and she was exhausted. Of course, she didn’t make a sound the entire time except for the noise from her hitting the door. Silence. The man had said there was a time to be silent. Some lessons were hard to unlearn.
She slid downward until her butt hit the cold floor, wrapping her arms around her knees and rocking back and forth. Her head slammed into the door several times, making the pounding headache increase. Maybe she’d give herself a concussion or brain bleed.
“He’d probably still take advantage of my corpse.” Exhausted and even more terrified at the thought, she couldn’t stop the tears that ran down her cheeks. For once, Sutton allowed herself to cry for several long minutes. Once calmed, she tried to listen for sounds other than her racing heart and pathetic cries.
The sound of a loud, deep, low-pitched, mournful, and sometimes haunting tone reached her ears. “A fog horn,” she said. Once again, the sound came. Her music teacher taught them about the history, showing a video on YouTube from the Sumburgh Lighthouse in Shetland, Scotland. She explained how they’d designed the pitch to carry across long distances through the fog, acting as a warning signal to ships with a distinctive, long, sustained blast. The noise sounded like the horn of a large tuba or trombone, with an easily recognizable resonant quality—the same as what she heard through the thick door.
Now that she wasn’t freaking the fuck out, she could feel slight vibrations on the other side of the door. Maybe she wasn’t in a basement?
Excitement filled her. He’d obviously put her in a hidden room of some sort. Of course, with the foghorn so close, she could be on some boat, shipped off to some third-world country. Her excitement turned to dread. If they got her out of America, hidden in whatever type of space they’d put her in, nobody would find her, ever.
KENDRICK SWORE HE’D need new molars by the time they pulled up to the next location. His damn jaw ached from clenching so hard. He couldn’t imagine the horrors Sutton was enduring. Animals, like the men he dealt with didn’t care if they had hours or days. They took what they wanted when they wanted, especially when it came to the sex trade.
“King and his MC have rescued many individuals in similar situations.” Andre’s words broke through his mental tirade.
He nodded as they drove toward the Santa Barbara pier. The hour-and-a-half drive felt more like an eternity. Why this woman had his stomach in knots, he didn’t know.
They parked along the row of other vehicles lining the busy area, opting to walk to the address on foot. No one looked at them as they walked through the crowd and toward the warehouses. He and Andre didn’t speak as he went over different scenarios in his head. It didn’t matter what went down. His bodyguard and friend always had his back.
Once they located their next destination, they split up. He didn’t go in with guns blazing, hard and fast, with a show of power. No, that was the quickest way to end up dead. They strolled the parameter, taking precious time to see what they could use that might be beneficial in extricating Sutton and themselves if the need arose. He sent up a prayer they’d find her alive and unharmed.
He met up with Andre near the back of the warehouse. The other man gave a slight nod and lifted two fingers.
“Do you have a light?” Kendrick pulled a cigar out of the inner pocket of his suit.
“Of course. I never leave home without one.” Andre handed him the Zippo he carried.
“Grazie. I’m trying to quit, but it’s not so easy.” Kendrick didn’t bother to light his cigar as they moved back around the warehouse together. Andre took the lighter back, flicking it open and shut once to let him know he’d seen one man inside. Kendrick let out a pent-up breath. Knowing there was at least one inside meant the warehouse might not be a bust.
“I’ll take the front. You head to the back in case whoever is inside tries to escape that way. I didn’t see any other way out, but we can’t be too sure.” Kendrick and Andre halted on the side of the building before separating.
He shot a text to Keys and King, letting them know which location they were at. They’d all agreed they wouldn’t waste time searching if the addresses were empty.
Those who sold into sex trafficking rings didn’t last long, and if they did, most wished for death. Images of Sutton getting passed around by hundreds of sick fucks, willing to pay to do kinky shit they can’t do with their wives or in their everyday lives, flashed through his mind. Many buyers paid extra for an American woman. It would be a massive bonus for the seller to have one as gorgeous as Sutton. Hell, he’d get more than a pretty penny for her.
His fists clenched, and his throat burned with rage. When he reached the front door, it took all his control to keep from ripping the damn thing from its hinges. The handle turned with ease, giving him access without hindrance. Too fucking easy. Or maybe they didn’t think anyone could track their location. Either way, he’d proceed with caution.
Usually, he’d go in low with his gun out. But he’d never been in a situation where he was searching for someone who meant—he’d never been in a situation like this one. Sutton James came into his life less than twelve hours ago. Yet the connection between them seemed more substantial than all the other women he’d dated or fucked put together. The how or why didn’t matter.
He thought of his brother’s bachelor party last weekend. Jeter and the rest of the MC had taken him on a modified bar crawl. They’d ridden their bikes from one bar to the next, collecting a different card and having a drink or shot before ending the night at a final pub, which happened to be an Irish place. Jeter joked about the Irish not being as good as Sicilian men since their ancestors were from Sicily, and they loved their roots above all else. At the table next to them, a big fucker with red hair stood up and told them they’d be lucky to find the luck of the Irish. Looking at the calendar on the wall in the office's open space, he noticed a huge shamrock with the word lucky written in bold letters in the center of the green sticker, making his gut clench. For some reason, Kendrick felt a strange sensation wash over him. Tomorrow was Saturday and happened to be St. Patrick’s Day as well. Would he be lucky enough to find Sutton? If one of the others did, would they find her before the fuckers harmed her?
The air in the office became stifling. He forced himself to move toward one of the doors, giving a little twist to see if they kept the interior doors locked. Kendrick’s eyes narrowed. No way in hell would he leave his properties open, especially if there were illegal shit happening. His fists clenched, but then he pushed the door open. Before stepping through, he stopped and paused. The large door acted as a shield between him and the large warehouse.