Chapter 45
Samantha
Rona and I are in the cramped bedroom in the back of the plane. The first hour, I told her stories to keep both our minds off our predicament. She’s asleep now and I can only lay here, gripped with anxiety, silent tears soaking the pillow.
Killian would know I left by now. He’ll be trying to find me. I’m sure Michael knows that, and he’ll have a trap ready for him. God, if anything happens to Killian because of me. A quiet sob escapes my throat.
The door cracks open. Then Michael appears. He looks at Rona’s sleeping form, then flicks his chin for me to follow him.
I sit up, a wave of nausea gripping me, and follow him back out to the seating area. He motions for me to sit in the grey leather seat across from him. I do but keep my eyes glued to the window. A thin layer of gauzy white clouds streak by every few seconds.
A stewardess comes over and sets a glass of water and a plate of fruit in front of me.
When she leaves, Michael barks, “Samantha, look at me.”
I grit my teeth and meet his gaze. My stomach drops and my breathing picks up. I force myself to hold his eyes. Those soulless holes in his head.
He nods, satisfied, and adjusts his suit jacket. A sinister smile touches his lips. “An Irish mobster, really?” He clucks in disappointment. “I thought you had better taste than that.”
“Guess you don’t know me at all.” I can feel the heat creeping up my neck and realize it’s anger. How dare he insult the only man who’s ever cared about me and Rona. Who’s ever protected us.
He must see it in my eyes because his brow lifts. “Oh,” he says, his gaze narrowing, calculating. “You actually care about him. How interesting.”
Shit.
His jaw clenches. “Did he fuck you?”
My nostrils flare. I glare back at him, staying silent.
Then he lurches forward and his hand clutches my throat, squeezing until I’m fighting for air and seeing pinpricks of light. His eyes are two black pits that I’m in danger of disappearing into. I scratch at his hand, trying to get free.
“You let someone else touch my property?” he seethes.
Finally, he loosens his grip enough for me to suck in a breath. But instead of letting me breathe, he presses his mouth against mine, squeezing my jaw with his other hand until I open with a whimper and he can force his tongue inside.
I gag and scratch at his grip, try to bring my knee up, but he blocks me.
He forces himself on me until tears are streaming down my face.
Then he pulls his mouth away and licks the tears off my cheeks.
“I missed these tears,” he whispers. He runs his thumb over my mouth and then drops his gaze to my body.
“I told you, your body, your soul… are mine. And I will so enjoy breaking you all over again.” He grabs me roughly between my legs. “Maybe I’ll stick another baby in you.”
My knees reflexively squeeze shut. I can’t keep the fire out of my eyes.
I hate him so much. I want to burn him alive.
Unfortunately, he notices the fight in me, and it gets him excited.
He shoves his hand into my yoga pants and underwear, roughly moving his fingers over me, pinching my sensitive skin.
“Looks like nothing’s changed. We’ll need to get some lube for this dried-up cunt,” he growls in my ear. Pulling his hand out, he smacks my cheek and leans back. “Eat something. You’ll need your strength for what I have planned.”
I move my gaze back out the window, feeling sick that he’s touched me. Now I want to set myself on fire. I won’t survive him again. Not after knowing what it feels like to be touched by a man who actually cares about my pleasure… about me. I shrink into myself until the numbness is all that’s left.
***
He walks us up the stone steps of his New York mansion. It feels like a lifetime ago that Celia and I ran down these steps in the dark and out to the road for our escape, so full of hope. But it’s only been seven months.
I want to ask him about Celia, but he uses anyone that I care about against me. If she’s still alive, he’ll hurt her to hurt me. I can’t take that chance.
My heart drops as the door opens and a woman in a black dress, her hair pulled back in a severe bun stares at us. Not Celia. She’s younger, maybe early forties. I grip Rona tighter. The woman steps inside and holds the door open for us.
“Ah, Talula.” Michael looks at me, eyes glittering with masochistic glee. “Would you be a dear and take my daughter to her room. I’m sure she’s tired from the travel.”
Panicked wings beat inside my chest. “Please,” I choke out, staring at Michael. “Let her stay with me.”
His smile is cruel and sharp, a dagger slowly sliding into my heart. “You know why that’s not a good idea. She’ll be… happier with Talula.” The gleam in his eye is a promise of violence. He’s right, she shouldn’t see what he’s going to do to me.
I bend down and set her feet on the floor, then make her look at me. “You need to go with this nice lady for now. Mommy needs to run some errands, and I’ll see you later, okay?” I manage to keep the tears at bay, but my voice still breaks on the last words.
Rona’s eyes search mine with a tiny frown. “Stay with Mama.” She throws her arms around my neck.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Miss Talula will help you give Mermaid Barbie a bath. With bubbles.” I glare up at the woman.
Her face is smooth, expressionless. I wonder if she knows what a monster she works for.
Or if Michael fed her some line about me keeping his daughter from him. “Right, Miss Talula?”
Rona turns her head and glances up at the strange woman with a touch of fear.
“Right.” She nods. Then she holds out her hand. “Come along.”
I hold Rona’s face in my palms and press a kiss to her forehead. “I love you,” I whisper. “Go on. I’ll see you later.”
The woman grabs Rona’s hand and bag and leads her away, her heels echoing on the dark wood floors. I have a feeling that sound will haunt my nightmares. My chest is a gaping wound as she leads my heart away.
Rona turns back to look at me one last time and waves uncertainly before they disappear around the corner.
As soon as they do, Michael grips my arm in a punishing hold and yanks me off the floor. “We have some business to attend to.”
His fingers dig into my flesh, and I stumble as he drags me down the hall and through double doors into a large office. My eyes immediately meet the man’s seated in one of the leather chairs in front of the desk. He tucks his phone into his suit jacket pocket and stands.
His smile is oily and cunning as his gaze rakes over my body.
Oh my God. Is Michael selling me to this man? If so, I’ll never see Rona again. I won’t be able to protect her. I force myself to take deep, even breaths as the panic threatens to close my throat.
Michael shakes the man’s hand. “Mr. Gorka, good of you to come on such short notice.” He drags me in front of the second leather chair and pushes me down. “Sit.”
Okay, I guess we’re not playing happy couple in front of this man. That’s not good news for me. I glare at the man as he lowers himself back in the other chair. “Who are you?”
He folds his fingers together and tilts his head. “Richard Gorka. I’m… a broker. And you are?”
“Her name’s not important,” Michael interrupts. He’s taken a seat behind his desk and opens a folder. Lifting a sheet of paper from the folder, he holds it out to me. “I’m going to present you with two choices. This is the first one.” He motions impatiently for me to take the paper.
I push myself up, slip the paper from his fingers and sit back down. I brace myself because I know Michael, neither choice is going to be a good one. My brows press down in confusion for just a moment as I read the list and try to figure out what it has to do with me. Until I see it.
“Two-year-old female. Liver. Kidneys. Heart.”
A scream lodges itself behind my clenched teeth. My insides begin to tremble. This is a black-market organ list, and Rona is on it. I glance at Mr. Gorka. He’s watching me with curiosity. The truth hits me like a gut punch. He’s an organ broker.
My eyes narrow and it takes all my strength not to spit on the man. I feel like I’m moving underwater as I stand and throw the paper back on Michael’s desk.
One side of his mouth is quirked in a simulation of a smile. His eyes are black pools of malice. “No?” he asks almost seductively.
I cross my arms. “Over my dead body.”
He rakes his teeth over his bottom lip and eyes me like he’s imagining all the ways to make that happen. Then he leans forward and picks up a second sheet of paper. “Then you’ll want option number two.”
I tear it out of his grip and sit back down. Because I know whatever this is, it will bring me to my knees.
And I’m not wrong.