Chapter 15 #3
He shrugs. "I guess not. I suppose if you just want to get down to the business of making money, having to expend time and effort making sure your new girls don't try to run away isn’t worth it. Better to pay more for someone who's already had the fight beaten and raped out of her."
I feel sick. "Jesus."
"Exactly." He stabs a finger in the direction of the car.
"That's who the fuckers we're waiting to ambush are, Story: sex-slavers.
Men who are eager to get you to Pugli so they can have their turn with you and before Pugli sells you off to the highest bidder.
And then they go snatch some other poor innocent girl and do it all over again.
" He stands up, brushes off the seat of his jeans, and takes my hands in his, the now-reassembled MP-5 hanging from his shoulder by the strap.
"This isn't…they're not soldiers just following orders to take some hill or whatever.
These dudes are professionals who know exactly what their objective is and are eager to accomplish it. "
"Okay," I whisper. "I understand."
"I'm not trying to scare you," he says. "Just make it easier to be objective.
You're not killing innocent, unsuspecting people.
You're killing evil bastards who I fucking guarantee you have spent most of their adult lives murdering and raping and doing pretty much every other kind of nefarious bullshit you can imagine. "
"I'm trying not to imagine said nefarious activities," I mutter, my voice faint. "But that does help put it in perspective. I'm still scared, I just won't feel guilty about it when I pull the trigger."
"It's what I'm telling myself," he says, his voice dropping to a low murmur.
"I keep…I keep seeing those first three.
I have to…I have to tell myself they were bad dudes who wanted to do bad things to you.
Who have done a lot of bad shit to a lot of people.
Even if you're not, like, the one snatching the girls—even if all you do is transport, if you know what you're moving, you're complicit. "
While we wait and talk, the dim purple-gray of evening's descent has become the dense, inky black heat of night.
We lapse into silence again, each of us lost in our own thoughts—mine wander to why they took me.
Why then? Why take me and stuff me in a container on a freighter in the middle of the Mediterranean with someone I know?
If Pugli wanted to make me a sex-slave, why not just bring me right to him?
It doesn't make a lot of sense; but then, I suppose I don’t know much about the logistics of human trafficking.
I wonder again at the timing. I know Bryn went missing—Dad called me to let me know.
I offered my help, but he said that people were on it and that I should just focus on work and staying safe.
I never imagined that just a few days later, I'd end up on the business end of a kidnapping.
I'm a predictable person. I live a boring life.
I go to work, I go to the gym, I go to the store, I go home.
Occasionally I'll have drinks with work friends.
When I was dating, I'd go out with my boyfriend.
My patterns aren't hard to discern. They could have taken me at any point.
Why then? I don't know that I'll ever know—the mind of a human trafficker is a mystery to me.
"Here we go,” I hear Killian murmur, and his boots crunch on gravel as he adjusts his position.
I tune in—white LED headlights sweep down the road between the parking lots that line the outer edges of the massive pier. There's not just one SUV approaching, but three.
“Well fuck me. Guess they got the memo that we're not gonna go down easily," Killian says.
"I do," I say, nerves making my mouth run. "On you, at least."
Killian sputters a laugh. "Focus, babe." He glances at me, reaches out and squeezes my hand.
"If we get separated for any reason, you go back to the hostel and meet up with the guy. He’s tall, he has long hair, and a kinda scraggly beard.
He drives some souped-up European sports car. Tell him you're my ragazza."
"Killy—"
"Just in case."
I glare at him. "That's not an option. But fine. It's not gonna happen, but fine—noted."
He shoots me a glance. "You're not gonna, are you? If anything were to happen to me, I mean."
"If anything happens to you, it happens to me."
He shuffles closer to me, taps his forehead to mine. "No, sweetheart. Listen to me, yeah? You do not get taken by these motherfuckers. No matter what. Swear it. Promise me. Swear on your mother's life that no matter what happens, you do not let these fuckers get you."
"I—I promise." I'm taken aback by his intensity. "I swear on Mom's life I won't let them get me." I cling to him. "But Kills, nothing can happen to you. I just got you."
"I don't plan on anything happening," he says, "but I wasn't factoring in three carloads of goons."
"So maybe we reevaluate the plan," I suggest. "They don't know we're here. Let's just walk away."
There's a short concussive rattle, and something clangs loudly off the side of the trailer.
"Too late," Killian says. "They saw us."